You call that a letter opener?

I couldn't take the express bus to my house last night, because of teaching obligations that kept me busy at the school until about 6 pm.

So, I got on the number 16 bus, took it downtown and got off at the library. That went off without a hitch, the city was pretty in the rain, and I somewhat enjoy seeing a different bus crowd. Getting off the bus in front of the downtown Minneapolis library I crossed the street to wait for a number 6 bus, a bus that goes south from Downtown into Uptown and Southtown. As I live in Uptown, I wouldn't have terribly far to go on the bus.

Anyhow, the bus eventually came, and I sat near the back in one of the kind of gallery seats facing out the windows.

I sat there, reading the paper and hardly taking notice of my surroundings, until an odd sort of fellow sat down, with a large rounded face, piercing blue eyes, straw colored hair and skin that looked like sparsely hair sandpaper. He was dressed like some kind of dark Jedi, with a satiny black shirt and jacket. Along with plain black slacks and some kind of cloth belt.

He seemed extremely confused about where the bus was going, and was asking frantically if it would go to southtown. He asked apologetically and angrily at the same time, suggesting that he can't read the map that the bus company supplies. He unfurled the map and pointed at it, making it out like it was written in Sumerian. Of course it wasn't, and eventually people around me helped this confused Sith.

So, I didn't pay him any heed for the next 15 minutes or so, until azround the point that I got to 27th street, when I looked up to look at the streets. He was sitting there with a slightly crazed look and a pile of what looked like junk mail lying on his lap, his satchel bag sitting next to him. What was more disturbing to me was the small tactical folding knife he was holding in his right hand. He was using it as some kind of a crude and intimidating letter opener, taking the deady 3 inch blade of carbon steel to open various credit card offers, his bank statement and other random mail.

He showed no sign of guilt or awareness of the fact that he was actually endagering everyone around him by first having a deadly weapon open on the bus. Second, by having the knife open, using it casually on the bus, he endagered us because of the potential for accidents that goes up when inside a moving vehicle. It's no doubt that motion gets transferred, which is why it's not safe to walk around while a bus is in motion.

Imagine this man losing grip of that deadly blade on a sharp turn. The light and deadly little blade would fly in whatever direction centrifigul force would take it, perhaps into a waiting neck, eye or baby.

song of the day: "Here Come The Warm Jets"-Eno

Morning Rains and a Strange Bus Driver

We have a strange bus driver.

My roommate Shane and I generally take the same bus to work in the morning, and lately, one of the bus-drivers has proven to be a bizarre person to be around. This upswing in weirdness came with an unwelcome upswing in familiarity that coincided with my broken foot. He took pity on me because of my foot and gave me a certain degree of "special attention," namely making fun of me for moving more slowly than other people, and asking how the foot was.

Now that I don't wear a crutch anymore or walk more slowly than others, that leaves him with less to say. Instead, this bus driver just heartily greets me with the sickening "Buddy," which I assure you he did not earn. A few days ago he promised a present for everyone on the bus, and I recoiled in terror, thinking he was planning on giving out rufied snack cakes or something. Instead, the present was much less frightening, useful even, a new bus schedule.

This morning, the clouds are flirting with the concept of rain. It smells like it and the sky is perfectly gray. It's nice out though slightly warm and humid, and it smells like rain, one of my favorite smells.

Getting off the bus, Shane and I were drizzled on, but not drenched by rain.

New Indiana Jones

On Monday afternoon I went to see the new Indiana Jones Film with my parents in a Multiplex in Roseville. I guess I agree with the general consensus of the film, that it was a little too "Star Wars Prequelly," in that it spent far too much time with ridiculous CGI set-pieces that detracted from any sense of real danger or suspense. The CGI also didn't allow for any of the sort of dirty charm of the old films.

The plot was also a bit crazy, far-fetched and such, but acceptable.

I enjoyed myself, but would prefer Raiders of the Lost Ark any day.

I did get to eat popcorn, candy and not have to pay for any of it, so there's no real grounds for complaint.



song of the day : "Young Americans"- David Bowie

Pets I've had Part I (Terry)

Since moving out of my parents house I've entertained the idea of keeping strange pets. This is not just because I'm interested in exotic animals, in fact it has more to do with my situation. I live in an apartment with hardwood floors and somewhat uptight ownership, so anything that would endanger hardwood (particularly dogs, cats and fishes) are not allowed in my abode. It's just how the ownership rolls.

