The Croc Fraternity

from Pearls Before Swine

I know it's a little late in the day for the Sunday Funnies, but I keep forgetting to put them up every week so I'm posting them anyway. This weeks feature is the beginning of Zebra's next door Croc fraternity neighbors in Pearls Before Swine. Pearls Before Swine is one of the best syndicated comics out there when it decides not to be crude. I'm an avid hater of 99% of syndicated comics, but I really love the good 1% and pearls is part of it. It never seems to fail at making me laugh. All you really need to know for these is that Zebra is a friend of Rat and Pig (the main characters of the comic), and Zebra has had a long history of his family being hunted down by predators. He usually is seen in the comics writing letters to various predators pleading with them to change their ways. He never seems to succeed. The predators are known for not having a very high IQ, and prolly the least of which is the Crocs...

Puppies

Molly's tired

Lots of licking

Two lemon girls

Three tri colored boys

Expecting more to come

Goob's sulking and alone

Feeling used and neglected

Sit's outside the door all night

Get's growled at when he comes in the room

All part of her Molly's plan to take over the world

Well on her way to producing and spreading a horde of offspring

Where her minions will worship her as the high queen beagle mother of all

That's my kinda dog

I've been pretty much alone at the office where I work here all week. The office secretary has been sick with the flew so this is the 6th day in a row I've pretty much been the only one in the office. People drop in now and then for an hour or two, but the majority of my days have just been me alone taking phone messages and doing some bookkeeping for another company my boss owns. Other than that it is very slow here. I like it in some ways and don't in other ways. It's the perfect time to get writing, reading and studying done, when all you're doing is waiting for phones to ring, but I've been kinda lazy, just watching the clock and blogging and stuff. Hopefully the secretary will be back next week and I can get some inventory and bookkeeping work done at another location.

I've been thinking about happiness a little bit lately. It's seems like everyone's big concern in life is whether they're happy. That's kind of the big life question you hear people asking. "Are you happy?" I don't mean happy now and then. I mean being generally happy in life. It's the sort of thing you'd expect a psychiatrist to ask their patient. It's the sort of thing you might ask yourself from time to time. I was thinking, how much time do people waste worrying about weather they're happy or not. Does it even matter?
Let's say you aren't happy. What then? Terrors of terrors? End of the world? Why does it matter so much to everyone? I don't necessarily know if I'm generally happy. I know I would never refer to myself as a happy or cheerful person because it's just not my personality. I have joy. That doesn't mean I'm joyful all the time because I most definitely am not always a joyful person, but I have joy in my heart according to the knowledge that there is something real and true to be joyful about no matter what happens.
I think the reason so many people in this world are so unhappy is because they're obsessed with being happy. Think about it. People do so much to make themselves happy, but at the end of the day they're never content and still want more of it. If you think about it, the whole "pursuit of happiness" is completely selfish and when we waist our lives away trying to make sure we're happy we really end up unsatisfied.
The problem is we're to worried with whether we're happy when we should be worried about whether God is happy. Honestly, if we dropped all the things we do that make us happy and concentrated on trying to do everything we could to make God happy with our lives, then, we would be content, satisfied, and ultimately happy. Now I'm not saying to please God with the intention of making yourself happy through it because that defeats the purpose and usually ends up just being selfrighteousness or pride. I'm saying completely forget about pleasing yourself and just try to please God.
Now, we obviously as humans will eat food we like and have fun in our spare time. Neither of these things are wrong, but I know I become obsessed with filling my life with getting the best stuff, eating the best food, and having the most fun I possibly can. It's one of the biggest things I struggle with because at the end of the day, it never makes me happy. In fact, it makes me regretful. The very thing we're trying to achieve is taken away from us because we aren't supposed to be worried about it in the first place.
I don't know if I'll ever learn, but I wonder how happy everyone would be if they decided that they could care less if they were happy or sad and became obsessed making sure God was happy (or pleased is perhaps a better word, "happy" is so trite) with them.
Sorry for getting away with myself and having some brain leakage find its way into my keyboard. Every time that happens my post becomes a long rambling. Maybe I've had to much time to think, sitting here alone all week.

This cat is amazing. None of the piano is played by human. It is all from the cat. It is edited though, and then a composer wrote a piece to go with it. It's amazing. I can't stop watching it. You should check out the cat's other videos.

Orange Sky

I'm gonna try out a new feature on my blog. I like songs. I mean, I like music, and instrumentals are wonderful, but I love songs. I love dissecting the lyrics and trying to figure out what the message is when it's really Vague and enigmatic. I like a song to be a work that takes time to absorb and understand.

I've stumbled upon an artist that I'm really enjoying lately. His name is Alexi Murdoch, and so far I only got an EP of his titled "Four Songs" and another single. They are all good, really good. Today I'd like to take apart my favorite song of his, "Orange Sky."
The melody is good, and obviously you can't really separate it from the words, but it is good. Right now though, I'm only looking at the words.

Here's the song. It's a live version and I don't think his vocals in this version are as good as the studio version, but I was too lazy to upload mine.

Here, take a look at the lyrics. (from studio version)

Well I had a dream
I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dream
I stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother standing by
With my brother standing by
I said brother, you know you know
It's a long road we've been walking on
Brother you know it is, you know it is
Such a long road we've been walking on
And I had a dream
I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
With my sister standing by
I said sister, here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I'm so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
Sometimes, sometimes
My mind is too strong to carry on
Too strong to carry on

When I am alone
When I've thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love

Well I had a dream
I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dreamI stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by

What do you think? Here are my thoughts on it.

Well I had a dream
I stood beneath an orange sky

The name of the song is "Orange Sky." It means sunset. The end. The end of the day, the end of your life, the end of everything. At the end of it all, what really matters? What's left standing?

