Monkey Shines

Summer Photo Adventure: The "Watercolours" House of Edisto Beach

2011-09-08T07:17:00.000-07:00

In July, my family and I were invited to experience an incredible house on a beautiful beach. My Mom had visited this massive four-story beach house before, and had been raving about it ever since. She had been hoping for months that my kids and I would get to see it.

Once I saw it for myself, I understood why Mom couldn't stop talking about it. I decided to document the experience as a photo blog so that I'll always have something concrete to look back at to remember this adventure (the pictures also serve as inspiration for my own dream house.)

Here are the photos from that awesome summer adventure with few textual interruptions...7.04.11 - Summer Photo Adventure

I Kissed A Squirrel

2011-06-28T15:21:00.000-07:00

"I Kissed A Squirrel" by Shane McElveen and Curtis Hart
(based on "I Kissed A Girl" by Katie Perry)

v1
Am             C                  Dm                   F
This was never the way I planned / when I came to the convention
Am             C                  Dm                   F
Had one too many drinks oh man / Lost all sense of dimension
Am             C                  Dm                   F
Furries I'm not used to / How'd you get that costume on?
Am             C                  Dm                   F
mor-bid-ly curi-ous for you / just wanna get my fur on...

Chorus:
Am             C                  Dm                   F
I kissed a squirrel and I liked it / the taste of her nutty bits, oh
Am             C                  Dm                   F
I kissed a squirrel just to try it / never thought I'd prefer rodent
Am             C                  Dm                   F
Her nose felt so cold, her fur was so tight / Don't mean I'm vegan tonight.
Am             C            Dm                F
I kissed a squirrel and I liked it (I liked it)

v2
Don't usually go for small game / it doesn't matter

Love it when you chitter my name / my pervert's nature

It's not what PETA would do / Not how humans should behave

Thinkin' with the wrong head / Beast-i-al-i-tay!

(Chorus)

Pre-chorus:

Those anthromorphs, so magical / Fuzzy soft snout, so kissable.

Just wanna squeeze, so hugable / Too good to, de-ny it

Fluf-fy soft tail, I think I'm spent!

(Chorus)

END.

The Pee Pee Dance

2011-06-28T15:10:00.000-07:00

Just because I'm feeling silly...

"The Pee Pee Dance" by Shane McElveen

(based on "Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats)

P-p-p-p P-p-p-p pee-pee-pee-pee-pee-pee
Pee Pee, Dance!

[Spoken]
I can pee when I want to
I can sit down on the can

But my friends all stand and if I don't stand
They'll wonder if I'm a man
I can piss where I want to
If I'm given half a chance
But I gotta go soon `cause if I don't go
I'm gonna do the pee pee dance
Yes I'll dance

[Sung]
I can pee where I want to
I can leave my house behind
Run into the woods and piss in the woods
And show my white behind
I say, I can go where I want to
Where no one will ever see
I can squirt like the coach from League of Their Own
Take an hour just to pee
Pee pee dance
Dance!

We can pee when we want to
We've been waiting, having to go
And we can stand here sweet and spray on our feet
Or run out back and loose the hose
Say, we can run in the girl's room
We won't get another chance
Or you can act upset like you've never done it
And stay and do the pee pee dance

[Refrain]
Pee pee dance, wee wee dance
Grabbing' willy while I prance
Pee pee dance, wee wee dance
Gonna soak right through my pants
Pee pee dance, wee wee dance
Cross my legs and start to pray
Pee pee dance, wee wee dance
Everybody back awa-a-a-ay

Pee pee dance
I'll do the pee pee dance
I'll do the wee wee dance

P-p-p-p E-e-e-e E-e-e-e P-p-p-p E-e-e-e E-e-e-e
Pee pee, dance!

We can pee if we want to
Every day and every night
If you back your bowels up, you'll screw them all up
Then nothing will come out right
I say, we can piss if we want to
We can use the public john
But don't talk in the can, cause if you talk to me man
Well then you're no friend of mine

[Refrain]

Is it safe to pee, oh is it safe to pee [6x]
Pee pee dance

The Night Before Rapture

2011-05-20T22:38:00.000-07:00

`Twas the night before rapture and all through the place
everybody was snoring, pillows stuffed in each face.
The kidlets were trumpeting snores as an art,
learned from their father (with the occasional fart.)

I sat wired on coffee, at my monitor I stared
with visions of heaven and how I'm unprepared
to be hauled into space on this balmy of nights
to sing with the angels about godly delights.
When what to my rock-deafened ears did give sign
but the Son of God! Jesus Christ! I ain't lyin'!

He smiled as I jostled to delete all my pron
and said, "Too late to worry with all that now, son.

I'm here to tell you to calm yourself down.

Coming tonight? Man, I'm always around!

The guy you called faggot and bullied in class.

The girl you picked on because she had a fat butt (got ya.)

I asked for some help, and you wouldn't buy food.

The old lady that stumbled, and you acted so rude.

"I'm not here to make you feel guilty or lowly.

I'm not here to make you tell me you're not worthy.

I came to bring peace in a world full of war

and tell you what virtues and honor are for.

Not to give you excuses to hate and to maim

or burn those that differ, or kill in the Name.

Don't worry about rapture or when I'll ride through;

just treat others as you want them to treat you."

Thoughts About Mothers and Fathers

2011-05-06T22:26:00.000-07:00

My friend David lost his father today to cancer. I can imagine what he's going through, but it's just speculation and sympathy. I have no way of knowing the pain and loss that he's feeling. I've realized over a lifetime of days like this that you can feel sad for your friends, and you can feel relief that their loved one isn't in pain any longer, but there's just nothing to be said. There are no words you can say that will bring their loved one back to them. You can't fix it for them. All you can really do is be around if they do want to talk...or if they don't.

You can also be thankful for the loved ones you do have, whether they be partners, parents, children, siblings or friends who might as well be siblings. I thought long and hard today about my own family's relationship. There have been ups and downs, like with any family, but late last year was a turning point for us in that we all seem to appreciate each other more now. We try to watch our mouths more as not to piss each other off. We do little things to show each other that we love each other. I'm thankful for that beyond words. I know that, God forbid, if something was to happen to any of them, I'm at peace with them and they know I love them. I think in the end, that's really the best we can do in the face of the inevitable.

Over my lifetime, I've been incredibly blessed to meet a great many people who I have loved, learned from and befriended. I have always known that if the worst happened, I have a roof over my head and somewhere to have a meal. I have always known the companionship of friends. Friends have become brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers to me. I hope that these dear people know how I feel about them, b/c they have made my life full and interesting. I have never walked completely alone...I've never had to. For that, I am extremely thankful tonight.

I don't know when my own Dad's time will come, but I know that he has been more than a father to me over the years. He's been a hero, an enemy at times...but always loving and present, and more often than not, a wise friend who believes in me. When it is his time, or mine, I'll know that we loved, understood and respected each other before it was over. And I can't ask for more than that. In fact, I'm damn lucky.

To my own Mom, I love you, Mom. Thank you for everything. Happy Mother's Day.

To Melissa, thank you so much for our children, and your love for them. They are the light of my life. Happy Mother's Day.

Finally, to all the ladies who have been like mothers to me (I think you know who you are,) thank you all for your love and support. Happy Mother's Day.

On the Death of a Monster

2011-05-02T12:43:00.000-07:00

Those who slay monsters must remain emotionless, excluding the feeling of relief when the deed is done. A slayer of monsters must remember that if the monster is allowed to live, the monster will bring about more death to those who are undeserving of such horror.

To feel sadness over the death of a monster is kind, but must not stay a slayer's hand. To revel in the death of a monster is to become a monster yourself, a piece at a time. In the end, when the trigger is pulled or the blade falls, the end goal of the violence must be a gift of peace; a peace that the monster could only achieve in its death. An end to the violence inherent in its existence.

Birthday parties, tornados and explosions! Oh my!

2011-04-16T23:38:00.000-07:00

Dude. What a day.

My best friend/roommate Curt and I went to our friend Jessie's birthday party today. Jessie is a really inspiring guy. He's in his mid twenties and is an up-and-coming local artist. He works hard at his art, and his dedication reminds me time and again what a lazy bum I can be. He's funny, he's positive, and he's just the kind of guy that you're always glad you took the time to visit with. I've never left Jessie's company feeling anything but uplifted. One more thing; Jessie was in an accident years back, and is now in a wheelchair. I say in one, not confined to one, because Jessie in no way allows his life or his amazing spirit to be limited by the constraints of his body.

I didn't even know that Jessie existed until Curt called me from The Repair Shop (the computer repair shop where Curt works when he's not directing movies, writing movies, attending parties or antagonizing me) one day and told me that Jessie might want to buy my Wacom digital art tablet that I barely ever used (I realized too late that I still prefer illustrating on paper.) Jessie hangs out with Curt and David (Curt's boss) at the shop some afternoons. So I brought the tablet to Jessie that same day and let him take a look at it. In Jessie I saw an enthusiasm about his art that made me smile, and made me remember that love of art that I thought had been burned out of me over the years. I knew after that first conversation that I'd made a new friend.

Jessie's birthday party today was one of those days that I never saw coming, but turned out to be the kind of day that you tell stories about for years. First off, it was a party on Jessie's family's land, a large tract of farmland at the top of South Carolina. A tiny graveyard surrounded by a few tall trees marked the dirt road that led to the party. In a small clearing between a recently planted corn field and a treeline that masked a gorgeous pond that looked more like a small river, a few cars were parked near a camp setup with a tarped-over kitchen, several camping tents, and a few tables. Jessie's big white van was parked in the midst of it. I met some cool people and had good food and good conversation.

