(no subject)
Dec. 5th, 2010 01:04 am![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
fairyarmadillo and I went to Orlando for my Thanksgivingbirthday this year, upon invite from my mother and stepfather.Everybody liked everybody else.
I took a few pictures.
Click the pic.
For moar.
fairyarmadillo and I went to Orlando for my Thanksgivingbirthday this year, upon invite from my mother and stepfather.Everybody liked everybody else.
I took a few pictures.
Click the pic.
For moar.
So,
fairyarmadillo pointed out to me the existence of the website and demanded I submit a pic. Then, yesterday...I made it onto Hot Nerds Reading Comics
:P
In other news, go check out my brother Nathan's Twitter feed. I don't care if you don't read Twitter, go fucking look, or you'll miss such gems as:
"The best way to see ohio? In the rearview mirror. currently in indiana where the state motto is 'the restroom between ohio and illinois.'"
"heading out to play Ulitmate Frisbee with some pals, colloquially known as "tryin to get my disc wet.""
"WILD night last night, Molotov makes the BEST cocktails. It was a riot."
"I say "Hell Sure!" instead of "Hell Yea!" when I don't feel quite as committed."
b
(no subject)
Sep. 18th, 2008 01:41 pmHOLY CRAP, IT'S THE 13th ANNUAL
"SEND MY MOTHER A BIRTHDAY E-MAIL DAY"!!!
"SEND MY MOTHER A BIRTHDAY E-MAIL DAY"!!!
You see, I can't remember the last time I saw my mama on her birthday. She's lived in Florida since the very beginning of the 90's, and while I see her a few times a year, it hasn't been on her birthday since who knows when.
And since my Mama is THE HEIGHT OF FANTASTIC and one of the smartest, funniest, and by far kindest people I've ever had the pleasure to know in my entire life...well, she's had more of an impact on who I am today than anybody else in the world. As such, I like to do something for her on her birthday. She hates getting gifts, though, so I've been doing this instead, ever since I had to telnet into my uiuc.edu account using a 14.4 modem, where I would then read my e-mail using Pine...
HERE'S THE DEAL:
Her e-mail is n8annet@hotmail.com.
I don't care if you know her or not. Indeed, only a small handful of you have ever even seen her. Doesn't matter.
Take a few seconds right now and send her a birthday greeting.
It doesn't have to be anything other than "Your son sent me; Happy Birthday Annet Stein! He's batshit insane but I nice guy, I guess if you're cool with batshit insane!"
You can do it however you want, simple or complex...but don't go sending her goatse shots or I'll track you down and kick your ovaries so hard they'll knock your eyes out from the inside.
EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE OVARIES.
Keep in the spirit of her birthday, yo.
And you know what?
Tell your friends.
Tell all of 'em. Repost this in YOUR LJ and tell people to wish my Mama a happy birthday.
Help celebrate the woman who, when it comes to me, did the absolute best with what she was given to work with. :)
Here are two photos of Mama in front of two different laundry machines. One of them is in France. One of them has the leg of my youngest brother, Nathan.
We love us some laundry, we do...
(no subject)
Jul. 23rd, 2008 01:31 pmSince writing has taken a back back burner with Sara sick--no change, by the way, and no updates--I thought I'd repost this Sir Reginald story that my brother Jason wrote almost two years ago.
Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you his story:
"Sir Reginald and the Church Basement"
by Jason P. Stone
---------
Contrary to his custom, Sir Reginald was abroad before breakfast. A construction foreman, a McFeeney, or McSurely, or McSomeoneorother had asked him to come to St. Philomena's at 6 a.m., but under no circumstances was he to tell the priest. The mystery of it all attracted him, though he had a hard time imagining that any sort of worthwhile mystery could be connected with union labor.
St. Philomena's was a heavy and imposing, if somewhat ordinary, Romanesque revival pile of white limestone and a gray slate roof. Behind it, a new parish office building was being constructed up against the church. As he approached the gate in the chain-link fence, the foreman offered him a hard hat. Sir Reginald declined.
