I have too many, and I don't devote enough time to any of them. I thought I'd make a list of things that I'm interested in and do at least once every two weeks.
-Guitar
-Writing
-Automating tasks on computers
-Web programming
-Magic the Gathering
-Video Games
-Hookah
-Running
-Lifting
-Casual social/political debate
-Taking apart electronics and messing with them
-Reading
-Collecting music, trading cards, and other random things (like hobbies, for instance...)
-Cooking (new)
-Marksmanship (new)
Whew. I think I need to pick a few and REALLY focus on them. If I did that then I would probably be better at them and feel more fulfilled. Then again, maybe my favorite hobby is collecting hobbies.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Story teaser
A man in a black bomber jacket and jeans leaned against the outer wall of the old midtown bank, looking as though he belonged there; it was as if he had leaned against that exact cement every day of his life, with not a care in the world besides the weather. In reality, it was Jason Arbent's first time in Pittsburgh, and therefore his first time using the "Majestic Midtown Bank" as a backrest. On this day, though, he could not look like a tourist. To look out of place, lost, or too interested in his surroundings would be suicide. He shifted his weight slightly to take a little of the pressure from his jeans off his left pocket. He pulled out a cigarette from that pocket, and put it in his mouth. Part of him cringed a little every time he placed one of the harmless-looking white cylinders to his lips; he was not a smoker normally, but nicotine did an excellent job of calming his nerves and steadying his hand.
Jason shifted his weight again, reaching into his right pocket this time, and retrieving... nothing. The casual observer would have thought he had just grabbed a lighter, but he didn't even own one. As far as he could remember, he had never had any use for them. For the sake of appearances, though, he raised his closed right fist, and cupped his left hand around the end of the cigarette. He even pretended to flick a nonexistent flint on his invisible lighter. 'I deserve an Oscar,' he thought to himself, as he focused his mind on the end of the cigarette. He felt a gentle pull throughout his body; so subtle that he never would have felt it if he hadn't been waiting for it. He could feel every molecule in the air between his hands and the cigarette. He could feel the tip of the cigarette growing hotter as the tugging sensation continued. The moment it ignited, he released his focus and took a deep drag. The slightly unsettling sensation of smoke filling his lungs was quickly replaced by the calm produced by the chemical cocktail in the cigarette.
He stood and smoked, staring around at the people walking down the street, doing their shopping, taking their lunch breaks. A few of them were old enough to be retired; probably just walking around and enjoying the spring weather. Jason envied those strangers the most. Despite his manufactured appearance, he could only imagine what it was like to have nowhere to be and an entire day to get there. His thoughts were cut short, however, when a man in a gray, well-cut suit bustled by. Maybe Armani, he thought. Whatever it was, it made Jason's outfit look like a bad joke. It was a shame, he thought, that his target had such a nice suit on. There probably wouldn't be much left of it by the time he was finished. Jason pulled a small hand-held device out of his pocket and pressed a quick sequence of numbers into the virtual keypad on the touch screen. He took one last quick pull from the cigarette, and then dropped it to the pavement. The lit end hit first, showering sparks into the air. They followed Jason's boot for a moment as he stepped into the sidewalk and hurried after the man in the gray suit.
[To be continued(?) ...]
Jason shifted his weight again, reaching into his right pocket this time, and retrieving... nothing. The casual observer would have thought he had just grabbed a lighter, but he didn't even own one. As far as he could remember, he had never had any use for them. For the sake of appearances, though, he raised his closed right fist, and cupped his left hand around the end of the cigarette. He even pretended to flick a nonexistent flint on his invisible lighter. 'I deserve an Oscar,' he thought to himself, as he focused his mind on the end of the cigarette. He felt a gentle pull throughout his body; so subtle that he never would have felt it if he hadn't been waiting for it. He could feel every molecule in the air between his hands and the cigarette. He could feel the tip of the cigarette growing hotter as the tugging sensation continued. The moment it ignited, he released his focus and took a deep drag. The slightly unsettling sensation of smoke filling his lungs was quickly replaced by the calm produced by the chemical cocktail in the cigarette.