We all knew that it was supposed to rain today. Jessie's parents were adamant that the birthday party would go on, rain or no rain. I was not aware until too late of the tornado watch that was underway for Dillon county (aka. where I'm at.) But I figured we'd be fine. Some rain here and there, but a little water never hurt anyone. Everyone else seemed to be in the same mindset. After a few hours of threatening cloud cover, it started raining in earnest. We all retreated to our vehicles to wait the storm out, then resume Jessie's party.

So Curt and I sat in Old Blue (my blue Ford Explorer that's been in the family for years,) listened to music and waited. The rain fell, and the wind picked up. A few tree branches fell on and around the cars, including Old Blue.

Me: Maybe I should move the car over.

Curt: Nah, we're probably fine...

We opened the skylight and looked up at a huge branch right above us.

Me: Forget this...

Curt: Let's move.

So I moved Old Blue away from the trees, behind another car. The cars were all basically in a straight line on the edge of the field now. The wind and rain picked up, and before I knew it, I looked out of my driver's side window and my eyes grew wide. A huge sheet of gathering rain, wind and dirt/dust came at me and slammed into Old Blue. All the cars were rocking now. I looked at the trees, and the smaller ones were bent nearly in half. By the time I was done looking around in that amazed, dumbfounded, trance-like state, it was over.

We all stepped out of our vehicles, and Jessie's dad, Jake, started pointing at the old graveyard at the entrance to the dirt road. The tallest tree in the graveyard had been broken bust above the base, and the rest of the tree was laying over the graveyard at a right angle. The tornado had passed right beside us. The tarp-covered kitchen was a wreck afterward, but everything else was easily salvaged, and no one was hurt.

A bit shaken up, we continued the party nonetheless. More people showed up, and we had more good food and good conversation. Night fell, and it was time to set off some fireworks. One of Jessie's old friends had brought some primo Black Knight fireworks. Super loud, excellent bang for your buck. Unfortunately, these were set off (I'm not going to say by who, but no, it wasn't myself, Jessie or Curt) too close to the campsite. In general, the fireworks went off in an array of wondrous technicolor fire just above our heads accompanied by really satisfying cannon-like BOOMS. However, two of the "throw it and hope for the best" fireworks were much more interesting.

There were two of the W.T.L.S. (pronounced Wootles.) The first crazy Wartime Terrorist Light Show began when a firework was thrown too close to the cars. The firework went off, propelled itself between two cars, and then went off in a beautiful, if blood-curdling, array that sent people cursing, screaming and scattering like mice. No one was hurt.

The second crazy W.T.L.S. basically landed right in front of the now-huddled group of onlookers. Just as it went off, I watched at least three girls run by me at really admirable speeds. When my head was tucked inside of my outstretched jacket and I was praying for the best. The streams of colorful balefire that flew past me missed everyone (again, no one was hurt except for the newly-singed firework tosser), so I took that as a really good sign, ate a few bonfire-scorched marshmallows, enjoyed the company of friends and new cool people, and chalked all of the day's incredible, unforgettable events up to this:

God still likes me, and I'm doing something right. Happy Birthday, Jessie.

Circle of Life, Circle of Dreams

2011-02-26T08:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes old dreams die. This is natural. But when they do, it becomes more important than ever to plant seeds for new dreams to grow. Our dreams, our hope, our faith; these are the things that truly keep us alive.

Raiders of the Lost Mill: Failblog 1

2011-02-24T08:48:00.000-08:00

A few weekends ago, Curt, David (Curt's boss) and I went slogging through the swamp in Dillon looking for old overgrown mills. Our first search was a failboat, but we did find a lot of mud, stagnant water, reeds and briars.

We started by walking around the rim of a neighboring field to find a decent place to enter the thicket of trees.

The trees were very close together, and in some patches the briar bushes were as thick as tree trunks...only with spikes. trees and briars. David earned the nickname "Machete Dave" as he blazed a trail through the thicket. We followed, careful not to ship each other in the face with branches. Eventually, we cleared the left side of the thicket and found a patch of swamp.

We made it through the trees to find a patch of swamp, but no mill. The stagnant swamp water started to get deep just beyond the edge, so we backtracked to check out the right side of the thicket.

David also brought his trusty sidekick, Jim Bob, who was more than happy to run circles around all of us and get his doggy bits cold and wet.

Apparently Jim Bob thought Curt's rubber boots smelled interesting.

We emerged from the thicket on the right side to find sparse trees, lots of reeds, and shallow water. Pretty. Annoying to walk through, but really pretty.

Dave and Jim Bob took a break after clearing the trees and briar bushes. Note the machete in the tree. If I had been a bear...well, I probably wouldn't have had a camera.

David White (aka. "Machete Dave") and Jim Bob.

After the break, Machete Dave blazed a trail through the reeds, toward another treeline. Dave knew the truck was that way. By this time, I'd been turned around too much to know where we were. I need to work on that.

Boots, meet swamp water. The water never flowed over into my boots, which I was quite happy about.

Stalking Curtis like a lion. A slow, loud lion. Didn't work; he knew I was there.

Frellin' briars...I was just clearing the mud and water here. I had lagged behind the others pretty badly once we got to the mud and water; I learned that slogging through high water and sticky mud with short little Hobbit-like legs is quite a workout...one best not done in an increasingly hot fatigue-style jacket. Especially when you can't take off the jacket and tie it around your waist due to the high water and the need of protection against clinging briar bushes.

The briars were pretty awful here, but I could hear that Machete Dave had already cleared his way free of the trees and found our truck, so I was encouraged to keep walking.

Free at last, free at least...you get the point. We got through the trees and swamp and found our field again!


David's hands after the fact, due to briars.

So tired, muddy and a bit scarred up, we cleared the treeline and found the truck where we'd left it.

Curt, hamming for the camera.

We didn't find any ancient mills this time, but there are plenty of other places to look around here. David suggested higher ground next time...here's hoping.

Thankful

2011-02-11T10:47:00.000-08:00

I am thankful that I have time to write. I am thankful that all of my physical needs are met. I am thankful for my children, the joy they bring me, and the joy that I bring them. I am thankful for my abilities. I am thankful for my friends and family. I am thankful for a car that runs. I am thankful that I have finished one script, and am over halfway done with a second. I am thankful for my imagination. I am thankful for my health. I am thankful for my life.

What are you thankful for?

Photo Adventure 1: Little Pee Dee State Park

2011-02-10T19:43:00.000-08:00

So I was complaining the other day to a wise friend about some frustrations, and she advised me to go out and have a photo adventure. Basically, you go out to a place that you enjoy or somewhere you've been meaning to go, and take pictures of things that interest you.

I decided to go to Little Pee Dee State Park and do some trail walking, since it's nearby and I've been meaning to go out there. Just when I thought that I might have missed the sign, I saw the left turn and took it, and then...cows.

Maybe it was the one white cow amongst the black cows...I don't know. She said take pictures of what caught my eye, right?

So I got to the park after a fairly long, winding stone driveway, and walked down to the water. There was a spillway to the right.

Just ahead of me was a gorgeous expanse of water and sky. There was one small canoe out; two fellows out fishing. I was more focused on the scenery, and the hint of a nice house situated out just past the treeline. It reminded me of one of my dreams; to have a nice home, set apart in the woods. Somewhere tranquil like this.

At this point I realized (too late) that the batteries in my camera were dying out yet AGAIN. So I decided to get down to business, as I had no idea how many shots I would have left. I set out on one of the Beaver trails (yes, they are named that) and found this fallen tree on the path that reminded me a lot of an ent's leg. Maybe I've just watched Lord Of The Rings one too many times...

The trail took a little while to walk, but the surprise came at the end of the trail; when I found that I ended up farther back along the park's driveway than I had begun. So it was time to hoof it back to my car. I really have a greater appreciation for my car now, I can tell you that

I guess I could have turned around and walked the nature trail back the way I came, but something compelled me to walk the road with my jacket thrown over my shoulder like some Depression Era nomad.

Along the loose stone driveway, I came upon a really cool flat open space. I pictured tons of small football and frisbee games being played here. Kids running with dogs, etc. A few picnic tables were spread out among the edges. It had a really positive, good feel to it. The sky was a bright, clear baby blue.

It was really gorgeous, and I felt grateful that I had stopped to just...be there. I determined then and there that I need to do this more often.

Needless to say, I made it back to my car and back home without further incident. It was a beautiful day spent in a beautiful place. I'm really glad I went, and I am very grateful to my friend for prescribing this for my selfish little woes. I definitely plan to be doing it again soon; next time with fully charged batteries.

Heart shaped box

2011-02-07T23:09:00.000-08:00

"Tell me where is fancy bred? In the heart, or in the head?"
- William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

At times like this, I look back a long way - all of it in fact - and I realize that I have a long way to go.

I look at a little black-haired, pale baby boy hooked up to tubes. I see his parents praying to God to save this infant son. They ask more to pray. The numbers build. God hears them, and the boy is saved.

Time passes. I see the boy, now with reddish-brown hair, making swords out of wooden fence posts and duct tape. With those swords, he conquers every land he enters, whether they be his own sheltered neighborhood, or the wilds behind his Nana's house. Fields of thick weeds become armies of goblins. They all fall beneath his imagined blade. Here, he is a fierce prince.

Time passes. The boy grows to the age where hair on males becomes more abundant than we'd like. One day, he sees a certain girl in a bikini. A friend. Only now, after only months, she's different. He talks to her, and starts feeling a whole mad carnival of new and frightening things. He becomes a young man.

With these new feelings, a firm belief is forged in the young man's mind; the belief that one day he will find The One; the perfect woman for him.

