A pile is forever.

I have been finding an underlying pattern lately that connects much what I do in every day life. Normally I would try and suppress this pattern on the basis that I try to keep my mind exercised and my routine dynamic (so much for that). This should be no different. I would attempt to delete any dull repetition from my life, except that I believe that this pattern is the foundation of the universe.
I often see this pattern manifest itself at at my place of work. I often end up doing many forms of work, much of it in the form of manual labor. Since most of what I get involved with happens to be outdoors, I get to see nature first hand for hours upon end. A hot spot for natural patterns and systems to show themselves.
In the case of raking leaves, which is a reoccurring theme in my "area of expertise", my job is to take thousands of individual entities and collect them into on massive pile of unique objects. In this instance, the mass of individual entities forms a sort of unique entity of it's own. Then, I often part up this large pile into many smaller piles which I place into large paper bags. I then collect these bags into a large group on the side of the road. This unique entity unto itself, in turn, gets collected and placed into a garbage truck full with hundreds of other bags, each of which had a few thousand leaves in it.
What I am getting at here is what I refer to as Pile Theory. The theory that everything ends up as a pile, and that everything is as it is because it is a pile, and that in the end, everything will end up as one gigantic pile.
Basically, the entire universe is constructed of many billions of tiny particles (atoms) that just want to naturally pile up on each other. So much so that eventually this whole universe as we know it will become as ten different colored play-dohs smashed into one: A big puke-color-biased mass.
Take, for instance, human beings themselves. Under almost no circumstances are they ever found totally alone from one another. In an overwhelming majority of the cases people will begin by piling together into small congregations known as villages. Then, provided they survive starvation and weather and pirates, they go on to become towns. Soon the towns become large enough to support sub-piles, such as bingo clubs, skateboarders, and vegans. With time these towns grow to be huge piles of up to millions of individual entities known. These as cities. Cities also have a number of sub-piles which support them, much like the aforementioned leaf collection bags which would be balanced against each other in one large pile so as to prevent them from spilling their contents onto the road.
What is sound, but piles of air piling onto your eardrums then a lack of piles on your eardrum thousands of times a second?

While the natural tendency for matter is to "pile up", so to speak, there is a small percentage of matter in any given sample that wishes to refuse the piling. From preliminary research, it seems to be somewhere in the rounded vicinity of 2%. This is the percentage of matter that will refuse the desire to pile. Take, for example the dirt on the floor. A person first piles it from all around the room into one central location. Then that person attempts to pile it into a dust pan. That person, on the first pass, succeeds in getting most of the dirt into the pan, but notices a line of remaining dirt on the floor. The person realign the dustpan and makes another pass. While much of the dirt is collected, there again remains a line, although smaller this time. This process repeats many times until the amount of dirt remaining on the floor is negligible, or reaches an "acceptable" level. This pattern could be traced back to the initial piling of the dirt into the middle of the floor, with individual pieces being left behind from the broom's bristles.
This concept explains phenomena from abstract creative thought to virus mutations. It also explains why the heck it is so hard to clean one's room, even after all the major obstructions and furniture are moved out.

In conclusion, piles are the essence of this universe, whether you like it or not. As I am typing, my fingers are piling onto the keys of my keyboard, which is making electrical charges pile up on a central platter pile inside my hard drive, which is, itself, a pile of electrical components. So roll over String Theory, because Pile Theory is in full swing.

Now I need to go to work and pile leaves up for the rest of the day.

From the Drewberry Life Factbook

Drew's helpful advice on life

tip #586: "Smile, nod, walk away. Repeat"

Psychedelia dia Doritos

I go through phases where I will remember some aspects of many different dreams that I had the night before. Unless these dreams are causing me to wake up in the night and give me a crummy sleep pattern, I usually enjoy them. I invite the often insightful illusions coursing through my mind. Other times, I go through phases which can be upwards of a week where I do not remember a single thing or have any impressions from my dreams of the night before.

One thing that I hear many people complaining of is that of getting bad dreams from an active stomach. This status is achieved by eating food right before bed. This is one affliction that I don't believe I have ever been bothered with. It was on Friday night that I think I experienced what so many have spoken of.