As they walked to the excavation, the foreman described how the day before they were opening a doorway into the church basement. Sir Reginald wondered if he could avoid having to remember the man's name. Evidently, it had been an exterior basement door that had been bricked up and backfilled, and the architect wanted it re-opened to connect the two basements. They came to the edge of the excavation, and the foreman pointed to the doorway. It was a doorway. It was slightly arched at the top, and a pile of bricks lay just inside the basement.
"I see," Sir Reginald said. Remarkable, he thought, that the stained glass windows in the apse should extend as far down as they did.
The foreman led him through a side door into the sacristy and down the basement steps. It was an interesting basement, but a basement nonetheless. It was only partially excavated, with a dirt floor and a long passageway cut into the dirt, which was about shoulder-high. Other passageways branched off from the main one. Three turns later, Sir Reginald was standing before the same doorway and the same pile of bricks.
Sir Reginald looked through the doorway. Perhaps this would be worth missing breakfast after all. Instead of an excavation, he saw a lake tossed by the wind and forms that looked strangely human lowering small soft objects into the water or fetching them up again. He took a brick and tossed it through the doorway. It landed, and one of the forms turned to look, then went back about its business.
Sir Reginald cocked his head and put his fist to his mouth and thought. He was disturbed by the voice of the foreman."I think it's P—Purgatory."
"Purgatory?" And after a moment, "Ah, yes. Gerontius and all that." After another pause, "Has anyone gone in there?"
"N—no. We all got wives and kids, Mr. . . ."
"Sir Reginald."
"Sorry, Sir Reginald. What should we do, Sir Reginald?"
"We? Hadn't you better tell Father?"
"No!" The foreman was horrified. "If I told him, he'd have to tell the bishop. Then, the bishop would come with a troop of monsignori at his heels. Loose lips sink ships, you know. One loose lip, and a whole parade of pilgrims descends on my construction site looking for their dear departed."
Sir Reginald thought about clapping with one hand, and the man continued: "We'd never make our deadline, and that'd cost us money."
As Sir Reginald began to rearrange his chi in hopes of clapping with one hand, the foreman stepped around in front of him. "Can't you exorcise it or something?"
"Exorcise Purgatory, my good man? One can hardly exorcise a place with no demons in it."
The foreman glanced nervously at his watch. At 7 a.m., his crew would arrive, and the first Mass of the day would be said. He had to get Sir Reginald out of the basement before the priest arrived in the sacristy.
"We've got to do something."
"What you've got to do is brick it back up. From the outside."
"Can't you make it go away?"
"Look, man, it was fine for a hundred years inside a brick wall, and it will be fine for another hundred once you put the wall back up. I can't believe you brought me here to tell you that!"
The foreman was dumfounded. As soon as he recovered his panic, he asked, "What are we…I…going to tell the architect when he says open it back up again?"
Sir Reginald was annoyed.
And there you have it. Now I totally want to convince as many family members as I can to write Sir Reginald stories.
benjamin
PS: Jason has included the following as a bit of a lesson about the imagery and information in the story, 'cause he's like that:
( If you're curious... )
Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you his story:
"Sir Reginald and the Church Basement"
by Jason P. Stone
---------
Contrary to his custom, Sir Reginald was abroad before breakfast. A construction foreman, a McFeeney, or McSurely, or McSomeoneorother had asked him to come to St. Philomena's at 6 a.m., but under no circumstances was he to tell the priest. The mystery of it all attracted him, though he had a hard time imagining that any sort of worthwhile mystery could be connected with union labor.
St. Philomena's was a heavy and imposing, if somewhat ordinary, Romanesque revival pile of white limestone and a gray slate roof. Behind it, a new parish office building was being constructed up against the church. As he approached the gate in the chain-link fence, the foreman offered him a hard hat. Sir Reginald declined.