Years later, the young man finds love, and then finds, many years later, that love does not always endure. However, he is introduced to a new love that overshadows anything he has ever felt; the love of his children. He now understands the parents who prayed so fervently for his continued life. The young man becomes a man. After the end of this long relationship, the internal knowledge of finding his heart's one true love becomes a holy grail quest.

Time passes, and more relationships fail or never truly start. The man is very specific in what he is looking for. He never regrets this, as he is not alone, and he knows that when he meets Her, he will know.

More time passes. She doesn't come. After many trials and many attempts with a heart that was zealous, exuberant and impetuous, one day he finds that his heart has grown very tired indeed. At times like this, the heart becomes as a vacation home; the doors locked, the blinds closed. To all appearances, dead to the outsider.

My heart is currently in this condition. I fear that I have badly misused it, and I'm sure other hearts as well, in my past; a fact that I greatly regret. But I cannot fix other hearts, only my own. So for now, it is locked away as deeply as it needs to be, and my days of leaping to action to woo ladies who take my fancy are quite irreversibly dead. I'm afraid that I'm finally done with a game that I never really began to comprehend.

My current plan, then, is to stop grasping at straws and jumping at gestures. To conduct myself with a semblance of dignity and just allow the chips to fall. To protect my heart, and the heart of that boy, as I should have for years. To crow and howl with the other lost boys forever.

Do I still believe in my true love? Absolutely. I just wish she'd hurry the hell up.

Five Years

2010-12-16T02:24:00.000-08:00

For five years I toiled in the mine.
I cursed the mine, and I blessed the mine.
After five years, a glimmer of gold caught my eye
and I knew that gold was never what I sought.

For five years I sailed on the seas.
I cursed the storms, and I blessed the winds.
After five years, I saw the shore again
and I knew that the sea was never what I sought.

For five years I chased a dream.
A dream in the form of garters, hose, lace and bows.
After five years, she broke my heart by never appearing
and I knew that she was never what I sought.

For five years I ran from myself.
I cursed myself even as I prayed for blessings.
After five years, I stared at the mirror
and I knew that self respect was what I sought.

- Shane McElveen, 2010

A Relevant Quote

2010-12-16T02:17:00.001-08:00

"I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it." - Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Can I Possibly Be More Va8ue?

2010-12-16T02:13:00.000-08:00

It's been an interesting ride; the last few years, I mean. Some days I don't feel like I'm behind the wheel at all, but maybe lying in the back seat staring at an old cigarette burn in the seat, or a place where the seam has given way, and I'm staring at the padding. Or maybe I'm just sticking my head out of the open window like a dog.

You see, if life is a journey, then I'll agree with the song that, for me, it's a highway. It has been, I think, ever since I graduated college and started paying attention to exactly how quickly the days pass by...like flashing cars.

And if my life is, in fact, a highway, then I see myself driving an old black classic car. Maybe an Impala, but not necessarily. Something long and boat-like, with four doors and endless room. And one huge front seat that you can snuggle up to a lady across. Not anything made after I was born, certainly.

So the last few years, I've found myself driving through this desert. I'd say with all fairness that I turned onto this particular road in 2005 or so, after a huge life change, leaving a road I'd been on for about ten years. There were a few pit stops, both professional and romantic, where I thought maybe I'd found a place to settle down. They turned out to be temporary, and unsatisfying. So I drive.

I've been driving this desert a long time. And though the desert is a mystical place with many important revelations, I'm tired of this particular stretch of road.

I need some new scenery.

2010-04-23T16:24:00.000-07:00

Top 10 figures I would prefer that people not pray to on my behalf:
1. Satan/Lucifer
2. Baron Samedi
3. Marilyn Manson
4. Any angel from Supernatural
5. The Dark Side of The Force6. Anyone from a reality show
7. Their demi god powered paladin/rogue/cleric/night club owner character from Dungeons and Dragons
8. Barney
9. Zeus, as he comes off as a philandering douche
10. That pissed off looking guy from God of War

2010-04-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

I was born the son of a Southern Baptist minister and a public school teacher in a little town called Scranton, SC. When I was a baby, my Dad had just decided to become a man of the cloth. I was a really sick baby, born with a hole in my heart. My parents prayed that I would live. They pretty much started a small crusade of prayer to the heavens that I would make it. So I did.

They say I died for a full minute on that operating table. I'm not sure about that, but I know ever since then I've known that there is a purpose to my life. That I'm here to do things that matter.

Unfortunately, for a really long time (before and after my divorce) I let myself stagnate. I doubted myself, even the talents that I knew I had. I'm done with that now.

A little over a year ago, the company that I was working for was forced to let me go. I had just finished reading a book by Paulo Coelho entitled "The Alchemist." I was unemployed for the better part of a year, but I trusted that I would be taken care of. I prayed, hoped and waited for more to be revealed to me.

Unfortunately, I was still missing something, b/c of all the ideas I had roiling around in this creative brain of mine, I wasn't doing anything about them. I let myself get so overwhelmed by all the projects I had started that I wasn't able to finish any of them. This has been my problem for years.

At the end of December, I was blessed with a contracting job at the same company that laid me off before. This job will likely end in a few weeks, as it was meant to end at the end of the first fiscal quarter of the year. Why does this not bother me?

Because about a month ago I watched "The Secret" again. A lot of you may be reading this and immediately begin "poo-pooing" the Law of Attraction (which is ultimately the secret beferred to in the movie/book.) I can understand that reaction, b/c I had that same reaction a few years ago.

It's SO easy to say, "those folks are just trying to sell self-help books" or "that won't work," and just dismiss such simple concepts. I say they are simple concepts b/c, in theory, they seem common sense. "Think positive? Have faith? Follow my personal legend? Well I already do those things!"

Do you? I thought I did, until I paid attention to how much I focused on what I didn't want as opposed to the things I did want. How much of my energy I gave to my FEARS, which were just the dark side of my FAITH.

Once I realized that the only thing holding me back was me, I had a long talk with my best friend and brother, Curt. I told him what I'd been listening to lately and realizing. I had given him a copy of The Alchemist the past year, and it had been life-changing for him as well. We started making plans and actually encouraging each other to work on ours dreams instead of sitting frustrated and waiting on a magical answer that doesn't involve our talents.

I'm not saying that God or The Universe or what have you don't deliever good things to our lives without our having to work in the traditional sense. The truth is that they do, but you have to put in the faith/belief and energy to ghelp those thigns along. and my work, my use of my talents to create, is the greatest extension and proof of my faith in my faith and in the law of attraction that I can think of.

Because I have always known I was going to make my dreams come true. It just took recent circumstances to help me develop the strength to get up off my movie-watching ass and do something about it.

Curtis and I, at this point, are halfway finished with a horror script we've been writing. The details of our adventures breaking into the movie business will be outlined in a separate blog, http://mooksinthemovies.blogspot.com/.

Until next I blog, remember to think positive and think about the things that you want, not the things that you fear. Be grateful for what you have. Later, folks.

The "Happy" Governor

2009-06-26T19:17:00.000-07:00

My friend Matt and I sometimes have some decent sparks of creativity. We've started countless projects together...actually I have that habit with most of my friends. I love starting projects, but I'm famously awful at actually finishing anything unless I think I'm getting paid for it.

So far, Matt and I have started (or brainstormed and talked about starting) a total of five novels, three movie scripts, two video games, five web sites, and one role-playing game system. I forget how many songs we've written, but on that front we manage to finish what we start. In bursts, but still. Baby steps, people.

The interesting thing about Matt is that he is tone deaf, but is able to keep a beat, play drums (well) and guitar (getting better). He was born that way. It's a huge accomplishment in itself, and quite a statement, that he's able to write and play his own music. And a great deal of what helps Matt is that he has rhythm, and he's a math/logistics/all-that-crap-that-confounds-me whiz.

Anyway, I've kissed Matt's pale Scottish arse enough for one blog. The point is that we had what we thought was a fairly shining moment of creativity last night. Mean spirited creativity? Vulgar creativity? Blatantly vulture-like creativity? I suppose that would depend upon your opinion, but it was creativity nonetheless.

I usually try not to get political, but here goes just a bit that was hard for me to contain.

Governor Mark Sanford of my home state, South Carolina - and several other governors in these United States that I love *salutes and grins* - well, let's face it, they've done some horrifyingly embarassing things of late. In my humble opinion, Sanford needs his head examined for fighting the acceptance of the stimulus funds that were recently accepted by...let me see...EVERY OTHER FRICKING STATE before SC, thanks to him. Those months of worrying whether police officers, teachers, and other public servants that I know and love would be laid off b/c Sanford wouldn't accept that money saddened and angered me as a citizen. So I admit to having been embittered.

Well, the stimulus issue passed, Sanford got himself sued for holding out too long...I have to wonder if something slowly snapped in our dear Governor over the past year or something. I mean...pigs in the Capitol building? Really? Mark? Dude? Man, our state gets picked on enough, bro! You're going to turn our most revered area of state government into a scene from Green Acres?

Then...this week's news. The Father's Day fiasco when no one could get hold of the Governor. He was apparently too busy "hiking the Appalachian Trail" to bother with his wife and kids, not to mention his publicists. Wow. Just...wow. On Nude Hiking Day or Weekend or whatever nonetheless? Did he think he owed the late night comedians something? B/c he certainly delivered when we all found out he cheated on his wife...in Argentina.