He stood and smoked, staring around at the people walking down the street, doing their shopping, taking their lunch breaks. A few of them were old enough to be retired; probably just walking around and enjoying the spring weather. Jason envied those strangers the most. Despite his manufactured appearance, he could only imagine what it was like to have nowhere to be and an entire day to get there. His thoughts were cut short, however, when a man in a gray, well-cut suit bustled by. Maybe Armani, he thought. Whatever it was, it made Jason's outfit look like a bad joke. It was a shame, he thought, that his target had such a nice suit on. There probably wouldn't be much left of it by the time he was finished. Jason pulled a small hand-held device out of his pocket and pressed a quick sequence of numbers into the virtual keypad on the touch screen. He took one last quick pull from the cigarette, and then dropped it to the pavement. The lit end hit first, showering sparks into the air. They followed Jason's boot for a moment as he stepped into the sidewalk and hurried after the man in the gray suit.
[To be continued(?) ...]
Friday, July 15, 2011
What I feel right this second
Happy. The week was stressful, but I got through it alive, just as I always have. When I saw Leigh Ann tonight, all that stress, frustration and exhaustion melted away. I don't really think I need to post any more for now. I have been trying to come up with an idea for a new short story, though. If I do, then it will show up here first. G'night!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Random expression of angst
For some reason, when I woke up this morning I was immediately annoyed. I must have had a dream about someone or something I don't like. I have no idea, since I very seldom remember my dreams. All I know is that I'm still pissed, and since I'm not sure what's causing it, my normal anger management methods are useless.
By the way, unrelated, you're probably going to start seeing a lot more short stories out of me in the near future. I may be collaborating on a project with a friend, for which creative writing skills will be very useful. I need practice.
Bye for now.
By the way, unrelated, you're probably going to start seeing a lot more short stories out of me in the near future. I may be collaborating on a project with a friend, for which creative writing skills will be very useful. I need practice.
Bye for now.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Busy and stuff... and junk
Quick update today, because I just got home from work, and now I have to quickly go for a run, clean up and hit the bars downtown for a friend's birthday.
Leigh Ann and I decided to try dating. We're not doing the "Facebook official" thing because it's dumb. So, for all of you who care...
<3 Ryan is in a relationship with Leigh Ann
Consider that your notification. I will probably make another post later in the weekend when I'm not so busy. Until then...
"Wait, wait, I think Liam Neeson is beating a guy up... aw, nevermind, he's just talking to him. [20 seconds pass] Oh crap! Look! He just beat the guy up when we weren't looking! That bastard!"
Leigh Ann and I decided to try dating. We're not doing the "Facebook official" thing because it's dumb. So, for all of you who care...
<3 Ryan is in a relationship with Leigh Ann
Consider that your notification. I will probably make another post later in the weekend when I'm not so busy. Until then...
"Wait, wait, I think Liam Neeson is beating a guy up... aw, nevermind, he's just talking to him. [20 seconds pass] Oh crap! Look! He just beat the guy up when we weren't looking! That bastard!"
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Untitled Prose
The metal rungs of the fire escape made a dull clanking sound as the man's worn work boots collided with them in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sound echoed in the small space between two brick walls. There wasn't much wind between the apartment buildings, but Caleb knew that when he reached the roof there would be a friendly spring breeze to ruffle his already-messy hair. He didn't stand out in any way physically; if one was to think of a working class man in his mid-twenties, Caleb imagined they would picture him exactly as he was then. Unshaven, medium build, dark hair, blue eyes, wearing a graphic T-shirt and a pair of faded, frayed jeans. Well-worn work boots to completed the ensemble. The only outwardly extraordinary thing about Caleb, as far as he was concerned, was the guitar case slung across his back; the only reason anyone would give him a second look.
Within that guitar case was his only salvation; his only escape from the mundane reality that he had somehow found himself ensnared in. Warehouse inventory, sleep and the occasional beer with the guys were all just background noise next to music. He had never been formally taught, but if anyone had ever heard him play, they would have said he was gifted. Caleb didn't care one way or the other, though. How good or bad someone was at playing mattered none to him compared to whether or not the music came from the heart.
