Four Years for years,

This entry comes on the heels of love, loss, and life. Maybe we dig our own hell, or find our own heaven. But it is such a slow process that like the tectonics of the vast landmass we cling to, we sub-duct to melt and burst forth or we upthrust to great heights to get eroded by the acid rain born from our own greatness without ever realizing it.

In the end, we are but hydrogen dust in the solar wind dude.

Dust... Wind.... DUDE.

So to take a much needed break (and because really who wants or cares to read in depth on someones life? that's what Facebook is for) I'm going to post some useless reviews:

• "Gotham" - Overacting, terrible writing, decent cinematography, and more characters than you can shake a bat-stick at. Granted it is only on 2 episodes, and there has never really been a successful live action series set in the Batmanoverse (the dark one). I had such high hopes for this series. Though I don't feel that it let me down. Rather it was just crappy enough not to make me too sad if it gets cancelled, and not too crappy to where I wish pain and fire upon those who cursed my eyes with it. I give them kudos for "Joking" with one of the bigger reveals. I will say that Jada Pinkett Smith stole the show with this new character "Fish Mooney"... I will also say that at first it was a "WHAT THE LIVING CLUSTER F*&# ARE THEY DOING?!?!" moment, but her acting chops really bring a Machiavellian flavor of camp and danger to the series. Donal Logue as Bullock was an odd choice, but he seems to be pulling off the rough cop with the heart of gold, buried in a chest of bullshit. I liked him better in Terriers... And lastly Benjamin McKenzie and David Mazouz (yea, I've never heard of them either) make a passable Gordon/Wayne combo. We'll see if the series has enough clout to get better for a second season, or go the way of Birds of Prey.
• Star Citizen (Alpha) - If you haven't donated to Chris Roberts' (the Wing Commander guy) new MMO space flight/combat/FPS/sims... errr... sim then you are one of those unfortunate souls who had a miserable and productive childhood. The game is still in early, early, early development. But it is also crowd funded. And with every "stretch goal", they have surpassed $51 Million dollars (insert Dr. Evil finger), they promise new content. And subsequently a full game gets pushed further and further back. Currently the game promises Newtonian spaceflight. Which means you have the option to fly like you are really in space, instead of in a WWII fighter plane (Star Wars). Upside: you can keep your momentum going forward, spin around and shoot someone trailing you. Downside: Astronauts make this shit look too easy! You are more than likely to go hurtling out of control and spiral into a large chunk of space rock. To make matters worse even if you do manage to kill another ship, they explode into a cloud of shrapnel moving at speed, which you are more than likely flying right into. And their smoldering wreckage WILL ruin your day. That's just the in-space part of the game. Right now you also get a spiffy hanger to walk around in. And the game promises an open world, space carriers, functioning economy, large scale ground combat (ala Planetside 2, CCP's project Legion). Oculus Rift support, and a development schedule that now looks to be measurable in geologic time scales. However, if you long for the days of being able to hop into a F-27 Arrow and rocket out into the void, then I would suggest dropping a few $$$ to get early access and at least help the dev cycle along. But if you can't/don't want to wait...
• EVE Online - Maybe you wasted most of your life back in 2005 for nothing. Or hated the fact that it took FOREVER for a new update. Or that the dev's ruined the game. Or you tried it out and after 2 years never understood exactly what it was you were "supposed" to do. The learning curve of every other MMO (and game for that matter) in existence can be summed up as a gradual slope. The more you play, the more you "grind" the better you will get. One day you will be on top and then grow tired of it and move on to something else. Eve is a lonely overgrown forest path, that leads to the foot of a cliff, that you are more than likely to fall off. If you make it to the top of this cliff, you will probably jump back off (or hang yourself from it). If you continue on at the summit, then it is nothing but a craggy, razor sharp precipice infested with rattle snakes, and lions, and zombies, and land mines, and crucified players, and thieves, and bandits, and goons. Lets say you somehow make it through the meat grinder of your first two years in the game, then you are faced with a vast artillery range strewn with bodies being bulldozed into nice little piles to be blown up again. There is no "on top" or "winning". If you manage to scam enough players to giving you their stuff, or stay in a station and play the market, or become a big shot Coalition leader, you will still either get taken out by your most trusted allies. Or you will get banned for no reason, or left all alone in a depleted belt while the wolves slowly circle while riding sharks w/ freaking laser beams on their head. So why play in the first place? The "Meta Game" that Eve offers is one of the best you will ever find. And CCP has finally started pulling their heads out of each others @$$'s. They are providing constant updates, expanding the community base, and the new CSM's (player voted government) is actually doing stuff... If only Congress could learn from a fake elected body. Sure Dust514 was a massive steaming pile of shit. But Project Legion (see Planetside 2) promises to not suck donkey choad. And Oculus Rift support for Valkyrie (see Wing Commander) gives some hope that the massive Tranquility server will not become a barren wasteland where the foul dictator Mittens rules over the few players left.
• Nerf Wars - Why throw such a random thing in here? Because what is more satisfying than shooting a friend or co-worker with a foam rubber dart? Sure the print on the side of the "blaster" say do not modify for risk of injury. But who actually takes the time to read those? Considering you can get a great blaster for about a quarter of the price for a par airsoft or paintball gun, and they leave far less of a mess, and don't sting nearly as bad, and you can use them in doors and around electronics, there is really no reason not to pick one up. Sure you'll look funny in the kids section at Target, but a decent CS-18 (looks like a pulse rifle from Aliens) will only set you back about $30. Even a simple pistol model runs right around $10. Pop it open (the simple double action ones) and stack about 3 to 4 pennies behind the spring. You'll be surprised by the extra umph you can get. DISCLAIMER: if you modify your blaster, you may cause injury or even blah blah blah... Basically, use common sense. Also, don't be "that guy" who totes around a painted fake revolver and gets taken out by someone with real firepower. If your place of business is cool with it, set up an actual war. There are also some great groups online that usually have pretty consistent meet ups.