I had to take a damn double take! Argentina? Srsly? Nope...it was right there. Black and white. Or RGB rather. Whatever. Anyway, the point is that Sanford has nearly made himself into a wacky cartoon villain of late...(ok, an anime cartoon villain. Animes tend to show hoo hoo parts and what not...or...so I hear...anyway...) So when Matt said "we should write a funny song" last night, the first thought that popped into my head was how much material Sanford has given us to work with lately, and how genuinely irritated and embarassed I've personally been with his antics as a South Carolinian.

So Matt and I sat down and write a terribly biting parody to the song, "The Happy Wanderer" by Antonio Ridge and Friedrich Moller. Here are the lyrics, and the link to the video we filmed for the song (yes, we did).

The Horny Governor
by: Shane McElveen and Matt Broughton
with apologies to: Antonio Ridge and Friedrich Moller

The governor went a wandering, the Appalachian trail
and found his clothes out on the lawn for chasing foreign tail

Sanford-ee, Sanford-ah
Sanford-ee, Sanford-ah ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Sanford-ee, Sanford-ah
for chasing foreign tail

It was a naked weekend for the hikers everywhere
but when you lie to everyone, it could be an affair

Monogam-ee, Monogam-ah
Monogam-ee, Monogam-ah ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Monogam-ee, Monogam-ah
it could be an affair

He refused the stimulus funds, we thought him silly then
But then he crossed a new line with an Argentinian!

Adulter-ee, Adulter-ah
Adulter-ee, Adulter-ah ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Adulter-ee, Adulter-ah
an Argentinian

He may still run for president, but would he give his all?
Or would he spend his time tossing his hot dog down the hall?

Polygam-ee, Polygam-ah
Polygam-ee, Polygam-ah ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Polygam-ee, Polygam-ah
his hot dog down the hall...

So far, we've gotten a lot of positive feedback, and very little negative. So for those who have supported and encouraged us, thank you for your kind words and terrible taste in music. ;P For those of you who are offended...America is a free country. That's what makes it great. Feel free to comment. You have the right to be angered or sickened or horrified. Just try to remember that we also have the right to make these songs and speak our minds.

This song was never meant to be a celebration of lewd behavior or a man's fall from grace. It's a parody meant to point out a homored outrage at a series of failings. Sometimes you either laugh or cry, folks. We're not passing judgement upon the man as a whole or any person involved. It's simply a jibe against recent silly behavior. Jackassery breeds jackassery, and we happen to excel at jackassery.

If we can't make fun of each other and learn to laugh at ourselves, it's become a sad world indeed. We all fall down. It's so that we can learn to get back up, at least according to Thomas Wayne. So let's all try to take political jokes as they are intended.

So on behalf of self-proclaimed jackasses everywhere,
God bless America.

A Tale of Two Ladies

2009-04-12T13:52:00.000-07:00

I'm just writing this as an update...no one needs to feel as if they have to respond; two ladies that I grew up knowing (and loving) died this week.

I just got back from the funeral of Mrs. Annie Ruth Prosser, a neighbor of mine growing up. She was one of the most remarkable women I've ever known, but you'd never have known that to have looked at her. You'd never have experienced that secret knowledge unless you were lucky enough to spend time with her and her son, Gerald. Gerald Prosser was, is and will always be one of my personal heroes. From the age of 16, he has been confined to a wheelchair b/c of an accident, diving into water that was too shallow. Mrs. Annie Ruth took care of him for years. Bathed him. Helped him dress. Never complained. In fact every time I've ever seen either of them, even if they were in great pain, they had a smile for me. Mrs. Annie Ruth was an incredible cook with an infectious laugh...Gerald is a math genius with a completely different infectious laugh.

Gerald and my Dad happened to both go to Francis Marion University at the same time; Dad drove him back and forth, and they became close friends. I grew up with Gerald's nephew, Jay, and played with him in and around Mrs. Annie Ruth's house. Gerald, always tech savvy, recorded all kinds of fantasy movies for us to watch...I remember drawers full of video tapes with little white labels and a familiar handwriting from the pen that Gerald kept strapped to his right hand. I remember how Gerald would go out for exercise in his wheelchair, and while he was out he would make up these scavenger hunt quests for Jay and I. He would show Mrs. Annie Ruth where to hide the clues, and she would plant them around the neighborhood. We'd spend all morning having our adventure, and when it was over our reward was about four bucks each in quarters (aka: "gold") to go spend at the store down the street on Double Dragon, soda and snacks. Those will always be among my favorite childhood memories.

The other lady was my Aunt Emily, my Dad's sister. Ever since Grandma died in 1992, Aunt Emily has hosted every Thanksgiving family meal at her house. She looked a loot like my Grandma, who was a saint in my book. Aunt Emily inherited her gentle, kind, giving nature. Aunt Emily was sick a long time, and knowing what she believed, I know that she wouldn't have preferred a more appropriate day than Easter to meet her God.

I doubt any of you knew these ladies with a few exceptions...it doesn't matter. Maybe through this, now you know them a little because of what they meant to me. And that makes writing it worth all the salt water I'm going to have to drain out of my laptop. Thanks for reading this.

Now go and live.

"To die will be an awfully big adventure." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

You're a mean one, Mrs. Grinch

2008-11-04T10:30:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NGAYR7RHfQ

Apparently some uber mean lady thought it would be both entertaining and politically savvy to refuse treats on Halloween night to children whose parents were planning on voting for Obama. As if taking up room in their bags with a gigantic fricking door knob hanger sporting "McCain/Palin" wouldn't be annoying enough, she's going to refuse innocent children who can't even vote the right to have candy? Wow man. Just wow.

Congrats to the guy who handed out candy to everyone, even if he made it political too. Halloween's not about politics, people. Historically it's not really about handing out candy to children either, but this is America, and this is our distortion of a pagan holiday, so stop being grinches out there, open up your hearts a little, and let the poor kids have candy the one night of the year when they actually work for it!

I couldn't resist blogging this one...people who are mean to kids for no reason really tick me off.

Overheard on chat...Election Day...totally off topic

2008-11-04T08:59:00.000-08:00

Jon: but yeah do you ever watch NCIS?

Jon: if you do or don't I met Abbi, the goth chick in the lab. I just sent you a pic

me: dude I'm jealous, she's hawt

Jon: you see my pics?

me: yessah

Jon: hehe...ok that's not really her, that's a good friend of mine who dressed up as her for halloween

but she dressed like that and looked JUST like her before the show ever came on

me: purr

Jon: we've been dating 15 years

me: ...what?

Jon: I asked her out in 6th grade...she said yes...we never broke up

me: lmao

Jon: so I call her my cheating whore

me: ...very romantic.

Happeh Birfdee Ta Mee

2008-10-03T08:27:00.000-07:00

So I'm 32. I have no idea if that means anything. But I'll be damned if I haven't thought about nearly every topic on the face of the globe this morning, and it's not even lunchtime.

I woke up earlier than I had planned. Thought about masturbating. Didn't. Took a long, emo shower. You know, the kind where you actually sit down in the shower and let the water fall over you like warm rain, or a tropical waterfall or sommat (yes, I use the word "summat" instead of "something" sometimes, and I'm a Southern American guy, not a Brit. Gasp. Actually, one of my internet Brit buddies insists that I'm closet Brit...but I dye grass...). It was nice, even though I woke up in a shit mood b/c of money...not gonna go into specifics, but you know how a credit card can inflate your interest if you miss a payment or go over your balance...or both. I'm not good with money, and I made some bad decisions after my separation involving credit cards. Nothing spectacularly terrible, but small things add up, and now I'm digging myself out, one kiddie sand shovel at a time.

I walked downstairs and hugged my Dad good morning. I never outgrew giving my parents affection, and I never will. I'm not sure that my dad ever hugged any man before I was born, but my mom was always so affectionate that Dad learned to be. I asked my dad if he could advance me some cash, and I'd pay him back once I got a check from a slow-paying design client, or my next regular paycheck, whichever came first. So Dad writes me the check and tells me happy birthday. I tried to tell him no, that I'd pay him back, but he said he wouldn't take it...I could see in his eyes that it would make things tight for them. I hate that. I don't ever want to feel like I'm bleeding my parents dry...that's why I need to move out soon, after I get these damn credit card /loan bills paid off. Hopefully next year, barring any unforeseen disasters. And at this point I'm about to start to look for a 2nd job to insure the expediency of that plan.

Anyway, I drove my commute, talking to my God as I tend to do when I'm upset, extremely grateful, or just need to talk. I stopped by the usual banks to withdraw money and give the ex her child support after that. Then I got to work. Things have gotten a bit better since. I've been IM bombed all morning by friends. It's hard to stay completely pissed at yourself and the world itself when so many people let you know that they care that you're alive. I realize that in a lot of ways I'm lucky. I'm not living in a cardboard box. I have all my limbs. I never go hungry. I don't wake up each morning fearing death. Overall, I'm a lucky dog. But if one can't be emo and self indulgent on one's own birthday, when can one? Some may read this blog and think that I'm whining. Maybe I am. But again, it's my birfdee and I'll whine if I want to.

So yeah, it's been almost 2 years now, barring a few months, since the divorce. It's high time I got my shit straight. I made a promise to myself this morning that I would start getting my own personal ducks in a row by next year on Oct. 3rd, the most important being finances, the second being my weight and overall health. Maybe knowing that people are holding me accountable on the intertubes (by virtue of sheer voyeurism-driven embarassment alone) will help me crank my ever-aging arse into a higher gear.

Salude,
the Design Monkey

Who are the people in YOUR eye?

2008-08-21T09:54:00.001-07:00

My Mom is a school teacher, and a darn good one. She has retired from it and gone back to it. She can break down, clean and reassemble a handgun, blindfolded, in ten seconds flat. (OK, fine, that last statement was complete hearsay based on a really wild day in the teacher's lounge.)