With my brother standing by
With my sister standing by

With his references to the brother and sister I think he's talking about more than just a brother and a sister. He's talking about family in general. At the end of the day, they're left standing there beside you. Not only blood family. Family is a lot more than just relatives.

I said brother, you know it is
Such a long road we've been walking on

They're the ones you've traveled the furthest with. It is a long road. They share your pain. They put up with you. And they're the ones that will be left at the end.

But sister you know I'm so weary
And you know my hearts been broken
Sometimes my mind is too strong to carry on

This is my favorite part of the song. It's interesting that he tells his sister this. Perhaps it's because the relationships you have with sisters tends to be a little more tender than with brothers. The first two lines are pretty obvious, but I love the last line. How can your mind be too strong to carry on? I knew exactly what he was getting at the first tim I heard it. I've felt that same feeling so many times before. You see so much wrong, hear so much wrong, do so much wrong. This whole world and everything you see seems so wrong your mind gets calloused to it all. It becomes so strong against all the pain and mess you see in this world, and sometimes you just don't want to carry it on any more. You don't want to carry some memories, some of the knowledge you've picked up.

When I am alone
I've thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
Lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you
You who are my home

I'm not one for missing people. I really don't miss anybody very often. I'm not a people person. But I understand what this is saying. When you're alone and you start thinking of old memories and good times. When your sick of trying to survive in this world and you just want to throw of the waits and burdens of your everyday life problems. When you don't even care about your possessions and they don't mean anything to you. Someone could pile them all up and burn them and you wouldn't be concerned because in the long run they don't matter. That's when you start missing the ones who you love, but are far away. That's when you want to pick up the phone and give them a call. You realize home isn't the place you come home to or the town you live in, but it's t
he people who love you. The people you can go to at the end of the day and not worry about performing right or making a good impression on them because they already know you're nothing special, but they love you anyway.

And here is what I know now
Goes like this
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love

In these times, you realize that you wouldn't be able to make it through this life with out your family and the people who really love you. Sometimes they are the only thing that keeps you going, and without their love, you know you wouldn't make it very far.

I hope it wasn't to cheesy, but that's just what I think of when I play this song. Expect more sappy dissections to come.

Got my blog working again. Let me know if you encounter any more problems. Expect more updates to come.

It's finally snowing. I was afraid I wouldn't make it to work on time because I was driving slow in the snow, but no worries, I made it.

Winter is here.

Okay, so I'm starting a new feature on my blog called Sunday Funnies. Today's is "The Barn," an adorable little strip about a cute little sheep named Rory and his barnyard friends. I liked this particular one because it's kinda what we're feeling here in Alaska. It's amazing there's no snow on the ground right now. Although, they are calling for snow tonight.

A Twofer

Alas, my blog is still having issues and making me angry while at it, but I'll get it sorted eventually.

For now, enjoy your Friday night with these links.

First up:

I've heard of this guy before. He's supposed to be one of the richest true Christians in America I think and I guess he puts his money to good use supporting different evangelizing organizations like Living Waters. A very interesting project he has here. It seems like it could be a waste of money, but still, a very interesting idea. Check it out and register if you want to see what it's all about.

click me

Second up:

And, to celebrate the release of the long anticipated Windows 7 today, check out this link.

click me

Hey, I realize I haven't posted in a while. My blog was in hibernation for a while due to several factors including it being spring/summer, me being busy with other stuff, me being lazy, and me just feeling like taking a break. But I'm done with that now. It's back up and running and hopefully for good.
 
 
What I've been up to:
 
It's been a long, hard Spring/Summer, but I can say in all sincerity, a good one. I got a new job and I'm still kind of focusing on learning and getting more experience. We had a good time vacationing with the McCandleses and Noah and got to visit Joanna. We also spent some time at the cabin like we do every year. I was glad when fall came, my favorite time of year. I remember a few weeks ago, when I drove out on chena hot springs road to the cabin, what a beautiful drive it was. It was sunny, but really blustery and all the trees were bright yellow and the leaves were gusting across the road. The drive back during early mornings wasn't that fun due to it being a very windy road with sharp turns and it was very dark out and I was afraid I wouldn't get to work on time and there were gigantic monster porcupines wandering the roads, waiting for inexperienced drivers like me to run over them. Anyhow, I can't really think of anything else anyone would want to know about what I've been up to, as if you wanted to know anything in the first place. It's amazing how so much time flies by and we really accomplish nothing important, but merely spend most of our time doing the little, meaningless day to day things, and then, spend the rest of our time devoted to sitting around and recreation. At least I do. Sad. I've been listening to a lot of music,** but that's to be expected.

 
What I'm up to now:

Well, it's still fall. That's a good thing. It been very warm and the days have been turning out quite nice. I hope it lasts for a while. I hate the thought of winter until the first snow comes, then it's irresistible and I love winter again, even if it is long and cold. The parents just got back from trip they took to Suix Falls for a conference and visiting with the McCandlesses and some other friends. I've just been working, hanging round at coffee shops*, saving money for school, trying to get my blog up and running. It's been having real issues that I can't seem to fix. I'll just have to sit down and figure it out one of these days.

 
What I will be up to:

Winter's coming, like I said, and with it hockey, thanksgiving, slippery roads, hopefully puppies. Molly's might be pregnant, due to her and Goob spending a little time together this summer. She seems to be getting a little heavy and fat, but we'll see. It would be wonderful to have a few beagle puppies running around this winter. I would love to keep one, but we have too many dogs around our house as it is. I am determined to keep one of Molly's daughters at some point though, it might just be a few years down the line. We may plan a trip during Christmas, but we haven't decided yet. I hope not, I like staying home for Christmas. Oops, wow, I need to stop talking about that. I hate people bring up that subject so early in the year.
 
 
A word on The Lost Detective:
 
I may continue with TLD, but I'm not sure yet. I'm just really unpleased with all that I've done so far. I'd like to polish it up, put in a few things I left out, fix a few plot holes, do a bit more research to make it realistic, and then maybe finish it. It's not as fun writing it when what I've done so far is nagging in the back of my mind. We'll see though.
 