Well, that's about it. Hopefully you found the above ramblings entertaining and informative. If you have a suggestion about something I should write about, please let me know. Abide.

Vampire with an interview.

The rather stout man mumbled to himself as he strode hurriedly through the double glass doors.

"Wind up the stairs, hang a right... Wind up the stairs, hang a right...."

He almost bowled over a tall blonde woman heading for the same doors, barely glimpsing her materializing out of the dim foyay he now found himself in. At the last second she sidestepped the stout man with a friendly "excuse me" and caught the door as it glided closed.

"Er, um sorry." the stout man stammered as he stepped aside. In the distance a few feet away he could make out a large silver door with sunlight streaming in next to it.

The stout man realized he had forgotten to remove his rather dark sunglasses, rendering him near blind in what the architect type would call "ambient lighting." Quickly he removed and folded them into his pocket with one hand, the other clutching a cellphone with the kind of grip that a climber might use for dear life. As if the death-grip could give him an extra minute or two.

"Well, not late, but not early..." he shrugged while looking down at its lit face. reaching out for the "up" button next to the elevator door.

"No, the stairs dummy!" the stout man veered his course up the flight of stairs to the left of the elevator. He ran his hand along the smooth marble that separated the two means of ascension, until he caught the metal railing on the other side. He was able to clear at least three steps with each stride, tugging on the banister for a little extra burst of speed.

Near the summit his hustle became a strut, back cracking slightly as it straightened and his pace morphing into something like a military march.

A very audible "Clack, squeek, clack, squeek" echoed through the chamber in a rythmic manner as if Michael Flatley was dancing about.

The stout man relaxed for a second, cracking a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Relax Damn it!" he thought "If you march in like this they'll think that the Nazi's were rolling in to invade their office."

He let his shoulders drop a bit, returned his breathing to normal, and returned to a confident strut. He reached for the wood handles on another glass door and slipped into an odd environment indeed.

This new room was mostly one large open space, with what appeared to be private offices jutting out here and there, a few cubical-style partitions seemed to flow off from a couple of the supports. The lighting was the same strange gold glow as the marble chamber he had just come from, only this room appeared to be lined mostly in wood, or something that had been painted to give the impression of wood. This new spaces deco was far more organic and friendly than the cold functionality of the stone and metal enclosure the stoutly man had just journeyd through. Were as one was a geometricaly perfect display, simple and intuitive to grasp, the new rooms surfaces were rounded and rolling, like an open ocean swell. The entire Feng shui reminded him of 60's secret agent hip crossed with Google'ish trendy.

"May I help you?" asked the receptionist to his right in a gentle tone.

The stoutly man turned and smiled at her, acting as if he knew exactly where he was and where he was going.

"Yes, I am here for a job interview I had scheduled for 3:30."

She pointed to a basket full of id tags, the kind that hang from those thick itchy bands and dig into the back of your neck when you are sweaty and nervous.