Anyway, here is one of the best of her "tales from the classroom" (cue creepy weird science music):

So Mom's teaching the kiddies in science class about the different parts of the human eye.

"The black middle part of your eye is called the Pupil. The colored part of your eye is called the Iris." She then pointed to a kid who was talking or otherwise not paying attention.

"Can you tell me what you just learned?" asks Mom.

"I learned that the black people in my eye are Irish," replies said kid.

He's not just living in our hearts anymore...

2008-08-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

Matt: I found something wild on a forum post. You know how the Catholics belive in transubstantiation?

me: No idea what that is, dude.

Matt: It's the belief that the wafers and wine taken @ communion actually transform into the body and blood of Christ.

me: Ew.

Matt: Protestants believe its a symbol, but Catholics actually believe when they are blessed they transform. SO, if they transform into the body and blood of Christ, that means they are going to sh*t and p*ss Jesus...which means Jesus is getting treated in sewage treatment plants, and returned back into the earth and water supply and everyone else is drinking and eating Jesus...

so in 4.9 billion years...the earth will be 100% Jesus.

me: That's the long range plan, yeah. Didn't you read Revelations?

Matt: Well we eat about 3.6x10^18 atoms of Jesus every day.

me: Tell me these are bullsh*t figures...

Matt: Actually they aren't.

me: Jesus Christ...

Matt: Yeah, thats the point!

me: I need a drink.

Moving Out

2008-01-31T11:42:00.000-08:00

Tuesday night, Gary and I finished moving our wordly belongings, wanted and unwanted alike, out of the house I'd been living in since November of 2003.

I had a lot of memories at good and bad there...mostly good. My kids called it their home, even after the separation that happened there. Every weekend I had them, they were still comfortable there. And so was I...it was a comfortable home. My dad told me that my grandfather built the house for Charles Graham in the 1960's. That made living there pretty special, even if I was renting it.

We threw some excellent parties there; Labor Day, Wintereenmas, St. Patty's Day...eventually it became known as "the frat house" because it was so evident that only guys lived there full tiem after my separation. I guess all in all, I'd say that the reason I don't miss the place any more than I do is because of something I grew up knowing. A house is not a home. It's a vessel for a home to be built in. All the memories I have of that house, I thank my friends and my children for. They are the ones who helped me make those good memories...and one day, we'll make new memories in a new house (that I own this time, I swear it!)

So here's to Seth, Willow, Gary, Stephanie, Curt, Matt, Samantha, Becky, Erin, Jon, George, Dave, Cosmo, Duane, Christina and all the rest of the crew who made my time at "the frat house" so special.

Remembering Nana

2008-01-10T22:01:00.000-08:00

As of Wednesday at 2:20 pm, I have no grandmothers left on Earth. My Nana (pronounced "nah-knee"- my maternal grandmother) passed away. She lived a long, full life, but neither that knowledge nor my mental preparations for her death (she had cancer) or my excuses for not visiting her enough at the nursing home, etc., make her passing any easier.

I was sitting around and thought maybe the best way to honor Nana would be to write about her...so that's what I'm doing. Nana was a demanding mother to my Mom, but a giving sweetheart of a woman nonetheless. She was an extremely loving (as well as beloved) and devoted wife, mother, sister, aunt and grandmother.

Nana always kept an immaculately groomed mane of black curly hair, and I rarely caught a glimpse of her without her makeup in place. Any time she left the house or company was over, she was dressed to the nines. She liked to have nice things, and took a great deal of pride in the things she had, as well as herself and her family.

Due to some childhood ailments, I was spoiled rotten by Nana, who made me buffets (or "bus-says" as my baby sister later called them) to eat at my leisure in her living room as she watched "her stories." She also regularly took me to TCBY, a long-dead retail chain, to purchase me the more-than-occasional He-Man or G.I. Joe or She-Ra (the He-Men needed girlfriends...heh.) I remember many days listening to rich foreign men breaking up with ditsy blondes as I played contentedly with my Castle Greyskull action set, safely tucked between a cushy chair and a cushy couch as Nana relaxed in her chair, intent on said scoundrel and hussy.

This was, of course, after my brilliant toddler years, when (after watching far too many butt lube commercials between soap operas and "The Price Is Right") I would ask enthusiastically for "Pepper, H and H." Even then I was a victim of advertising.

Nana helped raise me. I lived most of my young childhood life at her house. This setting - an old white farmhouse, complete with red barn and surrounded by fields - was one of the things that I thank God for as an adult. I'm thankful that I had a place like that to run around in. I'm thankful that it was an idyllic picture of Southern life. It's one of the reasons I will always love South Carolina and the Pee Dee area, so matter how much I complain about artists not making enough money around here...

Nana's house was a huge one story house, with a seemingly huge attic that I never saw. Honestly, I was terrified to go up there; I was certain that some sort of ghoul or antebellum confederate ghost lurked up there, waiting to eat any unwitting children who took the time to climb on the bed in the guest bedroom, pull down the attic door, and climb up (this was well before everyone started expecting meowing Japanese children to jump at at them in attics.)

There was a little white tool shed in the front yard, a huge tree, a fake deer, and an old black metal bench. The front porch held a plethora of white rocking chairs and an old white swing, which I loved to sit in and watch the trees on the other side of the road.

The backyard was massive, leading to fields and forest (all of which I spent my youth exploring.) A tall, split cedar tree stood in the backyard, which I used to climb and play with all the time. A little white stone bench sat at its base. To this day, I still think of it first when I think of Nana's house. Then I think of the warm, comfortable den, with its painted green walls, and the bookshelves, cabinets and fireplace that were built into the right wall.

Just like the lady herself, Nana's house had a great deal of warmth, a unique style and character. I will never forget my time there, or the woman who made that time possible. A woman who loved me with a free and easy devotion, as every child should be adored by their grandparents. And it should be returned by those children as well.

I love you dearly, Nana, and we miss you terribly. I hope (and somewhere, deeply and firmly I know) that whatever you're doing right now, you know that. I hope there are lots of coral colored roses. I hope you're laughing that infectious, wonderful hooting laugh of yours for someone. Goodbye for now, Nana. I'll be seeing you later. ::blows a kiss::

- Shane

The Thunder Years

2008-01-08T13:17:00.000-08:00

I've been asked many a time why it is I wear dark colors so much, as well as long clothes during the warm summer months. Well, friends and neighbors, I suppose it's psychological. Comfort of a sort, if you will.

It all started when I was a very young elementary school lad. Fresh as a rose, I was walkin' in the line from recess, mindin' me own and admiring the scenery. I do believe we'd had that funny square unidentifiable school pizza that day. Ah, yes. The days before the school system finally realized they were turning us all into blubber butts.

Our gorgeous movie star of a teacher (yes, even then I could appreciate a well-turned heel and a rack of steel ::wipes eye:: ...what was I sayin'...) strides up with her luscious gams and points the finger o'doom upon each of us in turn...

"Now I don't want to hear one peep out of any of you until we get back to the room!" she growled menacingly...dear Lord...had I but been capable of an erection at that age...the beauty...the larger than life rage...she was my dark queen...I loved her and despaired...

...so I kept my little hobbit mouth shut. Unfortunately, my blow hole was not as amiable as my pie hole, and chaos did in fact, my children, ensue.

So I'm in a long line of munchkins, dressed likely in neon "jams" shorts (as was the fashion in the days of stock market suicides, forgetful movie star presidents and fashions inspired by Beelzebub's ugly sister) when suddenly I feel the call of an old, hated enemy - and the push against the olde anal sphincter. I knew there was a flood a'comin', lads, and my good and fluffy Lord had nothin' t'all to do with it.

I grab me sweet little cheeks and start shimmyin' and a shakin', movin' and a groovin', tryin' in vain to keep them squeezed shut (after all, I must not offend my lusty dark queen). My classmates are starting to look at me; halfway amused, halfway bemused with that "oh-my-dear-sweet-God-no" look of building terror on their cute little innocent faces.

I should have known better; after all , this was not my first bout with fanny rapids. I should have remembered the eye of the whale eye; the time of calm before the final unstoppable explosion - that terrible, no good, awful, very bad force of nature that nearly rips your posterior in twain...and thus did the unamable square school pizza wreak it's awful revenge upon my neon "jams" shorts.

A geyser of hot, rancid poo torpedoed from my boiling bung as I screamed out in anguish and pain. Almost as if in slow motion, the children around me overcame their fear of movement and ran in all directions, screaming and vomiting, asking their own fluffy lords why...why.

Why indeed. I stood there, my shorts now dripping pungent turdwater into my innocent high-top Chucks. Silent tears trickled down my poor, blundering little face as I held my head low, my eyes wide and bulging from shock and exhasperated horror.

Among the whispers of "gross" and "ewww" I heard the words, "Oh, God," and my shoulders tensed. My dark queen had discovered me at the most embarrassing point in my young life. Suddenly a gentle hand was on my shoulder, and she began carefully leading me to the classroom bathroom.

Once there she helped me strip down (again, shut your birdfeeders, fucktards, it was innocent on her part) out of my shadden rags. My shoulders must have appeared slumped to my waist as I stood there silently weeping. I finally let go. I bawled like a newborn.

Again the warm, beautifully manicured hand was there on my shoulder. (I wish to emphasize here that if anyone finds this sick or inappropriate, also take into account that this was a happier time beofre bullshit lawsuits and hottie teachers who fuck kindergartners. Before it became illegal for teachers to spank some little bastard, much less innocently try to clean and emotionally mend a poor child who had just shat his entire lower half rather than disobey his kindly war goddess of a teacher. Naughty bastards.)

