Rudolph, Shmudolph...

Transcript from a conversation at dinner

SCENE: ISAAC, SETH, AND MOTHER AT DINNER, EACH ENGROSSED IN A BOOK.

Isaac: "I say, that chap Rudolph…"
Seth: "What about?"
Isaac: "There’s something that doesn’t ring true."
Seth: "Oh?"
I: "How come it was a foggy night? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure it’s a meteorological impossibility in that region."
Mum: You mean at the North Pole?
I: "Yes."
S: "Yes, but Santa must be tracking the weather all over the world. The song doesn’t specifically state the location of the fog. Obviously the implication is that somewhere on S.C.’s route it’s as thick as pea soup."
I: "So if this was such a problem what did Santa do before he discovered ol’ Rudy?"
M: "Maybe Rudolph was descended from a long line of scarlet snouted Rangiferia, and it was sort of a family business."
I: "But if there were more than one, ‘all of the other reindeer’ wouldn’t have ostracized him for his abnormality!"
*gets a wild look "I'm telling you it's all a conspiracy, man!"
S&M: Mm…
FADE TO BLACK AS GROUP TURN BACK TO BOOKS.

A friend's birthday with friends

Sorry this is so late in coming!

ike, Episode #104

Ugandit?!!Ha,ha,ha!

Went to the CE today.
The coffee of the day?
French Roast Uganda, my favorite. A bit on the dark side, as roasts go, but that's the way I like it. And so, feeling particularly mature, I asked Tiffany, "Uganda get some?" and then rejoiced in the fact that there's no such thing as a bad pun. Because, really, when you think about it, what makes one pun any more valid than another?
They're all equally low on the humor food chain, if you ask me. Puns are the ultimate solution to a lot of situations, though. For example, if you have a slip of the tongue, simply laugh, and then quickly follow it up with a pun phrase (i.e, "that was pun, let's do another one!). With any luck the person or people will think your mistake was simply a pun they didn't get, and not wanting to appear to be so dumb they couldn't even catch a pun, they will join you in riotous laughter, and all will be merry and bright.
Oh, and speaking of merry and bright, here's a special Christmas Story.
As we (Cheryl, Leanna, Tiffany and I) were walking back to our car after spending quality coffee time at the Emporium, a man walks up to me. Not just any man, though, for as I looked into his eyes I saw something special.
True, his clothes were all tarnished with all who knows what,
and his face had the idiotic grin of a nut,
but his hair looked like it had been touched by a comb,
and the red pointed hat he wore looked just at home.
His eyes how they sparkled, his smile so cheery,
his cheeks were so rosy, his breath a little beery.
His stick-on beard was as white as the snow,
and all and all he made quite the hobo.
The final point though was when he shouted and said:
"Put a smile on your face, now, don't look quite so sad!"
Then laying a finger along side his red nose,
he honked it, twice, for it was one of those.
Then up across the street like a comet he dashed,
prancing and dancing on his way past.
And though in my mind there's no question he's batty,
it just made me think, ah,
how I love Cincinnati.

Every time a bell rings...

...a student gets an A!

Ahem.

(Bursts forth into song, to the tune of Jingle Bells.)

College life, college life,
Grinds your health away.
Finals, tests, all without rest,
And reading that’s due today.
College life, college life,
Makes you quite a sight,
Oh, what fun it is to write
That term paper tonight!

Back to work.
Putting the "stud" in student,
I.

Of Conductors and Omelets

Okay, so I'm really thinking of only one conductor. Paavo Järvi. And technically, it's a "umlaut"(pronounced oom-lout, rhymes with boom-shout, whatever that is) not an omelet. The two dots above the a in his last name, that is. I think that anyone with an umlaut in their name is cool.

Paavo Järvi is definitely cool.
Paavo was born in Tallinn, Estonia, which makes him Estonian. And gives him a cool accent. Many composers and musicians came from Estonia, and many did not.
At any rate, he's now the director of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, or CSO. That's how I know of him. Last time I was at the CSO, I felt compelled to try and capture some of his dynamic energy on a page. You see, his style of conducting is quite unique. Instead of simply beating meter, he strays away from the metrical and towards the interpretive. In fact, I remember him giving an actual down beat only on the most rare occasion. Indeed, his gestures at times seem more reminiscent of a weaver than a conductor. Actually, that's not a bad simile.
As his hands stroke and pick, plucking the air with the most minute of movements, the warp and the weft of the music emerges, a delicate pattern of color in tone. Now with bold whirls and strokes the pattern begins to change as the master's hands blur into figures and lines I almost can't make out, but apparently the orchestra can as they intensify and strengthen and build with vigor broadening/deepening the tapestry...until, at the end the sounds fade and diminish and he is slowly lowering his baton, the only music now in the memory as we sit holding our breaths in the silence until he finally, almost grudgingly reliquenshes control and turns to face us.

And I think, you know, it would almost be worth being bald if I could do that...

Be Yourself

No Comment

I went to the CSO,
It really was quite a show,
They played Britten and Brahms,
We smote with our palms,
And cried, "Bravo, again, Paavo !"