"Sign in please and give your name to her." She motioned towards a brunet woman with glasses standing next to the desk. This woman was probably in her 20's, dressed in "business casual" and holding a clip board. The stoutly man on the other hand was wearing a heavy woolen pea coat that would have been fashionable if under it he wasn't wearing a blue stripped shirt and a metallic azure tie he had picked up the previous night. Instead his pea coat clashed horribly with the faded khakis that he had worn to every job interview he had ever had, or at least he thought so, but the off and on showers that had been rolling through that day necessitated he wear something, and the pea coat was the best he had. In one hand he carried a yellow spiral notepad, stuffed with papers, in the other he fidgeted with a pen, trying and failing to twirl it like a rock drummer.

The stoutly man signed the ledger on the wavy table in front of the receptionist while saying his name. Then looked up at the woman in the glasses for further instructions.

A moment passed in silence as he locked gazes with what appeared to be a deer caught in the headlights. He kept his confident but forcibly relaxed pose, probably looking like some half-ass'd, barrel chested, seizure suffering, wanna-be Casanova.

The woman in the glasses cleared her throat and asked "Name?"

The stoutly mans eyebrows jumped up and he said "Oh, right" he repeated the moniker he half whispered to the Ledger, this time in a more audible tone.

"Great start moron." he thought as the woman in the glasses scrolled down the clip board.

"And you have an interview this afternoon?" she asked in a freindly enough tone, but with just enough genuine curiosity as to cause the stoutly mans mind to race with worry.

"Oh crap! Had I come to the wrong office?"
"No, no, it was through the doors, up the stairs, hang a right!"
"Was it the wrong day? WAS I LATE!?!?!"

He nodded and replied "Why yes, I have an interview at 3:30 for the Level 1 Techn..."

He was cut short from reciting the entire job description as the woman in the glasses nodded and motioned him to wait on the couch.

No sooner had the stoutly man taken off his coat than a gentleman in a stripped shirt and fohawk, sporting a soul patch seemed to jump from around the corner and inquire if he was the 3:30 interviewee. The man with the fohawk motioned for him to follow and they were off, the squeaking and clacking still slightly audible.

A moment later and they had both traveled a distance that seemed to be far too short for the space it occupied, to an office with panes of smoked glass for walls. The gentleman with the fohawk had taken a seat on a yoga ball next to a young woman behind a desk. The stoutly man smiled and introduced himself, shaking hands with both of them and then resuming his same position with coat in hand as if he was back in the hallway. They looked at him oddly as he motioned to a chair and inquired if he might have a seat. The stoutly man sat down in a small black office chair with wheels, and proceeded to drape his coat over the back of the chair, whip out the notebook and pen he had been carrying.

"Why don't you pull the chair a little closer?" Inquired the woman behind the desk. The stoutly man realized that his chair was in one corner of the room, and the desk was in the other.

"How about the rain?" He asked, trying to break the ice a little. He wracked his brain to think of something better than the obvious "Hey, I have nothing clever to say that isn't sarcastic or that makes me look like a dick so lets just talk about the weather." but came up nill.

"Relax DAMN IT!" he thought again, this time deciding that no matter what he does, things have to go better now that the game is afoot.

The Interview shot by with alarming speed, they asked the usual questions and the stoutly man felt that he had answerd all of them with relative ease. "Companie's a family, family's a team, team's thrive on communication, and communication starts with me." type answers, the same that most anyone would come up with in a similar interview. They responded with "the ideal candidate must be organized and aware of..." style questions. As time wore on, the stoutly man started to notice that they were staring at his chest a little more than normal. This started to throw him off a little. Were they looking at his shirt? Had he sweated so much in the rush to get there on time that it now was soaking through? Was it his pen? His motions? what were they looking at? As he started to think more and more about it, he stuttered on a question.

Then he got caught in a "Stupid Loop"

The act of trying to figure out what his interviewers were looking at, and answer the question had caused him to forget what the original question was.

All functions of the stoutly man's brain stopped as he strained to think of the original question. "What should I do?" he thought, "Do I pretend like I'm finished and hope they move on? Do I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind? Or should I politely ask them to repeat the question even though I already started in on the answer?" His brain had a fatal error and needed to reboot.

"I'm sorry, my ear you see...." He rubbed his left lobe, slightly "I have a bit of an issue with it, and..."

The gentleman with the fohawk leaned over and mumbled something to the woman behind the desk.

"Relocate! Yes that's a near-future goal of mine!" The original question had shot back into his mind, or at least he hoped that's what it was.