"Why didn't you just run to the bathroom?" she asked, perplexed.

"You said not to move," I said weakly, fighting back adding, "my lady" or "I would die for you"...yeah, you might say it was a crush. Unhealthy? No argument here...

She tenderly cleaned me from head to toe, except for the private area, which she left for me as she stepped out to check on the rest of the class. After a while, my mom showed up with a change of clothes, and to make sure I had cleaned me long shanks properly - a fact which totally (and healthily) destroyed the enchantment of the situation for me. The only clothes she had been able to get her hands on in the rush of things was a spare outfit that my aunt had kept for just such an emergency for her kid...a black long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.

As I dressed in the long, dark uniform, it felt as if changing into a protective suit of armor. A shield from the hyenas who would no doubt bombard me with witty puns of my pootastic exploits the moment my swollen bum hit my desk. And then I heard my dark queen say from the classroom:

"If ANY of you so much as MUTTERS anything about what happened to that poor boy while in my class, or jokes, or lets him hear anything mentioned about what happened to him today, you WILL be punished!"

And no one did. Thank you, my dark queen. ::bows::

A Hulking Holiday

2008-01-08T12:52:00.000-08:00

Several Holiday Seasons ago (maybe 2003 - definitely before my divorce and my fortunate rediscovery of Curt & Gary - or perhaps they rediscovered me - anyway), I had a group of friends over for a big holiday sleepover party. All the kids were there as well.

My friend Becky bought my son Seth a Hulk voice-changing mask and huge foam Hulk hands that act as EXTREMELY noisy green boxing gloves. well, Seth threw on the gloves and immediately became a little green menace, bouncing his new foamy fists of fury against the heads of his little sister, Willow, and best friend, Sedric.

The "adults" of course, were busy playing with the voice changing mask in the den. There was much giggling and picture taking.

Well, a few hours later things calmed down, and we were all sitting around talking. Seth was sitting in the middle of the floor, now decked out in his Vader-like Hulk mask and gloves, enjoying listening to himself answer questions in the monstrously deep robotic voice.

All of a sudden, Willow runs into the room at fulls speed, launches herself at us, and stops to talk to us. Unfortunately, the little beauty did not realize (or did she?) that she was standing solidly on her brother's crotch (which, I might add, was not protected by green foam or hard plastic.)

Seth started throwing his huge foam arms around wildly, screaming, "Guys guys... get her off me... GUYS... GET HER OFF ME GUYS... GUYS GUYS GUYS!!!" as if appealing madly to all the men in the room, who would surely understand his plight and gallop immediately to his aid.

Now I don't know if you've ever imagined Darth Vader or the Incredible Hulk yelling at the top of their lungs as an unwitting toddler stomps on their exposed nads...but it's hilarious. Poor Seth. We were all rolling on the floor laughing, trying our best (between spasms of explosive, hyena-like laughter) to reach the completely confounded and upset Willow and give little Seth some relief. However, we were all hitting the floor like rag dolls, unable to stop laughing at the poor boy's zany misfortune.

Well finally one of us got to the now-crying Willow and comforted her while the rest of us checked the moaning, disgruntled Seth for serious testicular injury.

I am pleased to say, the crown jewels are intact to this day.

Christmas 2007

2007-12-28T08:23:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday, Jesus. I know they say you were actually born during the Hebrew harvest time, but whatever. Happy birthday.

Christmas was a Great Morning. Really. Seth proclaimed it, "The Berst Christmas Ever," and obviously that made my morning. Especially since, apparently, Seth and Melissa had the "talk" about the philosophical nature of Santa Claus vs. the actual physical nature of said jolly old elf. So Seth understood that it was going to be a tight Christmas, but was completely understanding by the time Christmas day got here.

In spite of the fact that we all had less to spend this year, the kids were thrilled. And honestly, their hauls of loot were virtually indistinguishable from any other year; the items were just smaller.

Willow received a Snoopy Snow Cone machine (yes, old school, I know, thank you), about 10 princess-type Disney/Barbie dolls, a baby doll, 3 princess movies, the Thumbellina movie, a "Princess Willow" figurine, two books, a stuffed monkey and clothes.

Seth hauled in a Yoda backpack, the last 4 Harry Potter books, a homemade play sword, a real squire's court sword w/ sheath, two pirate water pistols, a stuffed rabbit, a "Seth the Brave Knight" action figure on horseback, a walking stick, a few action figures, a few Transformers, "How to Eat Fried Worms" the movie, and the Pokemon: Diamond and Pearl DS games.

We went to mom and dad's for lunch. After lunch, we all unwrapped presents. We had a good time together. It didn't feel rushed, and we all seemed to enjoy ourselves. There was no family tension or drama. The kids got tons of clothes. and some outdoor toys and movies they'd been wanting.

After that I took the kids to Melissa; we met in Turbeville as usual. There the kids gave me their presents to me; Seth gave me a huge "Dad" pen, and Willow gave me a cool Chinese dragon figurine that matches the two horses I already have.

Yeah, it was a good day. The kids were happy, so I'm happy.

Love Can Kiss My White Scot-Irish Bahookey

2007-12-20T12:26:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, the grown ladies around me always told me I was going to be a "heartbreaker" one day. The more time goes by - the more relationships I've been in - this seems more and more like some cruel antebellum curse or malign prophecy on their part.

Don't get the wrong impression here...I'm not a guy who gets requests for dates all the time, or even regularly. I'm not bombarded with ladies who want to spend time with the design monkey. But with me, as I'm sure it is with everybody, sometimes the stars line up in a way that seems right enough for further investigation of someone who wanders across my path.

I don't like hurting people, especially women that I let myself get close to. It's starting to seem like after the divorce, my efforts are futile to do anything other than leave a short swathe of hurt or disappointed women behind me.

Why do I keep bouncing from one woman to the next? B/c of this notion I have of a woman out there that is my ideal match. My one, my soul mate, my happily ever frickin' after - whatever you want to call it, she's it.

But I started wondering last week, is this most sacred of quests the noble and worthwhile undertaking that I have always seen it as? Yes, it's just dating, and maybe some ladies fall too hard too fast for me - but if there's nothing really wrong with a woman but I'm just not feeling the "one" vibe or something doesn't feel right and I get out of the relationship...it just seems like there might be an increasingly thin line between my notions of the perfect woman for me and a non-existent fairy tale (or clinical insanity, take your pick.) Could I be happy if I'd just settle down and let myself be?

Let's be honest...prolly not.

Then I'm reminded...my ex and I relied on the initial feelings of love to carry us through, and it didn't. We should have thought through things more before settling. Two wonderful kids, sure. But a true match we were not. So maybe I'm justified here.

Either way, I'm taking a break. Maybe a really long one. I don't know right now. My dad always told me never to say what I'll never do. So I'm not. I'm just saying that love, fate, the stars, Venus, Cupid, whoever or whatever can kiss my Scot-Irish bahookey for a while, b/c I'm tired of dating. Finding the next (and hopefully last) Mrs. Shane McElveen is not a game to me, and it's painful every time it doesn't work out...whether I acknowledge that or not when I'm ending it.

So yeah, I'm out of the dating circuit for a while. I think. Unless someone irresistible and incredibly persuasive comes along. Not that anyone cares, but since when did I ever write these things for you people? LOL.

Armored Bears and Inner Questions

2007-12-07T08:33:00.000-08:00

I decided weeks ago that I'm going to watch The Golden Compass. To be frank, it looks like a really good movie; I'm just not convinced it's a kids' movie.

Months before I heard about the third book in the series, where the heroic kids team up with "fallen angels" in a parallel universe from our own to kill this senile old evil god figure. To be honest, this bothered me b/c it sounded a bit like Satanist philosophy to me. As a Christian who's about to be re-baptised on the same day my son is baptised, this is something that I have to question. This was amid the flurry of opinions from all sorts of viewpoints that I was getting, as my friends range from militantly agnostic to mystics to right-wing Christians.

I did a fair amount of research. I mean honestly I don't think an atheist is going to leave his ideals - his beliefs - out of his books. No one does. Stephen King doesn't. C.S. Lewis didn't. Tolkien didn't. They all injected at least a bit of themselves into their stories.

I think it's only fair for everyone to get their soapbox in America. It's what our country is about. I'm not a boycotter. I don't believe for a second that God hates homeosexuals. In fact, I think anyone who holds up a "god hates fags" banners should have "Ichabod" stamped over their church door, b/c they've failed to teach the love of God and Christ in that place...they have lowered themselves to a philosophy of hatred and intolerance.

Let's face it, Christians. Society tolerates our ideas as much as we tolerate "the world." I for one don't mind hearing a man's allegorical objections to the Catholic Church. I'm not Catholic. But I do value their traditions, and I think that children's books shouldn't have to be toned down due to religious content in order for a movie to be made.

If you're going to write about topics denouncing things I think they should books for teens and abults, not younger. Kids need time to be kids before they have to worry about all this crap. All these varied viewpoints about God. And for a child to even have to consider having their soul torn away from them, even in a fantasy context, or to be forced to slay a tormenting creator that should be loving and aiding them as a father/mother would...it becomes horror. It becomes an unfair, dark thing for a child to have to ponder. I'm not trying to make anyone out to be a villain here, I just personally think it was over the edge.