Brahms spelled backwards is Smharb.

Shoulder Angels

A Poem About Mud

And now for something completely different, our very own poet laureate Mr. I. W. Owens will render for us in a very dramatic and most impressed way his latest work, "Mud".

On a Lighter Note...

So I got a new sticky-note pad, and as I was using it I compared it to my old pad.
Turns out that the new pad is a slightly different shade of yellow than my old one.
So now I'm writing on a lighter note.


I went ice-sliding today, while everyone else skated. You know, people sometimes look at me and say, "Wow, I wish I knew how to ice-slide!"
Well, here's your chance. It's all in the take-off.
Step 1: Gingerly step out onto the ice.
Step 2: Push off with either your right foot or your left foot, or your...no, I guess that's about it.
Step 3: Shift all of your weight as far back on your skates as you can, whilst simultaneously waving your arms in a haphazard windmill-like fashion.
After that, the law of gravity really steps up and the rest of the maneuver pretty much happens on its own.
More advanced techniques cover the art of the 5 point landing(Yes, I know you only have 4 appendages. Figure it out.), the abrupt right turn that causes you to suddenly slam into a wall, taking out the skater who was dumb enough to skate between you and said wall, and how to look like you planned the WHOLE thing, and you're really just like, yeah, I'm cool, whatever.

Then Shane and I decided that everything sounded way cooler if you said it in a cool movie-guy voice, which still didn't help us find McDonalds, and apparently I sound just like the opossum from Over The Hedge.
(Wioux, wioux!)

Without wax,
Ike

My bad.

Hypothesis, Theory, Law, whatever...

Why is the sky blue?

You know, color is a funny thing.
Years ago, before color was invented, the world was a very gray place. Just look at old photographs. The only people who used color were the artists, and that was just because they were all high on fumes from their lead-based paint. Everyone else thought they were crazy.
Then, around the middle of the 20th century, color really became the "in" thing, and everybody went wild with it. Because the whole concept was new, people really didn't know how to put different colors together, hence we had the whole "Flower Children" movement of the 60's.
About this time as well, if you notice from old home videos, people learned how to walk more smoothly instead of jerkily running around all the time. Also, we learned how to talk.
Life went on, and with other inventions such as the 3rd dimension, the sticky-note, and the rubber band, the world progressed to the colorful utopia we know and love today.

Oh, and the sky is blue because it is a reflection of the ocean.

Life Reeked With Joy

This is something that I happened across while I was looking at some articles online.

A History of the Past: 'Life Reeked With Joy' by Anders Henriksson

"Possibly as an act of vengeance, a history professor-compiling, verbatim, several decades' worth of freshman papers-offers some of his students' more striking insights into European history from the Middle Ages to the present."
For example:
"During the Middle Ages, everybody was middle aged. Church and state were co-operatic. Middle Evil society was made up of monks, lords, and surfs."

Seth and I laughed till we cried reading this article.
Words fail me.

Remember When...

Remember 'way back in the fall of '08, when I pulled that all-nighter?
*chuckles
Yep, I was young and foolish back then...

A bit

What must I do?
To show that I'm real?
To prove I'm who I say I am,
To prove I'm who I feel?

My Refugee Week

Editor's note: This video will not play if you are using the dorm network. Don't comment about it. Go somewhere else and watch it, if you like.

Some stuff

Well, at last here are the promised photos of the artwork in my room.
In this photo you can see the track lighting system my Dad and I worked on.
My sign that I use for my logo, "ikevision" is made entirely of scrap that I had lying around.
Making up the characters are such things as shielded conduit (e) a hinge (v) an old pressure hose (s) gears (the dot on the "i" and the "o") and other such things.

My painting/sculpture is made out of cardboard, coat hanger, canvas, and wood.
The cardboard was cannibalized from some boxes I had from moving in.
The coat hangers I found on their way to the trash.
The canvas I had already, although it too was a reject.
The wood, with which I constructed the frame, was rescued from the dumpster.
This is what's fun about art. It doesn't take a lot of resources to create art, just some resourcefulness.

Wilma, I'm home! (kinda)

Well, i'm back in Cincy.
After getting all packed we realized that we still had one thing left to do.
Seth's beard was doomed. But, before he hacked it off, we snapped a few photos.
After arriving, Dad helped us set up our room.
As we had some spare lumber lying around, and a severe lack of shelving, we decided to build a bookcase.
There.
I've blogged.
Get over it.
Will post more as soon as I finish a painting or two...

Ike's Blog 2- Return of the Blog

Well, after an extended hiatus, my blog is once again back in business. The whole baboon joke got old, and I just didn't feel like continuing it.

Oh the joy of being back in the country!
Went running this morning past the fields into town, got a cup of coffee at our little coffee shop and walked along River Street, came back and fixed myself an omelet. We were out of ham and cheese, so I quickly sautéed some fresh mushrooms with onions and peppers and added that in instead.
All and all, a success!
I think next time I might add some sour cream to the mixture, as I believe it would complement the mushrooms and add a certain richness.
So long, pard!

ATTENTION!!