Heidi was here, and we all decided that we hadn't had snacks for way too long. Thus, we went out to Walmahts and 1x bag of Black Pepper Doritos, 1x bag of Salt + Vinegar chips, 1x box of Donettes, 2x liters of sohda, Coca Cola style. We went home and proceeded unload on the food. I was already rather satisfied in eating for the day and could have gone without, but I am not one who can pass up Doritos. I ate a lot more that I even supposed I was able to.

When the night wound down, I went to bed (duh). The whole night was filled with psychodelic visions of places and things, some of which are real and some are not. Lots of things flashing in and out. The Grand Canyon. A trailer park. A field of llamas. North Carolina. The eifle tower. The dark side of the moon (?).

Most distinctly, I remember myself and what seemed like hundreds of other people getting onto a bus. All of them were people that I either know or have known. A number of people who I haven't seen for years, lots of people who I have never actually seen a picture of, family, friends, people who I see every week, all piling onto this bus. It wasn't a school bus, but was more of a touring type bus. By the magic of dreams, we turned a cross country trip from what should have been a week into an instant. Then we were inside a concert hall with everyone onstage and a laser light show. I don't know what was playing, but everything was going crazy.

I was also in a car during the darker half of the twilght hour. I was driving ultra fast down the road and was avoiding the dozens of broken down cars and stray dogs that were in the middle of the road. When I saw the cops pulling out from the side of the road with their bar lights on, I yanked a right turn up a hill that sent my flying in the air about ten feet high. I took pleasure in the looks and comments of awe at my sweet moves. I lost the police.

When I eventually woke up after what seemed to be a week's worth of activity, I was hungry.

Psychological colors.

I generally try to keep the monochromatic details of my life out of here and just try to provide you with information on why things people do are stupid. At the moment, I had a good week and I feel like writing about it. I will try to make it interesting by giving it my standard blog "view on things" treatment. No guarantees, though.

People are so very interesting. While often I cannot stand talking to them, I almost always get a kick out of watching them. That's what I love about being normal: I can enjoy everyone else's abnormalities (If you wish to argue this point about me, you are only asserting it).
People of the middle school age seem to be both the most malleable and the most dynamic. While they can be easily told what to do and what to think, if you let them go off and do their own thing they show an array of personality color and dynamics that you do not see in most adults, since they are not afraid to let it out. That is what annoys me about the high school age. Coolness either in silence or in loud obnoxiousness.
Two of the middle schoolers walk up to the music director, Bryant. Give me your pin, they say. One takes it and pins it onto his shirt, then paces around on stage saying, "I AM Bryant Clark! You will listen to me. Sing, Sing now! Sing loud! I AM Bryant Clark, and you shall obey me!". I don't think he got his pin back.
Two others, one dressed up in fake leathers, sideburns and a ponytail as Gaston, and the other a short guy with a bald wig (?) and a stuffed pot belly as Maurice. It looked like a comedy routine. They were walking back in forth on stage in front of the pit telling jokes and making fun of each other for our entertainment prior to the doors opening for the show. Someone asked if they shouldn't be in the other room with the cast getting ready. "Oh!", and they both went off in different directions. Someone else yelled, "Other Way!". They both did a 180 and smacked right into each other. It was better than anything they did on stage that night. The only part that was missing was the "feet running in place" sound effect, and the "car crash" sound effect from the cartoons. If I could have recorded it, it would be on the internet right now.
One rather small little guy was hanging around Bryant. He was talking to him about Ray Charles. Apparently he is a huge fan and has his Ipod filled up with Ray. He walked about the pit, attempting to identify and make conversation about each instrument. When he came around to me he, with confidence, announced that I played the viola . I took advantage of his malleable brain and instructed him to drop that word from his vocabulary. I think I made an effective presentation.