 
A word on Twitter:

I'm thinking about maybe playing around with Twitter some. I haven't got into it so far because ACS doesn't have short codes which are necessary when using Twitter, and if you can't twitter (I refuse to use the word "tweet"***) something in a moments notice than it kinda defeats the whole purpose of Twitter. Also, only 3 peoples follow me and there's really no reason to inform them of my hourly happenings. But I am thinking about using it just to put up quotes, Bible verses, and snippets of lyrics of whatever song might be stuck in my head. Then I'll put a feed on the sidebar of my blog. We'll see how it goes though and if I get any more followers. I might get bored of it, and so might anyone following me.
 
* I'm actually hanging out at Barnes and Nobles as I write this. I usually go for local shops, but our favorite one closed early so we headed over here.

**There playing Blind Pilot over the intercom which I would totally recommend minus 3ish songs due to their lyrics. That's what's great about iTunes, you don't have to skip all the naughty songs on an album, you just delete them.

*** I never understood why they called it a "tweet". It should be a "twit". "Okay everyone, post your twits." Makes much more sense to me.

Winter 1152

Tonight I'll be reviewing the latest installment of the great MouseGuard series. If you'd like to see past mentions of it, check out this post in which I reviewed Fall 1152 or this post where I talked about David Petersen's art in particular.

First of all, it did a wonderful job of expounding on the great world already presented in the first book. From how the territories run to the characters and animals, to really delved in deeper and immersed you in a greater richer experience than the first book. I think the easiest way to describe this would be to discuss each aspect of the book one by one.

Art

Just like Fall, his art was amazing in this one. The first thing I noticed is the realism in the drawings of the wild animals and the beauty of the winter season. There are endless pictures of frozen plants, ice and snow. When you're missing the beauty of winter, It's a great book to pick up and experie

nce winter's harsh, frozen wonder. The animal drawings are shockingly life like. For instance, the chilling glare of the owl, and the humorous looking hares. Somehow this is all tied in to the little mice carrying swords, and fantasy is mixed with reality in a way that gives the whole world of Mouse Guard a wonderful quality and originality. Petersen's style has seemed to solidify in this installment, and he has fine tuned his craft to a place of near perfection. Every emotion, every humorous moment, every violent battle blow is perfectly indicated. I almost makes you feel as if you're watching a film, rather than looking at pictures.

Characters

The characters of Mouse Guard are one of the things that really sell the story to me. In this latest book, he has added a large array of background characters and developed the old characters further. In Winter, you feel you actually understand who these mice are. Some of the characters are very welcomely clichéd, i. e. the wise mentor to young Lieam, Celenawe who is also a mysterious legendary hero and Lieam himself, who is on a journey to be the lone knight, destined to spend his life in sacrifice for the good of the territories. There are also the wonderfully flawed characters such as the good friends, Saxon and Kenzie, anti-types, who both can tend to be arrogant fools in there own way, and tend to butt heads, but who in the end, were really made for each other and are great fun to follow along on their adventures. Another thing that improved in Winter were the enemies, with one particular mouse that provided some excellently chilling moments.

The Plot

If I was forced to pick a weak point, I would say the plot is where Petersen struggled in the first book, and although it improves greatly in this one, it still is nothing amazing. In either case, it's not because of holes in the plot. It's not because it's cheesy or unbelievable. It's because they tend to be rather simple predictable stories. As said before, Winter improved greatly, but was still not suprisingly good. It did leave hints of future stories, and had wonderful character development. It can also be said that the hints at past

history and the glimpses at the inner workings of the Guard are very satisfying. He also uses his platform of story telling to provide his readers with wonderful flashbacks and meaningful scenes. In

the end, Petersen doesn't rely on complex plot lines or jaw dropping twists, but he uses smaller, simpler stories to expound his world, history, and characters, and when he presents these so enjoyably, it's hard to complain (and sometimes even notice) about the simple, predictable plot lines.

Overall, I would recommend this series to anyone who is a child at heart, or loves good fantasy and art. It's a book for all ages, and I am looking forward to Mr. Petersen's next installment. Go to your bookstore, and check it out for yourself if you haven't already.

I know it isn't perfect, but this video kinda resonated with me because it's something I've really been having to deal with. Enjoy.