Due to a sad lack of posts from this blog's author, this blog has now been claimed by the Free Intervenient Blog Baboons of Eastern Russia, or the F.I.B.B.E.R.'s.
The former owner of this blog is being handled with the utmost care and attention in our lovely state-of-the-art facilities in the beautiful mountains of Afghanistan.
We trust that said author will come to see his mistake before his body is subject to such things as the Typing Machine of Great Pain, in which the victim is forced to type until his fingers are worn down to his knuckles.
THIS IS A WARNING!!
THOSE OF YOU WHO THINK THAT YOU CAN SIMPLY POST AT WHIM, WITH NO CONSEQUENCES, THINK AGAIN!




(This message sponsored in part by Abraham's Wife®.)

Here comes the sun...

People: "Hey, looks like you're sunburned!"
Myself, thinks: No, really. What was your first clue?
Says: "I am?" with a look of blank incomprehension.
An explanation of my current dermatological condition?
Four words:
School Picnic
Sand Volleyball

Oh, the flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la

Well, here I am again, sitting on my wireless rock at Eden Park. Wooden, sad faced joggers are drumming past me, looking thoroughly uncomfortable on this humid day...
Mel, Seth, Leanna, and Sam are discussing the personality of chess pieces, while some other friends seem content to wave and yell at us every time they pass by in their joyridden jeep.
Jogger#1 *waves back
Jogger#2 "Who was that?
Jogger#1 "Some idiot..."

I think I just had my picture taken by a Japanese tourist.

Stopping By The Park On A Balmy Evening...

Sitting in a gazebo that has a plaque declaring it to be a “Garden Wedding Area” in the middle of flowering magnolia trees…
“They don’t actually smell that nice when you get up close to them” Missie

We wonder what would happen if they would actually host a wedding while we are here, and if instead of giving up our study spot we would all join Sam (who was already up there) sitting in the rafters. With our legs dangling down we would advise, cry, and comment our way throughout the ceremony.
I'm getting hungry...
I hope they have the reception here.

Wayne Sings!

For some time now I have been coaching Wayne (my stuffed rat that I rescued from a life of misery at Old Navy) in vocal production techniques and styles.
He has really taken this to heart, and we are pleased to announce the release of our first single, entitled "3:00 in the Morning".
Ladies, Gentlemen, Rodents, here it is.

3:20 AM

Shower

The water is wide, the poem goes
except here, obviously.
It starts out cold,
But I am bold,
And soon I am ready for
Soap, soap, soap.
Do you use it?
I hope.
Shampoo, shampoo,
To rub in my hair.
What do you use,
if no hair there?
Shampoo?
Nope.
Soap.


How To Write A Poem

Writing poems is easy, Bob,
Just make everything rhyme, Bob.
Have some kind of meter, Bob,
That way it will sound good and flow like a well written poem is supposed to.
Bob.

That was rough, Bob.

Xeedl??!!

For some time now I have been amusing myself by thinking up definitions to the word verification "words" that I have to type in order to post a comment on the blogs of many of my friends.
Now, some people might say that those "words" are comprised of randomly generated characters and make no sense whatsoever and that since you can't pronounce them anyway your time might be better spent doing homework.
Fie!
Who's to say that many of our words that we use every day didn't start out as random sounds put together, and that just because you don't know how to pronounce them doesn't make them any less real?
With that encouraging thought in mind, I would urge you to do the same; next time you are confronted with that jumbled collection of distorted letters, don't rush on by and forget them, make a story!

The Lay of Xhdha*

Xhdha had fallen.
Although mighty in combat, Xhdha fell while attempting to cross the dunki of Gihob.
He slipped on the piigwo the herd of mkotidx had deposited, and before he could draw his yorut-handled breedle, the iviln-eyed horde of urhwyn were upon him, crying: "Yazknzer! Vjecc kyoke, Hoyrd!"

Ah, Xhdha, Xhdha!
Long will you be remembered.
I raise my duknsq to you, and drink.

All of the unfamiliar words in this example are genuine, that is, taken from an actual word verification request.

Here's the little video Sam and I made for Student Development Day.

Homework

To do, to have done
Would be good, there's no dispute.
But to do, to have did,
One must first begin doing.
I'd better start, he says,
And looks over what he has.

Reflective Ironing

I like ironing.
I realize that as a male that is a dangerous statement to make, but,
I like to iron.
I'm not sure what it is about it, whether it's the taking of something that was disarrayed and straighting it, bringing order and making it aesthetically pleasing, thus in my small way making the world a more orderly place...
Or perhaps it's because as I iron I think and reflect on "many things" in almost a Walrus and the Carpenter sort of way.
I think that as a man ironeth, so he liveth.
Do I really need to iron the back of my shirt? I'm probably going to be wearing a jacket all day. Besides, that part always wrinkles almost immediately after one climbs into the shirt anyway...
After all, it's not like people are going to walk up to you and say, "You ironed the back of your shirt! Let me buy you a steak dinner!"
People usually don't give you a gold star because you spent the extra time and ironed the back of your shirt, and they are usually quite offended when you ask.


Incidentally, I ironed the back of my shirt.