Do I think that God is offended? I don't know the mind of God; I merely perceive glimpses. Just like all of us who believe in God. I think God is love. Sure he gets offended, sad, angry, lonely...I think he probably feels a lot of things about it. But atheism isn't new to God. Neither is allegory. Neither is fantasy. Or this crazy "free will" thing that He invented. You know, right before He took a day off and took some pain killers from the massive headache he likely got thinking about all the damn necessary trouble that "free will" was going to cause this world. Don't get me wrong. I like being my own person; thinking for myself. If God had made us all automatons, we never would have truly lived. And part of living is accepting others and their views, and living with the consequences of our own actions. I've been a crusading "uber-Christian" in the past. I don't ever want to take that approach again. To denounce people and hurt them; drive them away. And I won't. But I also won't stop believing the things that make me who I am.

I'm rambling...all this opinion hurling is making me tired. I'm going to wrap this up.

So I'll be watching The Golden Compass. And likely any other movie they make. B/c I do value other thoughts, and I want to hear them. And b/c my faith in what I personally belive is firm.
but my children won't be watching it yet. Not until I think they're ready to handle it. Right now, just the mention of a kid's soul being separated from her makes my son cry out in horror and dismay...I'm not OK with that. I'm tired of other people telling me what my children should and shouldn't watch or can handle and should be experiencing. I'm not a fool...I'll decide that for myself. And so should you.

If I've offended any of my friends or loved ones of any belief, it wasn't my intention. No one has been singled out here in my thoughts while writing this. Maybe you think I'm over-reacting here over a stupid movie, but honestly I wrote this blog for myself...not for you. I'm only doing what I think is best for my kids. And honestly, that's all any Christian is doing. That's all any agnostic or atheist is doing. That's all any parent, of any faith, is doing. Maybe we should ask the children how they feel about it. They probably have a great deal more wisdom on the subject than any of us do.

Rewind to crappy job from 1999

2007-10-26T06:37:00.000-07:00

Overheard by the Design Monkey at a past job - 1999:
__

Director of 1999 job: (interviewing Shane) So tell me Shane, if I looked at the back of your car, what stickers would I see there?
Shane: (nervously) Um...well...there's the one that says "My Boss is a Jewish Carpenter", the one that says, "Can't Sleep, Clowns Will Eat Me", the one that says, "Hookt Awn Fonix Werked Fer Meeh"...
Director: So, Shane, I hear you're a computer guru! We have some computer issues around here that need looking into. I was thinking we could make that part of your job!
Shane: (imagining a monkey trying to make love to a coconut, and seeing how it relates to his current situation) Greeeeaaaat.
__

Overweight Coworker: I had some of those WOW o'lean chips last night; I stayed on the toilet all night...
Jerk Coworker: Oh yeah? Well how many bags did you eat?
Overweight Coworker: up yours, ass-holio.
Jerk Coworker: (chuckling) Tee pee! So, was it grand rapids or a little episode of the dropsy lumps?
Overweight Coworker: Dude, it was diarrhea. I really don't want to go into the consistency.
Jerk Coworker: I'll bet it had those weird nutter beans and the maizey corn chowders in it, too!
Overweight Coworker: Oh sweet lord, I just tasted bile. You need to shut the hell up. (throws stapler at jerk)
Jerk Coworker: Ow! (runs, cackling)
__

(Shane is sitting in enclosed cubicle taking a broken printer apart. A nearby denizen of the cube farm approaches.)
Coworker: What are you doing?
Shane: Taking apart this broken printer.
Coworker: Can you fix it?
Shane: (laughing) I sincerely doubt it. (a loose spring flies to the right of Shane's face) Huh...interesting...
Coworker: Um...so aren't you wasting your time?
Shane: Absolutely.
Coworker: Am I missing something?
Shane: (to himself, whispering) Don't answer...too easy...
Coworker: Huh?
Shane: Listen. Management told me to try to fix the printer, b/c I "couldn't mess it up worse than it already was." B/c some shmoozing good ol' boy pushed me as a "computer and graphics guru" when I showed up for an interview. So by the time I'm hired, everyone thinks I'm a fricking computer hardware expert. Well, as you can see, I am clearly not a printer technician. Which, last time I checked, sounded nothing like "Graphic Designer." But hey, it's a paycheck. (turns and continues to break printer)
Coworker: So, when were you going to get to your clients today?
Shane: When I'm done.
Coworker: Well when do...
Shane: Either take it up with the supervisor or go do your job and see how much to make out the check to the poor reflicted man whose mom is cashing those checks to play the poker machines...for. Grrrr. (turns back around)
(Coworker whistles and walks away.)
__

Shane: (driving down Chesterfield county backroads to clients' homes) God, please don't let me die in some sad parody of Deliverance and Slingblade rolled into one. Thank you. Amen. Mmmm hmmm. Thank I'll get me some french fried taters after'n I deliver this `ere check, mmmm hmmmm. OK, come on, God, that was funny.
__

Serpent.

2007-08-22T12:03:00.001-07:00

I hear you.

Sharp and deadly

Weaving through the under

You stalk me

Seek me

Know me

Near me...

Hear me.

Fear of the slithering

Night approaching

Wrapping

Warping coils of darkness

Through this glass

Darkly do I rebuke my Enemy.

Winding and infinite

To flee is to er

I fear you, but succumb

I know you, but forget

Your weakness.

I feel your descent

Your darkness

Hovers

Covers me

And I fail in my fear.

Monstrous

Dripping maw

I stumble

And you are upon me, Enemy

Warm, wet

Damp fear

Penetrates my senses

Urges flood them.

Deceit

Conceit

I am humbled

By your lack of power

Over me

Through this mirror I rebuke my Enemy...

Darkness!

2007-08-22T11:58:00.000-07:00

I've gotten questions/comments about the whole "Darkness" nickname thing, so here's the official explanation:

My friend & roommate Gary used to watch a lot of Dave Chapelle's show, and there were skits on there about Eddie Murphy's brother, Charlie Murphy. They called him "Darkness" b/c at the time he was the blackest man in Hollywood b4 Wesley Snipes showed up.

I am the blackest white man Gary knows in several ways, so he calls me "Darkness" as a joke, but I thought it applied, so I kinda like it. It's a joke, folks. I'm not trying to become Satan's love child or anything, I promise. {:)>

Shout out to Charlie Murphy,
The Monkey

So-Called "Christian" Chain Letters

2007-08-22T11:55:00.000-07:00

This is a rant.

This rant, my dear sweet children, is going to be about so-called "Christian" chain emails - You know what I'm talking about..."If you love Jesus you'll pass this on - he who is ashamed of Christ, Christ will be ashamed of in Heaven!"

You all know what I'm talking about and who I'm talking to: The folks who invent and pass along any deceitful and offensive chain email containing the idea that Jesus himself will ignore you if you don't forward an EMAIL to 15 or more people?!

Wow...so, so...lemme see if I got this straight here. Jesus...loves me enough to go through years on Earth learning what it's like to feel human pain, lust, longing, joy, fear, personal victories and failures...

And then he allows himself to be dragged all over Judea by cruel Romans and his OWN people...

Only then to be beaten will studded, spiked flails, meat and blood spewing from his open wounds...

And then subjected to the most CRUEL and AWFUL TORTURE invented by mankind...

Fed vinegar, crying out to the God that sent him here to experience all this on my behalf....

Because He loves me.

But only if I forward this email to 15 people? LOL. Please. You know what, folks? If you believe that, then you have just reduced all that I just said to a joke.

And I hope you realize what it's doing to those of us who take our personal faith in our God more seriously than a stupid forward button.

I mean...WHAT?! Was I asleep through that part of Sunday School? Because my Dad is a preacher, folks! I was there every Sunday! Maybe what we're ashamed of, boys and girls, is the fact that you guys are actually taking these god-awful goofy wastes of KB space seriously enough to share them with us! B/c folks...I've read the Bible. The old school prophets and saints write a whole lot better than what you're passing off.

The drivel that you are passing off as faith demeans the faith of myself and my brothers and sisters. It reduces my personal, loving God of Grace and Truth to a pointless chain email, or bulletin, or what the web ever...and I resent it DEEPLY. Who gave you the right to judge people in such a careless way? Certainly not the Jesus I believe in; He would tell you that only God will judge each of us.

Your attempts at digitized religious indignation anger me. How DARE you question beliefs I have held dearly all my life because I did not forward someone's bland poetry? Thank you all for reducing a worldwide religion to a series of retarded chain mails that no one takes seriously any longer.

Wait, I apologize. I suppose you do.

Why don't you try stepping out of your Christian support group and talk to someone you don't know? Maybe even a *gasp* GAY person! God forbid you might like them. Get along with them. Find a common ground. Share each others' experience instead of hating each other because you never tried to step past the outer layers of your divided societies and really SEE each other as HUMAN BEINGS.

Jesus ate with whores and tax collectors. The least you could do is stand up from behind your computer, go out to your car with the fish sticker, and go meet some people and try to love them instead of passing judgement and hellfire on them from your lofty roller chair.

I'm Carey Shane McElveen, and I am a believer in my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. But not this watered down pseudo-Christianity, and not Uber-Christianity. And not your stupid, hopped up chain hate mails. I suggest you think very hard very soon about your beliefs and you make sure what you're doing is for God and not yourself. I suggest you make that Jesus that you rail on about - with cute pictures of doves and waving baptismal water - your own personal Jesus. Then I suggest you get a life and grow some compassion before you open your mouth about MY GOD again.

Whether you pass this along or keep it to yourself, Jesus is going to love you either way. Remember that, people. I may be mad enough to choke the stupid out of you right now, but thankfully, I'm not God.

And neither are the folks who write your bland Jesus emails.

Have a great night, and please read and think before you speak or forward. Think about how you are making others feel when you spew your judgements in the office.

Think. Love one another. Treat one another as you would like to be treated. Pray.

