Classical music

Most people like music. If you are one of those people, and you probably are, you are already aware that some of the best music ever created can be found in old video games.

The Mega Man (Rockman in Japan) series by Capcom is especially rich with sonically happifying content. The most widely remembered songs are mostly from the second game in the series, but the others deserve recognition as well.

Here, embedded for you enjoyment, is a medley of all the music in Mega Man 5.

Real life and who I am

I just had a sudden urge to fill in the 'About Me' section of the blog sidebar with real information about me as an actual person. I now realize that this is a horrible idea and could lead to all sorts of bad things. For example, I could get fired from my job as a ocean-water salesman, which I depend on for survival.
It could also indirectly cause me to be eaten by a bear or gnu, though I'm not fully sure how. Better safe than sorry, I always say.

I am not worried that telling you my job title or my favorite saying will help you identify me because they are not really true.

For the purposes of TBTMC(E), I am an Internet person with no physical form. Either that or I am a figment of your imagine, just as you are of mine. I feel safer not telling you which.

On a side note, I have heard it said that it is no longer considered correct to capitalize the I in 'Internet'. This change (if true) is sick and wrong and I will not follow it.

I'm going to resume possibly changing everything (eventually) now.

It has been over a year since I updated this blog and about two years since I started now. While I don't think I ever had readers who were not secretly imaginary, I'm pretty sure I now have have even fewer. Why would anyone (or even no one) read a blog that isn't updated? I know I wouldn't.

So the task has now fallen upon me to write about something. I will probably forget about this task soon, but I have written this, which proves to my negatively numerous imaginary readers that I am at least still alive.

I will post things here as I think of them.

My readers lack education about hats

A poll was recently conducted on this blog about hats. Of the possible responses, half chose "No. I like hats, but don't know how to wear them" and half chose "other". It's hard to say what this means, but it clearly isn't good.

Here's a burning sock.

Blogged with Flock

Snacky Happiness is a lie

No matter what Mama tells you, you do not want to be fed star bits until you burst with "snacky happiness" and transform.  I know that's how it works in her stories, but she's not giving you the whole truth.  

You will, in fact, burst, but not with any kind of joy.  You will burst because you are so full of star bits that your stomach (and you are essentially just a stomach) literally explodes.  Does that sound fun to you?  It's not.  It hurts.  

I've seen others like you fed to bursting.  Before I knew better, I fed one myself.  They seem to enjoy the eating, but and in the end, they always let out the same horrible muffled squeal before they pop.  Mama will tell you that's a squeal of "snacky happiness," but don't believe her.  I still haven't forgiven myself for happened that time.

The "transform" part isn't what you think it is either.  You were never told what it meant, but I'm telling you now because I think you deserve to know.  You will turn into a galaxy.  That galaxy won't be you anymore.  You will be a place.  A destination.  A thing.  

Your old friends might live on you and you won't be able to talk to them, because you will be dead.  That's right.  Snacky happiness is death.

If you need proof, watch this:

Now you have seen the truth with your own eyes.  Next time you see a strange man in overalls offering star bits, you'll know what to do.  I understand that you're hungry, but if you have just one star bit, you may already be on a one-way track to your doom.  The choice is yours.

My newly found distraction-free library basement workspace

In front of me, there is a white wall.  It is kind of off-white, really, and the paint is bumpy and smudged.  

There's a dark wooden rectangle attached the wall a little bit over my head with two large bolts in it.  I thought it was a light switch at first, but there are no moving parts.  Maybe something used to hang from it?

I'm sitting at a plain wood desk.  It is delightfully desky and if this wasn't a library, it would be great for drumming on.  There are no drawers or anything in it, which is perfect for a desk in a public space.  As a result, it is doesn't have anyone's stuff on it, except for me, since I'm sitting at right now.

That stuff consists of a plastic cup of iced tea that I purchased at the cafe upstairs and my laptop, on which I am currently typing this blog posting.

There is a closed door in the off-white wall to the left of the desk.  A plaque next to the door says the room number and the word TYPING.  There is no one in the room and many people outside it, some of whom, like myself, are typing.  Therefore, I don't think it's the room in which you must go to type.  Maybe it was long ago, when the library only had one typewriter, but I think the building has been renovated in the last decade, so that couldn't be it.  Is it the office of someone who's name is Typing?  I've never heard of that name, but anything is possible.  Like the true composition of nougat, this room will remain a mystery.

I just heard someone cough.  He is sitting about three fathoms to my right, which is far enough that I'm not worried about getting sick.

Behind me, there is an empty bookshelf.  I just accidentally kicked it and it made a loud clang, which was little embarrassing.  

Because it is empty, I can see through it and know that there are more bookshelves behind it.  They're far enough that I can't read read the book spines, but I think they contain old academic journals of some kind.  Since I've been at this school, I haven't used the library for research purposes.  I come here to find quiet place to pretend to do my homework and drink iced tea.

Speaking of which, I have real work to finish now.  

Good bye.

The previous post has no title

But this one does. Sort of.
Anyway, here is Potapych, the Bear who Loved Vodka:
I think it's based on a true story.