As they walked to the excavation, the foreman described how the day before they were opening a doorway into the church basement. Sir Reginald wondered if he could avoid having to remember the man's name. Evidently, it had been an exterior basement door that had been bricked up and backfilled, and the architect wanted it re-opened to connect the two basements. They came to the edge of the excavation, and the foreman pointed to the doorway. It was a doorway. It was slightly arched at the top, and a pile of bricks lay just inside the basement.
"I see," Sir Reginald said. Remarkable, he thought, that the stained glass windows in the apse should extend as far down as they did.
The foreman led him through a side door into the sacristy and down the basement steps. It was an interesting basement, but a basement nonetheless. It was only partially excavated, with a dirt floor and a long passageway cut into the dirt, which was about shoulder-high. Other passageways branched off from the main one. Three turns later, Sir Reginald was standing before the same doorway and the same pile of bricks.
Sir Reginald looked through the doorway. Perhaps this would be worth missing breakfast after all. Instead of an excavation, he saw a lake tossed by the wind and forms that looked strangely human lowering small soft objects into the water or fetching them up again. He took a brick and tossed it through the doorway. It landed, and one of the forms turned to look, then went back about its business.
Sir Reginald cocked his head and put his fist to his mouth and thought. He was disturbed by the voice of the foreman."I think it's P—Purgatory."
"Purgatory?" And after a moment, "Ah, yes. Gerontius and all that." After another pause, "Has anyone gone in there?"
"N—no. We all got wives and kids, Mr. . . ."
"Sir Reginald."
"Sorry, Sir Reginald. What should we do, Sir Reginald?"
"We? Hadn't you better tell Father?"
"No!" The foreman was horrified. "If I told him, he'd have to tell the bishop. Then, the bishop would come with a troop of monsignori at his heels. Loose lips sink ships, you know. One loose lip, and a whole parade of pilgrims descends on my construction site looking for their dear departed."
Sir Reginald thought about clapping with one hand, and the man continued: "We'd never make our deadline, and that'd cost us money."
As Sir Reginald began to rearrange his chi in hopes of clapping with one hand, the foreman stepped around in front of him. "Can't you exorcise it or something?"
"Exorcise Purgatory, my good man? One can hardly exorcise a place with no demons in it."
The foreman glanced nervously at his watch. At 7 a.m., his crew would arrive, and the first Mass of the day would be said. He had to get Sir Reginald out of the basement before the priest arrived in the sacristy.
"We've got to do something."
"What you've got to do is brick it back up. From the outside."
"Can't you make it go away?"
"Look, man, it was fine for a hundred years inside a brick wall, and it will be fine for another hundred once you put the wall back up. I can't believe you brought me here to tell you that!"
The foreman was dumfounded. As soon as he recovered his panic, he asked, "What are we…I…going to tell the architect when he says open it back up again?"
Sir Reginald was annoyed.
"Oh, make something up."
Another glance at the watch. Time was running out, and the foreman was too nervous to think. Sir Reginald, meanwhile, was trying to clap with one hand again.
"I don't know what to tell him."
"Tell him anything,” said Sir Reginald, losing his patience. “Tell him the portal…er, the doorway…was unstable, and you had to fill it back in."
Fr. Schneidemann was a good, punctual German, and he had already arrived in the sacristy. Noticing the open door to the basement, he followed the sound of voices to the portal. He might have admired the accuracy of Cardinal Newman's description of Purgatory, or he might at least have spoken to the men. Instead, he simply exclaimed, "Mother, is that you?" and rushed over the bricks and through the portal before either man could stop him.
"Poor man. Portals like that are always one-way."
The foreman was beside himself. "There's a Mass in ten minutes! The Bishop is coming next week! We've got to get him out of there!"
"That would take a plenary indulgence. And I haven't got one."
The foreman made a noise as if to speak, but Sir Reginald held his finger to his lips and slowly said, "Brick it back up." And he turned to leave.
On his way to breakfast, Sir Reginald made one last effort and gave up. Who ever heard of an Englishman clapping with one hand, anyway?