Investigation Part 1

A short time later, I found myself approaching the looming warehouse I had fled from not many hours before. It seemed only more daunting now than it had ever been, there in the dark of night, illuminated only by streetlights and the brights of a passing cab. I felt undercover, as if I would have to resort to stealth if I wished to get away with my little investigative episode. There was a guilty fear in my gut that I couldn't shake, but somehow, at the same time, a feeling of elation and freedom. This is what I'd imagined P. I. work to be; not the stress, not the paperwork, but a sense of risk and daring. I’m not sure really what I was expecting, a fool like me. I guess somewhere inside, as I approached the building, I hoped, almost believed, that it would be my breakthrough, that that night would somehow make all of it worth while. That all the stress, all the confusion would fade away as I discovered what was really behind this strange furniture enterprise. In fact, I almost depended on it. Sometimes people refuse to accept things they don’t like even if those things are true. That’s why not everyone is a defeatist. Like admitting those perfect movie moments everyone wants to believe in never actually happen and are only as artificial as the average person’s feelings. Maybe it was just me, and not everyone struggles so much. Maybe I was just deranged, and also, maybe the fact that I could barely understand what went on in my own mind proved it. I’m not sure, I never was. But all the same, I felt that something big had to happen there, that night. I needed a little push to know that I was on the right track, that this whole detective gig was more than just a child's game, but a purpose for my life. And whether you believe in movie moments or not, that’s what I needed. That was my mistake. Not the mistake, but definitely one of the bigger ones.
I ran across the empty street and around the building. It was very dark, and I searched for an opening, or door in the wall. A breeze drifted by, almost as stale as the rest of the still night air, shaking the leaves of a tall nearby oak at the far end of the warehouse. I looked at it through the night, it's branches moving in the wind, and shuddered inside. This is why I hated night. I noticed, near the tree, high on the wall, there was a window. It was a normal sized window, nothing spectacular, but I watched it for a second, asking myself what I would do if a light suddenly turned from behind the glass pane. A dreadful fright took me, making me second guess my little mission, but I knew I had no choice. This was it. This was when I had to decide weather I was serious about being a detective.
My eyes wandered down the wall from the window, and there I saw a small wooden door in the wall. I ran towards it silently, and reached for the key in my pocket. As I searched for the door-nob and grasped it, my mind raced, and suddenly spit-fired a thought out of no where. Was this illegal? It made me pause for a second. But, not before long, I decided no. After all, Mr. Lorre was half of the partnership, and he was granting me entrance to the business. He owned the warehouse just as much as Mr. Bork, or at least I was pretty sure he did. Doesn’t a business owner have the right to choose who he lets on and off the business property? Besides, Sidney hadn't objected, and he'd always been a coward when it came to legal issues. He'd actually been a coward about pretty much everything since he was a kid. At least it kept him out of the local gangs near the priory school. The key went in smoothly, and I chuckled at the thoughts of Sidney. As the door swung open silently, I stepped over the threshold.
The inside of the building was darker than it had been outdoors. The only light came through the windows from the street lamps. I hadn't liked the building the first time I visited, and it hadn't grown on me since. It smelt of old musty carpet and cigarette smoke. There was even a strong smell of gas, which made me wonder if they had been having a leaking problem with their heating system. I eventually found my way through the dark building past the reception counter, and up the stairs that went to the office, grumbling at myself for not bringing a flashlight. I passed through the dreaded waiting room, and was glad I didn't have to sit in the padded sofa and wait for Mr. Bork for a second time. My feet shifted over the carpet, past the clock which still laid there on the floor. I placed my hat and gloves on the desk as I entered the office. The smell of gas seemed to have grown stronger, and I was beginning to wander how people could work in conditions of such. I hadn't noticed it from when I had visited earlier, and it was beginning to make my breathing a bit hard and my stomach nauseous. I reached down and turned on the office computer and pulled a flash-drive from my jacket pocket. My plan was to copy anything interesting I found and take it to my office for further investigation. The gas smell became unbearable. It must have been leaking from somewhere; due to it's intensity, I couldn't see how it could be a normal thing.
“Just get the information and get out.” I told myself.
The computer began to slowly come to life. Fans started running and the front button lit up. It was an awfully noisy computer, the fans roaring like engines. I began to sweat, trying to imagine why the smell of gas would be so thick in the air. Then, I began to worry. All I could think about were scenes from cheesy action films with huge gas explosions and booby traps, the irony that my “movie moment” could come true. My hands became wet with sweat, and my heart rate increased.
The computer tower began popping violently and making some rather strange noises which startled me to the point of not being able to take it any longer. I sprinted for the stairs and half slipped, half jumped down it four steps at a time. My poor body rushed straight into a wall at the bottom of the stairs, which landed me on the floor, but I stumbled up to my feet to fall once again, knocking over a table in the dark with stacks of papers spread over it. The mess went everywhere. Finally, I burst my way out of the back door, landing on the small lawn behind the warehouse. On my hands and knees, gasping, I wondered if I should run for my life.
“Oh,” I exclaimed, clutching my hair. “my hat!”
What a fool I was to leave it behind. That was just the sort of thing I would end up doing. Seconds passed, there on the ground, and my mind raced, pushing me to make a decision. I had just left my hat, gloves, and a mess of papers behind me. What if my imagination had gotten the better of me? If the computer was really booby trapped, wouldn't it have blown by now? And if the gas was for the explosion, wouldn't the building have blown? If I left traces of myself behind, in the building, and the oncoming explosion was only a figment of my tormenting, overactive imagination, I new I’d be in trouble.
I wanted to run. I wanted to take off as fast as I could go and never see the old warehouse again, but I had to be sure. I jumped up summoning the last of my courage, which really wasn't much to begin with, and ran back through the door, up the stairs. There, in that dark office, the gas fumes were still strong, maybe even stronger. I stared at the computer, still popping and whirring. The monitor was only blue which filled the small office with an uneasy azure color. Suddenly, a few sparks popped out of the back of the tower, and a small flame licked up, past the access ports. I stood there for the shortest moment, wide eyed. Then, I took my things and fled, carefully avoiding walls and paper covered tables. I didn't bother to shut the door behind me, but I ran and made it out to the street, gasping for breath.
Turning around, I stared at the building, confused at the delay. Then, windows shattered as a cloud of fire roared from inside the warehouse, sending pieces of the building flying in multiple directions. A burst of hot air caught me where I stood, flapping my unzipped jacket. It was one of the scariest things I'd ever felt, being so close to death. Close enough to feel its breath rush by me.
That night, I ran faster than I'd ever ran before until I was home, in my apartment. Tears wanted to flow from my eyes, as if that would help anything, but I couldn't think straight. I collapsed on my bed, jacket, jeans and all. My mind wouldn't let me sleep that night. I laid there, wrapping my blankets around me, afraid of the world. It raced, my mind, terribly.
The human mind is an evil thing. I don’t think anyone will ever come to understand it. It’s an involuntary part of our body, so it seems to act on its own. Even when we are in control of it, it spits little thoughts sporadically to derail our oncoming “train of thought,” and the crash that comes out of this struggle can be disastrous. It takes us over in our sleep, fooling us into thinking we’re in a reality that’s often more confusing than our real life. It taunts us and plays with us. Perhaps it was only my mind. Perhaps it had something against me. I struggled to control it and reason that night. Warring with theories, hunches, fear, trying to figure out what had happened to me minutes ago, hours ago. It made me angry, bitterly, and early morning came, so I threw of my covers and left for the office at 5:00 AM the next morning with out so much as a minute of sleep.