The woman behind the desk looked up at the clock. "Thank you very much for coming in today. But unfortunately we're out of time and have many other interviews to get through today."

The stoutly man nodded, stood up, and shook their hands. He thanked them for the chance to come in and interview and wished them well. Walking out of the glass office, he paused for a moment. The large room looked totally unfamiliar to him, he knew they had walked straight from the reception area. But didn't realize how far it was until now. He strode with confidence "clack, squeak, clack, squeak" into the waiting area and looked around for the receptionist.

She appeared from behind a "The Persistence of Memory" partition and asked him to please sign out and leave the ID in the basket. The stoutly man had forgotten he was wearing it, the strap being made out of a soft cotton and sitting on his neck quite comfortably after all. He thanked her and donned his coat, preparing for the cold labyrinth of marble he would have to navigate in order to find his ride home.

What seemed like moments later he was back at the house, slowly unbuttoning his shirt running over the interview and trying to get a gauge on how it went, he knew that his friends and family, like everyone else's were always curious in such matters as employment and relationships.

Sure enough no sooner had he set down his coat than one of his friends asked him "So, how did it go?" followed by "Is that a price tag on your tie?"

The employer passed.

Meaning of the name "Kellen"

(Variations: Kaelan, Keelan, Keilan, Keillan, Kelan, Kelden, Kellan, Kelle and Kellin.)

A unisex name, uncommon as a first name, more common as a surname.

Said to be Gaelic for "Slender" "Slim" "Fit" "Descendant of the Brightheaded one" "Powerful" "Mighty Warrior"

Old German "Swamp"

The last two are who we truly are, what the name "Kellen" stands for, and how our fate will be written in the stars. Both a life of war, and a cesspool of shit.

Strong, proud, fierce, full of whit.

No fancy spires of gold, nor gleaming towers of ivory.

The willows our friends, the mosquitoes our livery.

Nothing of beauty will bolster our pride, no medals pinned to our scarred hide.

Just filth, and sorrow, pain till the 'morrow.

With our chin held high and sword clenched tightly.

Trudging the bog alone, shivering to bed nightly.

You want to know the true meaning of my name?

I am Kellen, AND WE DIE HARD!

"Reverse Natural Selection as shown by Christmas Trees: A (NOT AT ALL) scientific paper by Kellen Riley."

Think back to your childhood X-mas's (or to use the ancient spelling Christmas), think of the tree, perfectly symmetrical, gleaming brightly with tinsel, ornaments, lights, candy canes, bells, whistles, an evergreen testament to mans (or at least our dad's) ability to select the perfect tree, and fell it in it's prime to act as an umbrella for the truckloads of loot Santa's jolly red ass is gonna haul down the chimney. Even if you ended up with 15 pairs of new socks, and no Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time (that exact gun doesn't exist btw :( you were still the happiest kid in that split moment before the living room became a maelstrom of wrapping paper, tape, and packing peanuts. And at the center of it all (physically if not spiritually) was that perfect X-mas tree... Oh and your family of course... yea they're kinda important I guess.

Some reading this may not celebrate X-mas, or any facsimile there of. So you probably have no idea what I'm rambling about. All I can say is "sorry", but who says you need to celebrate anything to go wandering around a tree lot for a couple hours?

But I digress, this particular essay is in regards to that perfect tree of yore, and the sad state of... "Fullness" and "Symmetry" in the current stock of trees. A trend that I couldn't help but notice last weekend during a semi sleep deprived search for that "Perfect X-Mas Tree." All the trees seemed sub par when compared to the picture in my head of what the ideal X-mas tree should look like. Too short, too tall, too fat, not fat enough, too crooked, janky tops, abstract bottoms, and every one missing large patches in random places, not unlike my current dating situation.

Is it that, when looking back with wistful memories on a childhood (good or otherwise) we view these happy moments as much better than they were? Was it careful and strategic placing of those key ornaments, draping of tinsel, a well built corner, and a sturdy tree stand that engineered the poky sweet smelling ideal of what a great X-mas tree should look like? Could the media have hammered into our minds that "Norman Rockwell" dream of a white X-mas, mom in her 'Kerchief and pa in his Cap? (I freely admit I have no idea what those are.)

Or is there something grander, something more insidious taking place here. I put forth to you the reader that X-mas trees are not in sorry condition because of the above reasons, but because of human impact on the actual biology and 'evolution' of X-mas trees.

That's right, "Natural Selection."