----------------------------------------
And there you have it. Now I totally want to convince as many family members as I can to write Sir Reginald stories.
benjamin
PS: Jason has included the following as a bit of a lesson about the imagery and information in the story, 'cause he's like that:
( If you're curious... )
(no subject)
May. 29th, 2008 09:30 amAs if 2008, and May in particular, weren't horrible enough for me, my dad just called to let me know that my grandmother, Thelma Louise Stone, nee Jones, died quietly this morning. She was 89 and had been very ill--not the kind of ill that you get better from--so I know that it was really the best thing. Knowledge like that doesn't really make things suck any less, though.
She and I had some differences, but I really did love her so very much.
She and I had some differences, but I really did love her so very much.
(no subject)
Nov. 25th, 2007 09:17 amIs supposedly my birthday.
People are saying I'm 31.
I suspect conspiracy and lies.
Will get to bottom of this even if it killsme other people.
On a more positive note, gifts have included a bottle of scotch and another booze from![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
funranium, a year of paid LJ from ar901, a text message from the ever-sexy bobo_dreams, gift cards for clothes and books, another bottle of scotch from Sara's mother and stepfather, a book collecting the Superman Sunday strips from 1939-1943, a new modem, a bacon wallet, a Flying Screaming Monkey and a call from my Mama / stepfather "Uncle" Natey / little sister Ajay / little brother Nate 1000.
Life is good.
People are saying I'm 31.
I suspect conspiracy and lies.
Will get to bottom of this even if it kills
On a more positive note, gifts have included a bottle of scotch and another booze from
funranium, a year of paid LJ from ar901, a text message from the ever-sexy bobo_dreams, gift cards for clothes and books, another bottle of scotch from Sara's mother and stepfather, a book collecting the Superman Sunday strips from 1939-1943, a new modem, a bacon wallet, a Flying Screaming Monkey and a call from my Mama / stepfather "Uncle" Natey / little sister Ajay / little brother Nate 1000.Life is good.
(no subject)
Nov. 5th, 2007 07:15 amThis is my brother Jason:
He's a lawyer and lives in Quincy, Illinois. One of my other brothers, Matthew, sent him some cards from the Fairmont Empress hotel in Vancouver, British Columbia. They're blank on the inside but feature the hotel's "Heraldic Badge" on the front.
Said Jason, "I felt so ridiculous sending them from home, so I began redecorating them."
As such, here's what arrived in our mailbox on Saturday:
I love my family.
Unrelated: Sara is sick again. We think it's just a cold. If it goes away quickly, I hope to acquire tuburculosis soon. You see, I'm feeling nearly all better from my previous sickness and we'd hate for people to stop thinking that we're a plague house.
b
He's a lawyer and lives in Quincy, Illinois. One of my other brothers, Matthew, sent him some cards from the Fairmont Empress hotel in Vancouver, British Columbia. They're blank on the inside but feature the hotel's "Heraldic Badge" on the front.
Said Jason, "I felt so ridiculous sending them from home, so I began redecorating them."
As such, here's what arrived in our mailbox on Saturday:
I love my family.
Unrelated: Sara is sick again. We think it's just a cold. If it goes away quickly, I hope to acquire tuburculosis soon. You see, I'm feeling nearly all better from my previous sickness and we'd hate for people to stop thinking that we're a plague house.
b
(no subject)
Sep. 17th, 2007 11:29 pmYep, it's that time of year again.
It's September 18th, and for any of you who are new to my LJ or my life, that means...
IT'S SEND MY MOTHER A BIRTHDAY E-MAIL DAY!!!
I've been doing this for...well, somewhere around 12 or more years now. You see, I can't remember the last time I saw my mama on her birthday. She's lived in Florida since the very beginning of the 90's, and while I see her a few times a year, it hasn't been on her birthday since who knows when.
And since my Mama is THE HEIGHT OF FANTASTIC and one of the smartest, funniest, and by far kindest people I've ever had the pleasure to know in my entire life...well, she's had more of an impact on who I am today than anybody else in the world. As such, I like to do something for her on her birthday. She hates getting gifts, though, so I've been doing this instead, ever since I had to telnet into my uiuc.edu account using a 14.4 modem...