When I still lived with my parents I got along quite well with their dogs and cats. We even had fish for a long time. This instilled in me a certain "pet-thing" that I still haven't been able to shake, where I simply enjoy keeping pets. Being that I'm not able to keep the most popular and fun American pets, I had to get creative. At first I gave serious consideration to the idea of keeping a pet rodent, perhaps a rat, gerbil, etc.
This is an idea I shot down myself, due to my disastrous experience keeping pet mice in High School. (I don't particularly like having to use triple-antibiotic ointment on a wound)

So, being that I'm not a bird guy, I decided to head the route of cold-blooded animals, particularly reptiles. I had a huge thing for turtles, and did hours and hours worth of research into what species of turtle made good pets, what sort of housing needs they had, and what sort of ethical considerations went into the whole deal. From my research I came to the conclusion that the perfect pet for me was an Eastern Box turtle. Box Turtles live in forests and occasionally bogs in the Southeastern United States, and are for the most part terrestrial.

By terrestrial I mean that they live on land. Box turtles spend much of their time tooling around the woods or bog, searching for food be it grubs, plant matter, fish, bugs, etc. They are omnivorous, and require a balanced, almost human-like diet. Also, as terrestrial scavengers, they have far better than average eye-sight and visual memory. This allows Box turtles to eventually learn to recognize their master on sight, and to come to them exclusively when hungry. I was enthralled by the creatures and eventually broke down and bought one from a supposedly reputable dealer in Florida who assured me that their shipping system was top-notch and safe.

Suffice to say that the shipping was not safe. My turtle, who I had named Tarquin, was dead on arrival at my house. But strangely enough, there was another living thing inside the parcel. Inside the parcel was also a tiny, brilliantly green turtle with webbed toes and a red stripe on the face near the eyes. This was a surprise, and I didn't have proper facilities to care for the creature, so I did my best at first, which was not ideal care for the animal. Within a short time, I managed to get a small semi-aquatic tank set up for the creature, with a decent filtration system and live plants. I named the turtle Terry, due to it's gender neutrality.

When UPS attempted to deliver a mysterious package at my door shortly after, I thought they had sent me a replacement to Tarquin, and without thinking, I ruined a date that I was on to go to the UPS center in North-East to try and pick up the poor animal. When it turned out to be a T-Shirt, I was devastated, and wished that UPS would label *who* attempted deliveries were for, as it would make for an easier life.

For a time, Terry was happy apparrently. He or She would chase after pellets of turtle food (and the occasional live food) and impress guests to my room, as well as occasionally going on walks outside of his cage on carpet or other warm surfaces like beds or human hands and arms. About a month into Terry's time, I got a snail to live wth him, a snail I think that was named Selma, though I'm not sure. Selma kept the cage clean, and was interesting to watch move about the tank. The occasional interactions that the two animals had were generally pretty funny, showing fear and ignorance. (Imagine a tiny turtle crashing into a snail and retreating across to the other side of the tank in terror. )

Terry survived even the cold, which I fought with a number of different heating systems. It survived until a trip to Duluth for the Christmas holiday. I visited my parents, and on the last day of the trip, when I was preparing Terry for the ride home, it managed to wriggle loose from my hands, falling a good 6 feet to the floor. It was hard to tell what condition Terry was in, outside of being alive and slightly slow or off, and avoiding the use of one arm. So, I drove back to Duluth with Terry secure in a tupperware container.

We arrived back in Minneapolis, and I set up Terry's cage again, with nice warm water from the tub, with toys how I imagined Terry liked them. I then set Terry back in the cage. Terry jumped off it's basking rock into the water, and I thought all was well, and left the room briefly. When I came back, Terry was on the bottom of the tank, mouth open in a terrifying display, with bubbles quickly jetting out.

Needless to say, this worried me, as it was behaviour I had never seen before. I ran over to the tank and reached in, lifting the turtle out of the water, and attempting to drain the water that had filled it's lungs. It had a frantic look in its eyes, and rather quickly went limp. I tried moving it's throat to get at any obstruction, but had no luck. There was nothing that I could do to save it, so I sat down and truly cried, like I hadn't done for months. I broke down in uncontrollable tears and spasms, ended up calling people, and then got to the grisly business of getting rid of the corpse.

I took Terry's body, wrapped it in a shroud of plastic, and due to the abnormally warm and wet december, was able to go out into the back yard, by the garage, and buried it using a spork to dig through the pebbly ground. Fitting, in that one of Terry's strongest interests was digging holes in various surfaces. When held in hands, Terry would even try to dig through hands, usually pushing feebly with it's hands at the massive human fingers. I would allow him the triumph of getting through by loosening my grip.

George is getting married.

George Takei is finally getting married to his longterm partner Brad.

This is exciting. I like it. California has managed to impress me, and I'm happy.

Who can say that allowing people to marry is in any way evil.

Not I.