This is by no means a new notion. There have actually been quite a few papers published on how hunting affects natural selection. The base idea is the same, if hunting a Deer, Bear, T-Rex, Human, or perfect X-mas tree, we go for the best. In nature, the strongest survive and spread their genes. The weaker, slower, yadda yadda yadda become dinner. With hunting however, we prize the biggest, strongest, most dangerous, tastiest (mmmm... Rhino steaks) and thus, the weaker are left to propagate. Things don't grow as big, as strong, as fast, as tasty (a gas station rib sandwich compared to the McReal thing {side note, I'm soooo getting sued over that}).

And this Finlay brings me to my ambiguous and impossible to prove Hypothesis: Hundreds of years of taking the best and biggest X-mas trees have caused the weaker, more lopsided, patchy, not as tasty, fugly trees to flourish. Perhaps its the pain of hearing their brethren being chopped down has twisted them into anguished rooted monuments. As to if Trees feel pain/Scream, according to my half-ass ed search of the Internet; The Jury is still out on this one. Or maybe its a simple matter of knowing that the more symmetrical, full, and healthy you look, the greater the chance you'll be chopped down.

Or maybe as you (we're talking about people this time) age, you loose your zest for that ideal X-mas. The fake snow coated windows, cheaply made big wheel, the fake TV fireplace. You start seeing frivolity in camp-mas. Getting that Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time, becomes less of an obsession, then a want, then something that you just can't "use" anymore. Having the perfect tree is no longer as important as having people to share it with. And you start to realize, these ugly looking trees, Charlie-Brown-esq. in their appearance maybe, just need a little love. That love gets shared with others, and low and behold, the reverse natural selection of the X-mas tree may not be such a bad thing after all, if it drives us to "Honour Christmas in [our] hearts, and try to keep it all year." -Dickens "A Christmas Carol"

A merry x-mas to all, and to all... Give me my frigg'n bb gun!

"HOLY CRIP HE'S A CRAPPLE!" -Peter Griffin

Wow! 2 fans! YAY! Thank you gals! I'm amazed anyone even wants to read this old crap. Buuuuuuut it is interesting going back and read how much life has changed since that first blog post almost half a decade ago. Warning to the two people who are following this blog, the next post is going to be very, very, very long. Its a collection of stuff I wrote about growing up in Cayucos that I just threw into one giant post.

Viva ex purgatorium!

The Death of Captain America (a eulogy)

(Originaly posted April 26, 2007)

[For those of you non-comic types (or those of you who have been on mars the last 6 months, in a cave, under a rock, with your eyes shut and your fingers in your ears), this will come as a shock.]

Captain America, the name conjures up images of a simpler time. A time when our nation was united againts a common, tangable enemy. We knew we were on the side of right, and the Nazis, Communists, Imperial Japan, whomever we were at war with, was the embodyment of evil. Superman was the son of Krypton, Namor (or Aquaman, whomever you like better) the son of Atlantis, but Captain America was the son of America. Our only begoten offspring that stood for everything we strive to be. Generous, yet stallwart, caring, yet strong, able to over come any obstical in his way, without sacrificing his morals.

Yet as our nation changed, Captain America struggled to remain the same. He was literaly a relic from another time, a weapon that had out lived its usefulness. By the time the 70's and 80's rolled around, he had been "replaced" by much flashier heroes such as the X-Men, and Spiderman. Heroes who were looked upon as more "human" . Not because they physicaly were, but because they had problems, issues in their life.

By the time of the events of Civil War, the Cap had become a much darker, almost down trodden hero. No longer fully trusting the nation he served, or the people he worked for. Many would, and still do, argue about who was in the right. But for Cap, the choice was clear, continue following a system he no longer believed in, or take a stand for what he knew in his heart to be the just cause.

However, by the time the cataclysmic battle in New York was fought, every hero had become so polarized that they no longer rememberd why they were fighting in the first place, to protect us. In the end, the true heroes were the people of the city, who managed to restrain Captain America, and show him what the true cost of this war was. Once he took the time to glimps the ruins of the city that both sides had devistated, he did the right thing and surrenderd. In his own words "We were winning everything, except the argument." He surrenderd to police, not as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers.

On the way to his arraignment, Steve Rogers was gunned down in cold blood on the steps of the Federal Court House in New York. For over 60 years, more than any other hero, Captain America stood for the nation we all strive to be. Though it was said by Ben Parker, it was lived to its fullest I believe by Steve Rogers: "With great power, comes great responsability."

Captain America (1941-2007)

The end (an old ending that I probably will never use)

(Originaly posted Jan 29, 2007)

I came up with a great ending to my "project", now I only need to fill the middle.