Confrontation

I was going about my day job, the one that kept food in my stomach. The small delivery truck sped down the roads in the suburbs of Rue Morgue. It was a strange day. The sun seemed to be irritating my vision, but the sky was all clouds. Suddenly, fog appeared from nowhere, springing up in front of me, causing me to slow the speed of the small truck. It seemed to ripple violently as it hit against my windshield, wrapping around the vehicle. Completely blind to the world, I traveled through it nervously. Then, it dissipated, and relief almost flooded over me, but not before I noticed another problem. The truck was traveling at an disturbing speed. Everything began to blur. I removed my foot from the gas petal and began stomping on the break, but the truck only gained speed. Then I glanced out the front window. There was a figure on the road. A small black figure coming closer every second. It was a body, growing as I neared it, until is was able the make out my small frightened client. It was Mr. Lorre, holding his hands up, motioning to stop. I was confused. I didn't understand. "Get out you idiot! You're going to die!" Whether it was me or him calling out, I couldn't tell. The speed increased as I stomped on pedals and pulled the steering wheel left and right. I could see the whites of his eyes, so big on that terrified face. Then the small truck jerked to a stop as it smacked into the poor body with a noise that rung my ears. I was lunged forward, flying into the wheel, yet unharmed. I scrambled to undo my seat belt, mumbling to myself hysterically, tears running down my face. My sweaty fingers pulled the handle of the car door out and I pushed the door open, dropping to the ground. Then I stopped. I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to see what carnage I had produced. The tears were gushing themselves out of my eyes, down my face. I fell to the ground and sat there against the wheel, sobbing. Then I stopped. The tears were wiped away with an arm sleeve. I sighed heavily and rose to my feet. Slowly, I walked around to the front of the truck. There was nothing at first. No mess, no Mr. Lorre in pieces. Then I saw her. Sidney's friend, the one from the funeral, the one from the park. She laid there on the road, in front of the truck. Sprawled lifelessly on the black pavement in a dress as red as blood. A violent gasp sounded from me as I wrenched up. Everything was dark, quiet. My face was wet, and my blankets were thrown from me. My hard breathing began to stabilize as I took a few precious moments of reality to figure out what I was doing there in my bed, even who I was.
I groaned, hating the existence of dreams and the cruelty of their deception. I had always struggled with nightmares in my short life. Maybe it was my over active mind refusing to shut down at night. The clock read 3:47 AM, and I laid back down and closed my eyes. Everything was still for a while. I could hear the loud pinging sound of blood rushing through my ears that seems only to haunt you when there's nothing left to hear. Then, city noises sounded off faintly. A honking, sirens, perhaps some car chase. Rue Morgue was never quiet for long. My body was sweaty. My mind was struggling. I stood from my bed and fumbled in the dark for a hooded sweatshirt which, when found, was pulled over my head.

I slowly half-stumbled down the steps coming from the door of the small apartment building. One hand gripped the railing, the other held a glass of almost cold water. I lowered myself to take a seat on the steps and sighed deeply from underneath the hood of my sweatshirt. Something was wrong. I had spent the last several days obtaining any information I could find on Bork & Lorre's Furnishings. I had questioned employees and clients of the company, even looked at some of the legal records and documents. While the enterprise may not have been a popular one, it seemed to be fairing well enough. It was a strait forward furniture selling and repair shop, and though it may have been barely holding on financially, it seemed to be perfectly legal and legitimate, and most importantly, there was no sign of anything on the side going on, no suspicious activity whatsoever. I didn't know what to do.
My instinct told me that Mr. Lorre was having delusions in that paranoid mind of his. If this was true, then why did it disturb me so? Two hundred a day is good money. But it didn’t seem right to me. I wasn’t that kind of a detective. For me it really wasn’t about money; it was about making a name for myself. If money played a part in doing that then I would have gladly welcomed it, but I wasn’t a cheap P. I. who took advantage of week minds. How long was this Mr. Lorre planning on paying me before he called it off? Could he even afford it? On the other hand, what if the concerns were legitimate. I would hate to be a detective who called off a case, only to let someone else discover there was something worth looking into. It had been pressing down on me, the uncertainty, driving me to unrest. I just wanted to know if the case was legitimate.
“I’m so lost.” I declared out loud. It seemed to ease a bit of the weight off my shoulders admitting the truth. Though still warm, the night was a lot cooler then the exhaustingly roasting days. A breeze picked up, drifting warm air around me. Thoughts came to me of some of my past years. Times I had struggled, which seemed to be all the time and much more in my collage years. I remembered often going to Mr. Dabir for advice. He was never one for direct answers, but he always seemed to calm me down and bolster my confidence, which was a hard thing to do for someone like me. I suppose it’s a strange thing, going to your school teacher or principle for all your guidance in life. It was just the way it was done in the life of an orphan at the priory school. I had always wandered if looking up to a teacher was really all that different from a parent, or if we really were getting just a cheap imitation. Would my life have turned out much differently?
“Oh, Mr. Dabir.” I spoke out firmly but quietly into the night. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I’ve got myself in way over my head, and I just don’t know. It’s the real world now, not a game. And I was never any good at the game so why should this be any different?” I brushed the hood off my head as I scratched it and yawned. “I dunno, maybe it is a game.”
The dialogue didn’t seem to comfort me. Perhaps I just needed to head back inside and get some sleep. Perhaps it was that Mr. Dabir wasn’t there listening to me. He was dead. His body was underground somewhere rotting to pieces. The same body I might have gone to speak with now if he hadn’t passed on. No more life. No more expressions. No more. I bit my lip as tears streamed down my face again. A light sob sounded in the night as I sat there on that small stairway. My bare feet felt the droplets of a few tears.
Moments later, I stopped myself and rose. I rubbed the tears out of my eyes wearily, fatigued from the nightmares and crying. I made my way up to my apartment room again, thoroughly ready to crawl back into my bed, but before I could, I rummaged through the pockets of a pair of jeans, wadded up on the floor near my nightstand. Finally, I pulled out a picture, slightly crumpled and held it up to my lamp light. Mr. Lorre had sent any information he had regarding this Stephan Bork character to Sidney’s computer and even a picture, which Sidney had politely printed out for my convenience. The man was taller, with thick grey hair and a little grey mustache, dressed in a suit. What was with these furniture sellers and their suits? He didn’t look necessarily suspicious, but I could also see him being a snake.
“What kind of a person are you exactly Mr. Bork?” I asked him playfully. Then an idea merged in my mind. Why not ask him in person. Perhaps it would be best to know what I was up against once and for all. I went through the detective schooling. I knew how to read someone’s face. I knew when someone was hiding something from me. Why not approach him? If he cooperated, I would know for sure that he was clean and tell Mr. Lorre so. If he resisted, then he would be hiding something, and I would be happy to get to the bottom of it. Either way, my mind would be eased in knowing for sure whether there was something worth looking into. I turned out the light, and laid my head deep into its pillow, my mind slightly pacified.