As he reached the top of the fire escape and stepped onto the gravel on the roof, Caleb felt that familiar breeze he had known would arrive, and smiled as he took his usual place on a crate near the edge of the roof facing the street. He opened the worn black guitar case, the latches making a dull thudding sound as they came undone for what must have been the millionth time. He removed his black Alvarez acoustic guitar from its velvet bed carefully, savoring the feel of it on his leg as he tuned it by ear. The guitar was pristine, the same as it had been when his father had given it to him at the age of 12, but tonight it felt different somehow. As he brought the high E string up half a step to match the low, Caleb began listening for more than just the hum of the string he was tuning.
Silence was all that met his ears as he strained them. It was wrong, somehow. The guitar felt so heavy in his hands. His heart was heavier still. Suddenly a vivid image flashed through his mind, one of a pretty blonde girl with bright green eyes shaking her head sadly at him before closing the door he had knocked on just minutes before. It was all wrong; he never thought about Sarah while he was on his roof. This was supposed to be his escape from all the pain and hardship of life. How had it caught up to him? He sat still in the silence for another minute, trying to understand how he had never noticed how lonely it was up on that roof. How had he ever been so joyful and carefree while sitting alone and playing notes he didn't even know the names of?
There was only one thing he could think to do; Caleb began playing a song he had heard years ago on the radio. It was one of his favorites, guaranteed to bring a smile to his face. It was a song about summertime. But once again, he was struck by how empty the world seemed. His voice sounded flat, his playing seemed sloppy though it was no different than normal. Caleb's throat closed; probably a good thing, or he might have screamed in anguish. Somehow, the magic had abandoned him for a night.
His boots creaked as they took on his weight. The guitar case thudded closed. The gravel scraped with his footsteps as he made his way across the roof to the fire escape and descended. Maybe the next time would be different, he thought.
A door leading to the roof from the interior stairwell of the apartment building creaked open shortly after Caleb's head disappeared from view. A girl of twenty three stepped hesitantly onto the gravel surface. She had long, dark hair and deep, wide brown eyes. She was stunning, though no one in her life had ever managed to convince her of that fact after an abusive relationship in her teenage years. Her lips were parted slightly as she took a quiet breath of the evening air and searched for the man to whom the familiar voice belonged. She had listened to that voice every week for months. She had heard his music one night through her window on the top floor facing the street, and ever since then she had spent her Sunday evenings sitting next to that open window, her arms around her knees, eyes closed, and a smile on her face as she listened to him singing his heart.
It had taken Rachel all those weeks simply to work up the courage to come and listen to him in person. She wasn't sure if it was possible to love someone you have never seen before, but whatever she felt for the singing man was not something she could ignore. That night she had decided that she was tired of being alone in her apartment, and tired of not knowing the face of the one making that beautiful music. She looked all over the roof for him; maybe he had moved to a different side. After a minute, though, she was forced to conclude that he had decided not to show up that week. She listened for another moment, and heard only silence. It was as if she was the only person on Earth that night. As Rachel walked back toward the door leading inside, she wondered if the singing man felt as lonely as she did on that roof. She hoped he didn't; whoever he was, he didn't deserve to feel alone.
As the roof door closed behind Rachel, an ordinary-looking man carrying a guitar case slowly rounded the corner, his eyes on the ground. Then, he was gone.
Within that guitar case was his only salvation; his only escape from the mundane reality that he had somehow found himself ensnared in. Warehouse inventory, sleep and the occasional beer with the guys were all just background noise next to music. He had never been formally taught, but if anyone had ever heard him play, they would have said he was gifted. Caleb didn't care one way or the other, though. How good or bad someone was at playing mattered none to him compared to whether or not the music came from the heart.
As he reached the top of the fire escape and stepped onto the gravel on the roof, Caleb felt that familiar breeze he had known would arrive, and smiled as he took his usual place on a crate near the edge of the roof facing the street. He opened the worn black guitar case, the latches making a dull thudding sound as they came undone for what must have been the millionth time. He removed his black Alvarez acoustic guitar from its velvet bed carefully, savoring the feel of it on his leg as he tuned it by ear. The guitar was pristine, the same as it had been when his father had given it to him at the age of 12, but tonight it felt different somehow. As he brought the high E string up half a step to match the low, Caleb began listening for more than just the hum of the string he was tuning.