Another thing about middle schoolers is that they got bored easily. This worked to my advantage a number of times, since more than one of them wanted to try out my violin, since they were self proclaimed "experts" in the area. I would start to talk about what the definition of expert is, and how they have never heard an expert until they have listened to a szering recording, and how the greatest loss of modern society is it's lack of the arts and it's substitution for which is a poorly compiled series of repetitive chords attached to an unimaginative beat. After about ten seconds their eyes would glaze over and they would find something else to do. Surprisingly enough, this tactic workers very effectively on people of all ages, adults included, but that is another blog topic all together. (This reminds me of the time at AWANA that I silenced a 10x10 room with 15 excited little kids by explaining to them that the reason why they had to be quiet was because of the tax drain that it was causing on society and how it would deplete social security in an exponential manner due to the influx of massive corporation and lower retirement ages which, in turn, was contributing to the heat-death of this universe. I never before heard such silence from that group in my life)

We (the pit) went to Applebees during the three hour hiatus between Saturday afternoon and evening shows. We got to hear, "Tails from Band Practice" for a greater part of the time. Us orchestra people, who were, for the most part, on one end of the table and outnumbered, didn't know quite how to relate. Band is a very different culture, which I don't know that I will ever be able to comprehend. Again, this is a blog topic all in it's own. On a positive side for them, it does sound like they have a good time being able to march around and do peppy songs and stuff. I take solace in the fact that my instrument doesn't have a spit valve. That alone is enough for me.

Getting back from Applebees, we had about an hour left. I needed to warm up again, having been out in the cool air and not playing for a few hours. I was fooling around with a couple songs, and finally settled on one piece. Having played through half of it, one of the sound technicians came over and asked if he may have a chance at it. I was happy to let him, and he took the violin with his rather hammy hands. He proceeded to play out of tune, but with an obvious knowledge of the instrument. He played very stiffly, gripping so hard that I was on the verge of being nervous. When he stopped, I asked how long he had played for. "Until I was 14", he said. I asked why he didn't continue on. "Well, I was getting beaten up every single day at the bus station in Boston on the way to school...". Good reason.

Making music in a small group like this is great. You can almost get to know a person's personality through their style of playing. Everyone is heard, and everyone has an important role. Even more enjoyable is getting to know faces that I might only see once a year, once every two months, and even every week. Rather than the standard dry tacky and dull, "Hi. How are you?", holding an actual conversation. It makes for a good time. As much of a hassle as it is, I wish I could do it every month.

You know that it is going to be a long week when you keep thinking that it is Wednesday, when in fact it is still Monday.

I hate (small) dogs

I went for a walk a while ago. It was a longish walk. A nice day, too. I was glad to be able to stretch my legs. While walking on a certain road, I heard the universal irritating rapid fire sound of a tiny dog screaming and barking of a yard about one-hundred feet or so away. Ahh, I thought, the first catch of the day. This would put the icing on the already delectable cake of the day. punt!, or so I was hoping to do. These stupid dogs think they can really take on an entity that is thirty times its own body mass. And they only bark and yip in such an annoying manner because their stupid liberal owners are too "tolerant" and "understanding" and "animals are people too" to yank on the leash and tell them to shut up (you can tell it's bad when their kids act the same way...). Then they dress them up in little sweatshirts so that they can bark at you even when it is snowing out (whoops, drove the snowblower a little too close to the doghouse that last run...) Anyways, the retardog was barking for at least a minute now. Then it burst out and started charging toward me. I was smiling. Then, from the yard that the dog ran from, a door of the house opened, and a young boy of around eight or nine came out. *napoleon sigh*, I can't send this kid's dog into orbit while he is watching. So I kept on walking down the road towards the house that the dog came from, which I hadn't yet passed. The incessant barking continued. Somewhere from inside the house I could hear multiple times, "Get the dog!! Billy, get the dog!!" (for the sake of anonymity, actual names have been ommited). The dog got about five feet away in front of me and maintained that distance while I kept walking towards it. He ran towards me and I lifted my foot up and put the sole of my size 12 in front of its face. It freaked out and ran backwards in a few circles. It ran behind me, and I am convinced that it was aiming for my butt, but I kept it a good few feet away. I was getting miffed because it was annoying me, and I couldn't kick it because the kid was still standing on the doorstep. Around that time, the sizable mother came out the front door and started yelling to the dog to "Get over here!". After trying that a few times, she actually walked out to get the dog. She picked up the demon midget, which still had not stopped barking. She apologized a couple times.

Then, she apologized one final time and said, "I'm sorry, he really loves to make friends, just in the wrong way".


Happy Birthday