“Yeah Hank,” I spoke into my mobile phone, making my way down the busy Rue Morgue streets the next morning. “I just wanted to let you know I’m not gonna be able to make it in to drive today. Uh, something just came up and I gotta deal with this so yeah, you might just have to make do without me. Thanks though, I knew you’d understand. If you have any questions don’t call me. I’ll talk to you next Monday maybe. Thanks again and bye.”
I knew he could handle it. Hank, a co-worker from my delivery day job, had always been an individual of patience. I was sure he wouldn’t turn it into something. Too sure, as I made my way to 555 Goldfish Street on yet another heated July day. The breezes had picked up, hopefully bringing something better than the severe rays of sun. I just needed to speak with Bork. Once the confrontation between us was out of the way, I could go on with life, but it was nagging me far to much to push to the side. I waited for speeding cars before crossing the road.

“Yes, is Stefan Bork in?” I asked, the warehouse employee behind the desk at Bork and Lorre’s Furnishings.
“No, but I think he’ll be in soon.” He replied pleasantly. “You can go up the stairs over there if you don’t mind waiting.”
I turned towards the staircase in a dark corner. It was carpeted in 70s style rug, a dull pattern of brown and orange. The entire atmosphere of the waiting room seemed to match with artificial wooden wallpaper and old brown lamps. The building itself seemed to be quite old.
“Uh, okay thanks.”
“Wait,”
“Yeah?”
“Were you here before?” I didn’t answer. “Oh yeah, you’re that P. I. who was talking with the guys.”
“Hm-huh” I grunted in an annoyed yet careless tone and moved towards the stairs. I knew I shouldn’t have worn my hat that day.
“Is Pete the one who hired you?”
I turned to face him. This worried me for some reason. I didn’t want to get Mr. Lorre in trouble with Bork. But the employee seemed more amused than anything else at the thought of the paranoid man hiring a private investigator.
“Why would you ask a thing like that?”
“Nothing, I could just see Pete doing something like that.”
“Hm, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had a chance to talk with Mr. Lorre too much. But no, there’s just been a few eyebrows raised because of some queer activity and I’ve been hired to ask a few questions. It’s probably nothing.”
“I’m not gonna loose my job am I?”
“Not if you mind your own business.” I replied a bit too snappily. “Just get a hold of Mr. Bork and tell him I wish to speak with him.”
I turned again and began to walk up the stairs. His questioning had made me angry. Perhaps it was because he had every right to believe Mr. Lorre had been the one to hire me. I felt so stupid. I reached the top of the stairs and sat on an old, brown sofa outside of the upstairs office. There was a magazine or two, years out of date, and an old newspaper on the floor. A clock on the wall between two pictures was tocking loudly. Then it stopped.
My hat came off and was placed on the seat next to me. I sat there on the sofa in silence. The room smelt of stale cigaret smoke. Even the man down the stairs, at the desk was noiseless. I hated silence. It allowed my mind to wander and my mind seemed all to eager to take advantage of it. I often felt as if my mind was my one greatest adversary, as if it had an agenda against me. The quiet was the kind of mute stillness that made think your ears had gone out, as if the silence itself somehow had a deafening quality. I began tapping on my knee, a faint thudding. I noticed the clock had been out of time anyhow. Must have been broken already.
Somehow, I couldn’t help but second guess my brilliant little idea. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to say to this Mr. Bork. Tell him his paranoid partner wanted me to investigate him? What if it was all true and he was in some kind of illegal activity? What would a confrontation achieve anyway? It would only give him the opportunity to destroy any evidence and then I’d be worse off. I began to fidget in my chair. What kind of plan was this? What was I doing there? I hadn’t a clue of what I would actually say to Bork. Did I have a shred of information that would even hint he was guilty of something?
No. And as I sat there in the silence, I began to panic. The room grew warmer, and my skin became clammy with sweat. My breaths started increasing and I swallowed hard. I had felt this before. Many times. Most notably, when I was at the pool as a child. I would always allow myself to be pressured into giving the diving board a try, but when it came down to it, fear and panic would grip me as I stood on the board trying to convince myself to dive in headfirst, and it would always end the same way. I never once made it off the board, only walking away in a fit of tears. I had to get out of there.
I stood up from of the sofa and swiped up my hat, placing it firmly on my head. Just then the clock tocked once more. I stopped, and turned toward it. It was stalled again. Sitting there, silent. My finger reached out toward it for some stupid, unexplainable reason and wound the hands to the appropriate time of day. Then the clock slipped from its mount and fell to the floor with a clanging noise that was loud enough to unnervingly break the silence. I just stood there, waiting. Then it began tocking again and I looked down to see it lying there, on the brown carpet, with one hand bent the wrong way.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs as someone approached. Then he came. The face was the one from the picture, a thick head of graying hair combed nicely to the side. Tall, intimidating. The suit was different, but nevertheless, still a suite. He paused for a moment, glancing down at the clock and then at me. I stood there, awkwardly, waiting for him to say hello, anything. He walked by me and into his office. I picked up the faulty clock and placed it back on its mount. It fell again, and I entered the office of Mr. Stefan Bork.