HERE'S THE DEAL:
Her e-mail is n8annet@hotmail.com.
I don't care if you know her or not. Indeed, only a small handful of you have ever even seen her.
Doesn't matter.
Take a few seconds right now and send her a birthday greeting.
It doesn't have to be anything other than "'Your son sent me, Happy Birthday Annet Stein!"
You can do it however you want, simple or complext.
But don't go sending her goatse shots or I'll track you down and pop your eyes like grapes. Keep in the spirit of her birthday, yo.
And you know what? Tell your friends. Tell all of 'em. Repost this in YOUR LJ and tell people to wish my Mama a happy birthday.
Help celebrate the woman who, when it comes to me, did the absolute best with what she was given to work with. :)
Here's a shot of her at a laundromat in France. She loves laundry. So do I. We think it's the mild autism that runs in our family. Man, we can stare into a washing machine for the whole damn cycle, and...
...
Sorry, I drifted for a bit. In any event, this is her, and she's fantastic, and help us celebrate.
Thanks for the help, my monkeys.
Go spread the word.
b
It's September 18th, and for any of you who are new to my LJ or my life, that means...
IT'S SEND MY MOTHER A BIRTHDAY E-MAIL DAY!!!
I've been doing this for...well, somewhere around 12 or more years now. You see, I can't remember the last time I saw my mama on her birthday. She's lived in Florida since the very beginning of the 90's, and while I see her a few times a year, it hasn't been on her birthday since who knows when.
And since my Mama is THE HEIGHT OF FANTASTIC and one of the smartest, funniest, and by far kindest people I've ever had the pleasure to know in my entire life...well, she's had more of an impact on who I am today than anybody else in the world. As such, I like to do something for her on her birthday. She hates getting gifts, though, so I've been doing this instead, ever since I had to telnet into my uiuc.edu account using a 14.4 modem...
HERE'S THE DEAL:
Her e-mail is n8annet@hotmail.com.
I don't care if you know her or not. Indeed, only a small handful of you have ever even seen her.
Doesn't matter.
Take a few seconds right now and send her a birthday greeting.
It doesn't have to be anything other than "'Your son sent me, Happy Birthday Annet Stein!"
You can do it however you want, simple or complext.
But don't go sending her goatse shots or I'll track you down and pop your eyes like grapes. Keep in the spirit of her birthday, yo.
And you know what? Tell your friends. Tell all of 'em. Repost this in YOUR LJ and tell people to wish my Mama a happy birthday.
Help celebrate the woman who, when it comes to me, did the absolute best with what she was given to work with. :)
Here's a shot of her at a laundromat in France. She loves laundry. So do I. We think it's the mild autism that runs in our family. Man, we can stare into a washing machine for the whole damn cycle, and...
...
Sorry, I drifted for a bit. In any event, this is her, and she's fantastic, and help us celebrate.
Thanks for the help, my monkeys.
Go spread the word.
b
(no subject)
Nov. 16th, 2006 01:40 pmMy opposition to the war nothwithstanding, I'm proud as hell of my Cousin:
DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY
This is to certify that
The Secretary of the Navy has awarded the
NAVY AND MARINE CORPS COMMENDATION MEDAL
TO
Corporal AARON A. HENEHAN
FOR
Meritorious achievement while serving as squad leader, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, Regimental Combat Team 7, 1 Marine Expeditionary Force Forward, from 4 March to 10 June 2006 in support of operation Iraqi Freedom. Corporal Henehan successfully led his squad on more than 80 combat missions in Husaybah , IRAQ . Through meticulous preparation and detailed mission planning, squad located and subsequently detained 18 insurgents wanted by coalition forces, significantly disrupting insurgent operations. His vast knowledge of the city and its inhabitants, his personal initiative in maintaining current information on tribal and family boundaries, and his intense preparation for every combat patrol were instrumental in the success of the platoon and company. Corporal Henehan’s initiative, perseverance, and total dedication to duty reflected credit upon him and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United States Naval Service.