Silence was all that met his ears as he strained them. It was wrong, somehow. The guitar felt so heavy in his hands. His heart was heavier still. Suddenly a vivid image flashed through his mind, one of a pretty blonde girl with bright green eyes shaking her head sadly at him before closing the door he had knocked on just minutes before. It was all wrong; he never thought about Sarah while he was on his roof. This was supposed to be his escape from all the pain and hardship of life. How had it caught up to him? He sat still in the silence for another minute, trying to understand how he had never noticed how lonely it was up on that roof. How had he ever been so joyful and carefree while sitting alone and playing notes he didn't even know the names of?
There was only one thing he could think to do; Caleb began playing a song he had heard years ago on the radio. It was one of his favorites, guaranteed to bring a smile to his face. It was a song about summertime. But once again, he was struck by how empty the world seemed. His voice sounded flat, his playing seemed sloppy though it was no different than normal. Caleb's throat closed; probably a good thing, or he might have screamed in anguish. Somehow, the magic had abandoned him for a night.
His boots creaked as they took on his weight. The guitar case thudded closed. The gravel scraped with his footsteps as he made his way across the roof to the fire escape and descended. Maybe the next time would be different, he thought.
A door leading to the roof from the interior stairwell of the apartment building creaked open shortly after Caleb's head disappeared from view. A girl of twenty three stepped hesitantly onto the gravel surface. She had long, dark hair and deep, wide brown eyes. She was stunning, though no one in her life had ever managed to convince her of that fact after an abusive relationship in her teenage years. Her lips were parted slightly as she took a quiet breath of the evening air and searched for the man to whom the familiar voice belonged. She had listened to that voice every week for months. She had heard his music one night through her window on the top floor facing the street, and ever since then she had spent her Sunday evenings sitting next to that open window, her arms around her knees, eyes closed, and a smile on her face as she listened to him singing his heart.
It had taken Rachel all those weeks simply to work up the courage to come and listen to him in person. She wasn't sure if it was possible to love someone you have never seen before, but whatever she felt for the singing man was not something she could ignore. That night she had decided that she was tired of being alone in her apartment, and tired of not knowing the face of the one making that beautiful music. She looked all over the roof for him; maybe he had moved to a different side. After a minute, though, she was forced to conclude that he had decided not to show up that week. She listened for another moment, and heard only silence. It was as if she was the only person on Earth that night. As Rachel walked back toward the door leading inside, she wondered if the singing man felt as lonely as she did on that roof. She hoped he didn't; whoever he was, he didn't deserve to feel alone.
As the roof door closed behind Rachel, an ordinary-looking man carrying a guitar case slowly rounded the corner, his eyes on the ground. Then, he was gone.
Lessons
I've learned a few things this week:
1) Having 3 monitors is awesome. Having a job that actually requires you to use all 3 is even more awesome.
2) Being a grown-up gets boring pretty fast. I'm going to have to find some extracurriculars next week before I become all 1-dimensional and friendless and whatnot.
3) Sometimes it's better not knowing. Don't search for someone you really like(d) / have a history with on Facebook unless you're prepared to be reminded:
a) How beautiful she is
b) How much you miss her
c) That she moved on
Yep... ow. But, such is life I suppose.
P.S. - I told you a post or two ago that I was going to start being blunter.
P.P.S. - Next post will probably be more upbeat.
1) Having 3 monitors is awesome. Having a job that actually requires you to use all 3 is even more awesome.
2) Being a grown-up gets boring pretty fast. I'm going to have to find some extracurriculars next week before I become all 1-dimensional and friendless and whatnot.
3) Sometimes it's better not knowing. Don't search for someone you really like(d) / have a history with on Facebook unless you're prepared to be reminded:
a) How beautiful she is
b) How much you miss her
c) That she moved on
Yep... ow. But, such is life I suppose.
P.S. - I told you a post or two ago that I was going to start being blunter.
P.P.S. - Next post will probably be more upbeat.
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