“Mr. Bork, It’s a pleasure to meet you. Joseph B. Low, Private Investigator.” I held my license out in plain view. “Sorry to be blunt, but I know you’re a busy man so I’ll just get to the point so we can both continue about our productive days.”
He seemed to not even realize I had entered. Sitting behind his desk, near the computer, he turned it on. It was very likely the same computer he had been keeping Mr. Lorre out of. I continued.
“The fact is there has been some suspicious activity in this business your running, and I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind. I’ll also need access to your records and I’ll need to be able to search the warehouse.”
He sat there, looking at his screen. Nothing. He didn’t seem to care that I was there. So I went on.
“Honestly, this happens all the time and we rarely find anything. If I can get all this out of the way, you won’t have to worry about it anymore. This could be behind you in a matter of hours if you cooperate.”
“If I don’t?” His accent was thicker than Mr. Lorre’s, but the same.
“Um, what’s that.”
He finally looked at me, his face expressionless.
“You didn’t hear me?” He replied, taking out a cigaret and lighter. “What if I’d rather not cooperate?”
“Well, that’s fine with me.” I stuttered over the words, and he could clearly sense my insecurity.
He stood, breathing smoke into the air as he puffed on the stick between his fingers.
“Who do you think you are Mr. Low?”
I couldn’t answer. To be honest, I didn’t have one.
“You come in my office, and you are putting this card in my face, accusing of suspicious activity. I don’t care if you are thinking I am breaking laws or something. I don’t care. You are a citizen just like me. You have no authority to make me say anything to you.” I tried to observe him for movements or face expressions that would reveal whether he was being honest. The truth was, he hadn’t confirmed or denied my accusations. He was completely at ease. He wasn’t afraid of me.
“Um, of course. I mean you right. I just thought you would want to clear your name.”
“I don’t. Now get off this property before I call the police here and you are taken to jail for disturbing me and damaging my property.”
I couldn’t say anything. I hated myself for it, but I almost cried. All I wanted was to get out of that brown smoky building. So I turned around and headed down the stairs and out the door. I felt my phone buzzing deep in my pocket but ignored it till it stopped. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. It began buzzing again so I finally reached for it and looked at the screen. I had voicemail. I kept walking swiftly past people, along the side of the streets. My phone was brought to my ear as I opened the voice mail.
“Joe? This is Hank.” A voice sounded in my ear. “I just wanted to let you know not to worry about making it in to drive today.”
I couldn’t even pay attention to the message. Traffic was rushing by, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be an investigator. It was to much. Hank’s voice went on whether I was listening of not.
“In fact, don’t worry about making it in tomorrow, or the day after that either or any day for that matter. So yeah, you might just have to make do without this job if you’re so busy.” A honking blasted to my right, and I turned to see the front of a truck which had come skidding into a break three feet short of hitting me.
“Thanks though, I knew you’d understand. If you have any questions don’t call me. Thanks again and bye.” It honked again, and I felt stupid, realizing I had tried to cross the road without looking. I ran to the other side, and then continued running until I was home, away from the world.

It was late, but I wasn’t tired that night. I had immediately buried myself in my covers once home and slept through the day. Sleeping through a day never feels right and usually leaves you worse off than you were before, but I needed it. I had showered and dressed and was dragging myself into the building of the Playback Club. I don’t use the word dragging lightly. Life had become a drag, a war, a constant struggle to survive. As if I were clutching on to the end of the rope, my hands slipping more every second, delaying what I knew would come. My fall.
I couldn’t tell you why, but I woke up well into the night and couldn’t sleep any longer. My body seemed to be telling my mind that I had to get things settled because it couldn’t handle the stress. So I put on my jacket, gloves, and hat and headed to the office. I needed to think and act before I fell apart. But part of my mind laughed at me. It told me had already fallen apart long ago.
As I entered the building, the doors of the payback club were open, but it was closing. I could see a man wiping tables down and putting up chairs. It was dark as all the lights were out, but streetlights glared dimly through the window, enough to make out faint colors and shapes. My feet took me into the small nightclub, rather than up the stairs to my office. I walked over the carpet, past tables and the grand piano.
“It’s a nice set up they’ve got here, huh?” I said to the man, trying to make light conversation, but my voice was heavy and lifeless. He jumped slightly and turned suddenly to see me. Then, he began to laugh. It was an uplifting sound from deep down inside him, coming through his pearly white teeth. He was colored, an African American, and had a smile that was a whole lot wider than anything I could pull off. His short cut hair seemed to be graying into a silver color.
“I’ll tell you what boy.” He spoke. “You can’t be sneaking up on people like that. You are gonna scare someone to death one day.” This was followed with more laughter. Although I had no idea why me frightening him would be something worth laughing about, I couldn’t help but join in the contiguous activity with my own light chuckle.
“What were you asking again?” He asked, folding up a wet rag and putting it behind a nearby countertop.
“Oh,” I replied, looking around and observing the old fashion club. “Nothing really. I was just running my mouth. It’s a nice place here. I’ve never actually came in before.”
“Well thank you. I try to keep it that way. It’s a little late for that though. They’ve bought me out.”
“Who has?” I asked, as he wound up the cord to some vacuum cleaner.
“Ah, some big sleazy outfit that offered me too much to refuse.”
“Hm, I didn’t even know you were the owner of this place. Well that’s a shame.”
He wheeled the vacuum behind the counter and began to gather his things.
“It sure is. But what can I do? I’ve been running this place for far too long anyhow. It’s too much work for someone like me. Besides, an old joint like this is no place for Rue Morgue. Everyone is partying at the big boy clubs anymore.”
He sighed, putting on a thin jacket and adjusting his silver watch.
“You taking off?” I asked him.
“Why? You need something?
“Well actually, I was thinking about taking your grand out for a spin, see how she plays. It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to. But, if you’re leaving, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh,” He replied, eyes wide. “She plays. She sure does play.” There he went again, with his contagious laughter.
“Go ahead.” He said, turning to leave. “Just lock the old place up when your done with her. Latch the door behind you. I’m getting out of hear, to get some rest.”
“Will do,” I promised, as he made his way out the door. I sat down on the dark wooden bench and sighed deeply, slipping the gloves off my hand and placing my hat on top of the piano. City noises were sounding off in the background, the whistling of the club owner. My fingers touched the smooth ivory softly and I began to envy the man. I smirked to myself. How does that happen? You make a friend without even knowing their name. I almost wished I was him. His smile, his laughter, his faith in me to close the club up as it was. My right hand began to play. It rolled softly over the keys which responded delicately and softly when pressed. A slow jazz melody. Tender, sad. My left hand joined, and the notes blended together. Rolling slowly up the keys, and then down again, picking up pace, but not for too long.