Apparently the Navy/Marine version is handed out far less often than the Army, Air Force, and Joint Forces ones.
b
DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY
This is to certify that
The Secretary of the Navy has awarded the
NAVY AND MARINE CORPS COMMENDATION MEDAL
TO
Corporal AARON A. HENEHAN
FOR
Meritorious achievement while serving as squad leader, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, Regimental Combat Team 7, 1 Marine Expeditionary Force Forward, from 4 March to 10 June 2006 in support of operation Iraqi Freedom. Corporal Henehan successfully led his squad on more than 80 combat missions in Husaybah , IRAQ . Through meticulous preparation and detailed mission planning, squad located and subsequently detained 18 insurgents wanted by coalition forces, significantly disrupting insurgent operations. His vast knowledge of the city and its inhabitants, his personal initiative in maintaining current information on tribal and family boundaries, and his intense preparation for every combat patrol were instrumental in the success of the platoon and company. Corporal Henehan’s initiative, perseverance, and total dedication to duty reflected credit upon him and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United States Naval Service.
Apparently the Navy/Marine version is handed out far less often than the Army, Air Force, and Joint Forces ones.
b
Oh, Matthew John...
Feb. 11th, 2006 06:38 pmMy brother Matthew is batshit insane.
I received the following e-mail from him, regarding FWMA:3
-------------------------------------
"I'm working on fucking with your art. I'm exploring the lesbian angle. So far it's something like this:
Plot summary:
Short-haired stereotype girl walks into the diner in a vinyl miniskirt. The long-legged waitress walked over. Girl says she'd like a grilled cheese.
With mustard and pickles. How about some tuna? asks the waitress. I like tuna, don't you, she says. Girl says, No, just pickles and mustard. Then the waitress hikes up her skirt, jumps up on the table, rubs her crotch on girl's face and says. How can you pass up tuna?" Degrades into lesbian porn, finishing with the immortal line, "you naughty girl, you better come on my finger."
OK, maybe I'd better not fuck with your art right now."
-------------------------------------
benjamin
Whose whole family is crazy as something that's really crazy
I received the following e-mail from him, regarding FWMA:3
-------------------------------------
"I'm working on fucking with your art. I'm exploring the lesbian angle. So far it's something like this:
Plot summary:
Short-haired stereotype girl walks into the diner in a vinyl miniskirt. The long-legged waitress walked over. Girl says she'd like a grilled cheese.
With mustard and pickles. How about some tuna? asks the waitress. I like tuna, don't you, she says. Girl says, No, just pickles and mustard. Then the waitress hikes up her skirt, jumps up on the table, rubs her crotch on girl's face and says. How can you pass up tuna?" Degrades into lesbian porn, finishing with the immortal line, "you naughty girl, you better come on my finger."
OK, maybe I'd better not fuck with your art right now."
-------------------------------------
benjamin
Whose whole family is crazy as something that's really crazy
Photos of My Recent Life
Dec. 23rd, 2005 08:25 pmWe begin with the checks I ordered, with my very own drawing on them. Please notice the special message under the amount line...
( MORE MORE MORE, family and crazybooks and did he really eat that?! )
That's it for now. Peace out, happy holidays. I'll keep you updating on more writing and the release date for my first article-for-money.
b
Off to wrap presents, clean the house, and watch GODZILLA: FINAL WARS, the last Godzilla film for at least ten years...
(current music: Prince - "Let's Go Crazy")
( MORE MORE MORE, family and crazybooks and did he really eat that?! )
That's it for now. Peace out, happy holidays. I'll keep you updating on more writing and the release date for my first article-for-money.
b
Off to wrap presents, clean the house, and watch GODZILLA: FINAL WARS, the last Godzilla film for at least ten years...
(current music: Prince - "Let's Go Crazy")