Last Thursday I walked out to the end of the pier in Cayucos. I watched the sun sink into the pacific, and turn a cloudless blue sky purple as the first stars blinked on. I watched the water burn with a golden fire that made me think I was sitting in heaven hearing a choir of angles singing. It reminded me of driving across the plains of Kansas and marveling at a thunderstorm rolling over the endless seas of grass, like some great heard of mustangs running wild across the prairie. Or of sitting with my back against the sandstone in Utah, watching the sun rise up and bathe the desert in a warm orange glow. Of trekking with my father up some unnamed peak on the southern slopes of the Sierra Nevada, breathing in the coldest, freshest air that's ever filled my lungs. Or wading out in the warm waters off Hawaii, petting a sea turtle as it swam around my feet wondering what this strange creature was that just entered its world. But most of all it made me think of all the times I've loved someone and just never said anything, and it made me wonder why in the hell I never told them.

I'd like to tell you that I got the girl in the end, or that I drove off into the sunset, that I found a cure for cancer, or that I preformed CPR and saved someone's life. I'd like to tell you that, but that shit just isn't the case. Truth is I'm the same man I've always been, and probably always will be. But I'm all right with that.

And so, after 25 years, I'm still in this same hole-in-the-wall county, down and out. In high school the guidance counselor asked me the same question that everyone gets asked "what do you want to do?" I never had an answer, well at least not one that fit into the box of "I want to be a doctor." Or "I want to be a teacher." Or "I want to work on cars." My answer was, and still is "I want to create." It took me 7 years to realize exactly what I wanted to create, not some priceless piece of artwork, or the great American novel, or an academy award-winning movie. Only something that someone whom I've never even met will read, will experience and maybe it will change them. It will make them feel something that, until that moment, they've never felt before.


For whatever reason, after thinking all of that, I thought of home. Not of the house on Hacienda that I grew up in, or of the apartment in Morro Bay that was my first expedition into being out on my own. Or even of the futon I currently lay my weary head down on at the end of the day. I realized that none of these places I could call home, that home wasn't built of brick and mortar, but of flesh and blood. That it's a place that I carry with me in my heart. A place I can look back on with fond memories, enjoy while I'm in the moment, and look forward to as I move into the uncharted lands of the future.

The End.

Dedicated to (in no particular order): Dave's musical talent, Frazier's oddly magnetic apathy, Annie's unconquerable spirit, Brieatle for being Brie, Josh's loyalty, Greg's resourcefulness, Lisa's ability to make me feel better, Amanda's AFI collection, Ernie's tenacity, Dan and Kari who make me believe that marriage can work, Whipple's outgoingness, Coy's steadfastness, Rochelle's laughter, Kat's smile, Nate's…. well being Nate is the only way I can describe it, Cecily's just good nature, Kasady's argumentivness, Katie and Ian who have the strangest fights I've ever heard of, Konner who gets picked on way too much, Dan's ability to drink like a fish, Kyle for putting up w/ my smelly ass during OGN, Annie because Burritos do equal Happiness, Sara up north who I still can't figure out, Sara down south for letting me crash at her house after many a senseless trip down there, Hank I hope things are work'n out up north, Lacy and her goal of "getting me laid", Frankie cause he has the cooooooolest tattoo I've ever seen, Hannah who wants ketchup on her hash browns? Best wishes to Adam and the fam, Mikayla stay warm way up there, All the Kinney's, Kendra's kindness, Tom and Julie who pretty much shaped me spiritually, Marcus and Astor the two coolest kids in school, Gebiva god knows why she would willingly move to Cambria, my Grandma Glenda who shaped the hippie in me, my Grandpa Wayne who shaped the badass in me, my Grandpa Gene and Grandma Ruth who taught me everything I ever needed to know about life (I miss you guys soooooo much), Rebecca's just magnetic personality, Jennie and the advice she gave me at in-n-out, Royce who could kick my ass at BF2142 any day of the week, Jamen and Jodie who made the campground the Rock'n-est kiosk on the planet, Kyle and Christa (check out their band Fly40, or I'll hunt you down like the dog you are!), O.S.L. (check that band out too, same threat applies), Jeff and Laura two of the best softball players on the planet, My parents who I never appreciated growing up and I'm sorry for that, and 1:53am for being waaaaaay to late to try and write a blog. (Sorry if I left anyone out or misspelled your name, but that just means that you are a horrible friend and have to work harder, MUAHAHAHAHA:)