Good night.
Shane

a love note for no one

2007-08-22T11:15:00.000-07:00

This is for you. Maybe one day you'll read this, and you'll know it was meant for you. Maybe that's too much for me to hope in the grand scheme of things.

But then again, maybe it's not.

I sit here and I think about you sometimes...what you might look like, your smile...the way you might look at me when I make you laugh. A look that would ignite a heart whose embers faded to ash long ago. The thought that one day we will find each other keeps the old heart from growing too cold - so cold that I stop caring.

I think about all the things we could do together; how we'd whisper stupid things to each other in the theater before the movie...or argue over which god-awful thing to rent next...or drive somewhere we've never been just so we can say we went, b/c road trips are fun and it's about the journey...or lie in the cool grass in the dead of night, watching stars twinkle and fade in that oddly comforting Stygian dark as you lay your head on my chest...

And in the meantime I try to find a way to do more than exist...a way to not desire you in my life...a way to forget that knowing you would make me better, b/c just wanting to know you and love you makes me a better man. I live my daily live, trying to improve myself - trying to be the best person I can be and realizing how much of a journey this life is...

So I guess I'm just writing all this to simply tell one person, "Hi. My name's Shane. I've been waiting to meet you my whole life. If you're you...the one for me, that is...I hope to hear from you soon. I hope I'm not wrong in believing that one of us will start figuring things out before it's too late.

But until that day when we meet, take care of yourself and know that every day that passes, I miss you more.

Love,
Me

On Relationships & My First Marriage

2007-08-15T12:09:00.001-07:00

I'm sitting here, wondering why I'm in the mood to publish my life online before a bunch of strangers - and honestly I'm ever more baffled by the fact that anyone would want to read it. Am I deluding myself into thinking that there is some secret fan base out there that secretly worships my hidden talent of bringing the mundane experiences of my humdrum existence to these magic screens that we all sit transfixed in from of while we should be working or sleeping?

Anyway, I can only continue to wonder if this whole sporadic endeavor is only for me, or if someone out there aside from curious friends (and possibly my future curious children) will feel any need to read this...maybe it's like Oniyagi says, and I'm writing all this in hopes that some fair maiden out there in the far reaches of the internet will read these words and be transfixed by them, falling helplessly in love with my irresistible personality.

Riiight. Anyway, speaking of love, I'm going to take this opportunity to comment on the first love of my life, just in case wife #2 (no offense intended, Darling) is gathering info on yours truly in order to launch her future romantic invasion into my quiet, unassuming life.

Man, I'm deluded.

Anyway, I married my first love...we met in college. Married in 1997, and had two beautiful kids together. Seth is now 9, smart-mouthed like both his parents and his Poppie, and the most loving, talented, sweet-hearted boy I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Willow is 4 (going on 16), and is a precocious little princess. A diva, if you will. I used to wonder if 4-year-olds can actually BE divas - trust me folks, they can. But she is also curious, imaginative, affectionate, and full of life and love. These kids have truly been a blessing to my life, and I'll always be thankful for them.

After 8 years of marriage, my wife and I separated and then divorced. I still have partial custody of my children (every other weekend). It was incredibly hard for a long time...I realize that is such a trite understatement of the truth. No one can understand the difficulty of divorce until they've gone through it themselves, and as much pain as we parents go through in the process, we'll never really grasp the pain the kids go through. Every situation is different, and every situation is HARD.

Anyway, two years after my separation (the divorce occured early this year), I think I'm on the road to being ready to meet a lady who truly is my match, "soul mate," or what-have-you. I've had a few ladies comment that they don't understand why I'm still single. Well, first off, it hasn't been that long since I wasn't. LOL. Secondly, I'm still working through my own issues here. Lastly, I have a lot of quirks that the ladies would have to get used to. Maybe I'll blog a list of them soon for your amusement. And, you know, for the future Mrs. McElveen. Hey baby. ;)

Of Useless Sporting Goods & Brilliant Authors

2007-08-15T11:55:00.000-07:00

So yeah, I'm a 30-year-old Harry Potter fan. I knew I could no longer avoid complete acceptance when I bought a pair of Quidditch goggles - not for my 9-year-old son, mind you (although he has relocated the goggles to his room), but for yours truly. Why, you may ask? Could you have possibly made a more useless $12 purchase?

All I can say is that it was all about the love. I've been digging on the Potter (or as some proclaim, I have been a "Potterhead") since 1999. I read the first book in the breakroom of a printing building, and I nearly spit my sandwiches every day as I roared laughing at the every flavored beans and all of the other subtly enchanting humor and detail that the wizarding world had to offer.

Then I started listening to the audio books. They were incredible; Jim Dale's seemingly endless supply of voices added a richness to the already amazing books. I cannot count the number of times I have checked out those books on CD and listened to them. Through the years they are among few series' that have remained fresh and exciting for me.

I have to say that I gained an all-new respect for J.K. Rowling after finished the final book. I cried, got mad, threw the book, forgave her, picked the book up, and continued on through the parts that were hardest to read...but oh how the story tied itself into a beautiful, nearly seamless tapestry that completed her story so well. The final installment of the Harry Potter series not only perfectly completed her grand work, in my eyes her attention to detail and care for every character in her created literary universe made her series into a masterpiece.

Besides, my son is planning to be Harry Potter decked out in in his Quidditch uniform for Halloween, so it wasn't a complete waste of my $12...silly muggles.

They Aren't Just For Old Peeps Any More...

2007-08-15T11:43:00.000-07:00

Well, I figure I should take a few (hundred) steps back here and start off this blog at the beginning; that is, my beginning. I'm going to tell you about one of the most formative elements of this design monkey's life, how it came to be, and what it means to me now. After this blog I could jump all over the place (as we monkeys tend to do in our ADD way), but for now allow me to focus on the beginning of a tiny little monkey with a shaggy black mane...

I was born with a hole in my heart, and underwent open heart surgery at 1 year of age. My heart rate was always slow after that. It wasn't until I was 10 that anything scary happened as a result...

I was in hernia surgery (10 yrs. old) when I went into cardiac arrest. I made it through, but at that point it was decided that a pacemaker would prevent my heart from fluctuating in the future, and would therefore be a good idea.

A lot of people (maybe less in recent years) think that pacemakers are only used for senior citizens. I'm living proof to the contrary. OK, to some of you maybe I am old...hell, when I was a kid I used to think that 25 was ancient...but here I am at 30 and on my 3rd pacemaker.

So anyway at 12 years old I received my first cybernetic implant...lol... (ie. pacemaker) and in like 1997 they were going to replace the pacemaker battery, but realized that pacemaker technology had come so far that they'd just replace the whole shebang. Enter pacemaker #2.

After a few years, pacemaker #2 (or as I like to call it, the Iron Bitch) attempted to leave my body by slowly, painfully moving from the middle of my right pec toward my underarm. Yeah. OW.

So the doctors removed the evil pacemaker, and I received a brand new, shiny 3rd pacemaker. Last year the doctors told the pacemaker to stop doing so much work for my body. The result, I'm happy to say, is that my heart is growing stronger by taking on more responsibility for pumping blood to my entire body, etc.

Now if I can lose this weight, I'll be in good shape (no pun intended).

Matt and Samantha's Wedding

2007-08-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

I really want to note; before any more time passes, how awesome Matt and Samantha Broughton's wedding was. I had an awesome time, and it was a pleasure meeting and getting to know both sets of parents and Sam's family from Jersey. I think a good time was had by all, since we ended up having an impromptu party over at one of the cabins after the wedding was over.

For some reason, they actually want me to come back and visit...

The wedding was on July 21, 2007. You can view photos of this awesome wedding by following this link: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2040159&id=45501809

Enjoy, kiddies.

Enter The Monkey

2007-07-17T09:08:00.000-07:00

Monkey's Log...OH MY (yes that was a blatant George Takei reference.) Monkey date...oh. The blog thing probably already logged the monkey date...huh. (scratches head, eats flea)

Fine. I've given in...herein lies the first blog of Shane McElveen, self-proclaimed graphic design monkey and overall nifty human being. And, of course, I have nothing of consequence to write.

About me:

I'm a graphic design monkey. This means that I among the temperamental creative masses to whom corporate America pays an excruciatingly low salary to create artwork. For this meager restitution, I use my God-given abilities and years of accumulated design knowledge to design a varieties of things, from logos to brochures to magazine ads. Just recently I've accepted a new position as Production Coordinator (yes, yes, I know, WTF indeed) which means that am adding HTML, CSS, etc. to my current design skills, thus becoming a Web Designer.

Let's see, what else...I'm a kid at heart, and also have 2 children; a 4-year-old fairy princess (yes, she's a girl, ass...) and a 9-year-old Jedi Knight masta killa. They are awesome kids, and they are a constant source of inspiration to me on countless levels. I'm divorced to their mom, so yes, ladies, I am on the market. (rolls eyes) I'm a geek and a freak, I love movies, and I (gasp) love roleplaying games. That's right, I am a Dungeons and Dragons dork, and proud of it.

Just as a note to the poor souls who end up reading my assplosive mental diarrhea:

I will likely be writing secondary blogs at least once a week about the status of my weight. That's right, I'm a big Fatty McFatterson at 259 frightening lbs. (if I just offended you, I sincerely don't care. Don't read blogs you can't handle and have a nice day!), and I'm finally ready to do something about that. Anyway, read my second blog today for more sad elaboration, speculation, and hopeful eventual emancipation. Heh. I'm starting to sound like the good Rev. Jesse Jackson.

That's it for now; it's a decent beginning. I figure daily situations will lead to more detail on the countless things I've forgotten to mention.

Monkey out,
Shane