How could sorrow be such a beautiful thing? I would never understand it. The melancholy tunes were always my favorite. I suppose the same way a city as daunting and detrimental as Rue Morgue could still have an element of beauty to it. It seemed to have a way of chasing good people like the club owner out and replacing them with only corrupt and seedy individuals. Even so, it was home, a home I could never leave. Even in it’s distorted state, it still had a sort of allure that captivated me. Like the music.
“Joe?”
I didn’t stop playing, merely quieted it.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
I smiled slightly.
“What are you doing here Sidney?” He walked up toward the piano, and sat down next to me on the bench.
“I had allot of studying to do, so I stayed late in the office.” We sat there together. Me playing, him listening, and the melody ended.
“You play the piano?” He asked.
“Yeah, I suppose so.” I answered.
“Hm,” He grunted, a bit surprised.
“What?”
“Well, nothing. It’s just that, we uh, you know. Well, we’ve been, um...” He bit his lip and squinted his eyes as if he were trying to think of the correct words.
“Friends?” I guessed.
“Well maybe not like that but yeah--” He began to mumbled.
“Oh, maybe not that word,” I muttered back. “But you know.”
“Yeah, we’ve uh, known each other for so long and you’ve never um, told me that you play.”
“Well, I do.”
“Hm, that’s nice.” He said, genuinely. We sat there, in the dark room of the nightclub. It was quiet, and the dialogue came slow as Sid was tired.
“I lost my job.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Kind of a bummer.”
“I can imagine.”
“Hm-huh.” I affirmed.
“Well you still have Mr. Lorre to keep you employed.”
“I don’t know how long that will last. I went to see that Stefan Bork today. He doesn’t seem like a very nice person.”
“That reminds me, that Peter Lorre dropped by earlier. He wanted you to have these.” Sid fished in his pocket and handed me a scrap of paper and a key.
“He said he wrote the password for the work computer on the paper and that the key should open the backdoor to the warehouse.”
“I thought he didn’t know the password.” I replied.
“Well he must have found out. It all sounds rather dangerous, and exhausting at present.” He added with a yawn. “I’d be careful.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the advice.”
“So how are you going to pay off your business loans without your second job?”
“Good question, I may have to let you go.”
“Oh!” Sid exclaimed, tiredly. “I didn’t tell you. I got some good news today. Well, actually bad news.”
“What was that?”
“Well, I have this uncle who always felt guilty about letting an orphan school raise me. I guess he passed away a week or two ago and left me some cash so I have all my school paid off and some extra money to keep me going for a while.”
“Oh, well that’s good, or bad.”
“Yeah, pretty sad. My point is, you don’t have to worry about paying me.”
“Ah, I can’t do that Sidney.”
“Yes you can,” He said, standing up from the bench. “You have to. You need a secretary if you’re gonna make it.”
“You’re probably right.” I replied. “Well thanks Sidney. I appreciate it. I really do. If you change your mind, that’s fine with me. Let me know.”
“I’m not gonna change my mind Joseph.” He answered, chuckling. “But I’ll let you know if I do.” He walked towards the front club doors and added, “Get some sleep.”
“Your one to talk.”
“Don’t I know it?”
He left me there, sitting in the dark. I looked down at the objects in my right hand. The other hand reached for my hat on the piano and placed it one my head. I wasn’t tired. On the contrary, I was restless. The night was young to me, and I held a password and the keys to my future, whether it be for good or evil.

Mom and some of the kids were doing some watercolor, so I thought I'd give it a try. It's definitely lacking, but not terrible for the first time.

Hour breaks are quite satisfying, as apposed to half hour breaks which aren't. I'm still trying to figure out which bistro or restaurant down town close to work is the best one. Mocha Dan's is pretty high on the list due to the internet access, but it also fills itself up with Asian tourists which really effects it's rating. All of them have their pros and cons. Maybe I'll write a comparative review when I get around to visiting them all a few times.
Anyhow, the new job is nice. Nice people, pretty lax, but still kinda challenging, interesting, educational. Anyhow, it's nice, except for maybe the annoying courthouse clerk girls who think they know everything and patronize you. Well, to be fair it was only one of them, but she didn't really have it all together herself. But it's not too bad. I've been liking the weather also. Clouds and wind are a perfect combination.