New York City Adventures

Today I took a trip down to the wonderful city of New York for the day with my brother, and a few assorted middle aged gems. Our destination was to see the Bodies Exhibition, on display in New York for the time. You may have heard of this, it's a science exhibit promoting a more detailed understanding of human anatomy, health, and well-being along with serving as an incentive to spur our young generation towards fields in medical research. The main feature of the "show" are the many specimens of preserved humans on display in varying degrees of disassembly. I previewed, with a morbid fascination, the intricate workings of the human bone structure, circulatory and nervous systems, and muscle groups. The bodies, as I later learned, were unclaimed deceased individuals from China, were the project was first started. There were about a dozen complete humans and several hundred parts, from preserved hearts, to skulls, to fetuses, and every strange thing in between. I have to say I was quite impressed with the level of preservation and the amount of work that must have gone into removing so much nastiness from so many nasties.

Anyway, I found the entire experience quite interesting and the day was topped off by a triumphant venture into Chinatown where we dined at an authentic Chinese restaurant, right in the heart of America. More on that tomorrow, if I find time.

Regards,
Andrew


As a side note, we were not allowed to bring cameras into the exhibit which is why a large picture of a plasticized spleen is not accompanying this post.

This is Courage, a stupid idea for a poem

This is Courage, a stupid idea for a poem
I laughed, laughed wholeheartedly at the idea
Courage, courage is not something you can grasp
Courage is something invented by people who need
People who need something to hold onto
When everything else disappears, they need
Courage is for people who want something
Anything, to drive away everything that fails their nothing
Abhorring, the very thought, a mental drought, without, I am sure
We would wither and die on the inside, more so than we allude to
Courage, an illusion of magnificent proportion,
Creating a land where the simple addition of a comma can lend
Strange new worlds of significance to the white sheets of paper
Courage is not something that can be stopped or fought
Because Courage can’t be fought
With the same weapons we use against the people we love
When everything disappears and they need
To love they hate what they want they fake for Courage forces
Upon us these blatant untruths

A Machine of Grander Design

You've already been introduced, but I don't think you have a firm grasp of what's about to happen, something that will blow the dust of inactivity from the deepest crevices of your mind.

You'll be forced to think about things.

The first thing I felt was my legs. I was on my right side, with my legs crossed under me. There were a few minutes where I could feel the ground pressing up at me, but then like a tidal wave of pain crashing down upon me I could feel the weight of the world on my legs. They were broken, I was sure of it. It’s a strange feeling to be conscious of a dramatic failure in the structural integrity of your own body. Before the numbing pain, the wash of emotions that blocks out everything else, like a solar eclipse, comes this surreal out-of-body experience. At least it did with me, laying there on the ground that day. I could feel my body helplessly broken, my mind, partitioned itself into a secure corner, safe from the havoc being wreaked upon every sense, exhibiting supreme triage over my synapses, choosing with extreme discrimination what it deemed I was ready to feel. Such a simple thing as a pair of broken legs and stripped everything away until my core lay bare, there on the ground next to me, blistering in the sun, reverting to the most basic of instincts in order to secure the survival. There on the ground next to me. For a second I thought I could see it…

I wasn’t able to see that first day. Whether it was a failing of the corneal or retinal machinery surrounding those delicate lumps of tissue, or something of a more profound nature, I do not know. I do know that it was over a day because I heard the alarm on my watch ringing twice, set to ring every twelve hours by me in some other world. I remember the watch, I remember setting the alarm. I don’t remember anything else. The first time the alarm range out, the sound carried across the ringing in my ears like a jet engine cutting across the noisy atmosphere of an airport tarmac. It rang and I thought my ears would explode from the noise. It cut through the air like a scalpel, drilling into my brain with violent precision. I tried to cry out, but realized I could not. My brain had long ago severed ties with such an inconsequential peripheral as my vocal mechanism. But that first time I heard my watch was wondrous. I added hearing to my list of operative senses. Two down, three to go.

Team Amazing: Justice Taskforce Issue 1

Stupendous Girl crosses her arms in front of to brace for the impact as she leaps from the corrugated rooftop of the watchtower at the dock. The cold night air brushes past her as she lands effortlessly on the cracked pavement below, rolls twice and takes off running. Behind her, bullets smash into the ground, sending jagged splinters of rock flying past her. She ignores a tearing pain in her left arm and keeps running, her toned legs pumping smoothly beneath a blue miniskirt. Turning a corner she darts into the black shadows offered by a nearby warehouse. Hearing the shouts of the guards behind her, she looks for the nearest exit. A door to her left is covered by a rusty padlocked chain, which she breaks with a swift front kick. Running through the dimly lit room she front flips over a construction hole in the floor, missing by mere inches rows of razor sharp rebar covered in germs. Running from pool to pool of light splashed on the floor by flickering utility lamps, Stupendous Girl turns a corner and runs straight into a burly security guard with a mean face and an angry looking automatic rifle. She dispatches him with a neat jumping hurricane kick to the larynx and jumps over his falling body, handplants, and tosses herself through the window at the end of the hall. Falling for what seems like hours instead of mere seconds, she curls herself into a ball, slowing herself down before unraveling for a graceful dive into the icy cold and pitch black ocean below. Utilizing a perfect breaststroke she swims for a twenty yards before coming to the surface, right next to the ladder of the boat floating next to her. Clambering on board she gives a thumbs up to the dark figure in the pilots sea who flashes devilish grin before gunning the engine and turning the wheel sharply, throwing up a sheet of water as the boat races away from the dock at 40 knots. Squinting against the wind and ocean spray Stupendous Girl looks behind her as the dark monstrosity of the military complex that she had just infiltrated fades into the sea night behind her. For a moment she's paralyzed with fear. Did she connect the right wires? Her unvoiced question is answered as the series of warehouses, research labs, and troop barracks explodes in a bubble of white light which slowly fades to orange, lighting the sky with red and wreathing the small peninsula in a halo of smoke.

Turning back around in the boat, she allows herself to relax. "Well, that's one more terrorist base off the list."

My New Instrument

For the past 5 months I've been teaching myself guitar, at first using my mom's ultra-crappy acoustic before stepping it up and buying my own crappy acoustic. Haha, no I am, of course kidding. Mine is not just a crappy guitar but a crappy guitar with a cool sticker that I sort of regret sticking on there. I've diligently memorized the basic major and minor chords. I've taught myself a few strumming patterns. I've restrung my guitar, and can now tune it thanks to the modern technology of the electronic tuner which makes up for the fact that I apparently can't distinguish between different sounds...like AT ALL. I've learned the riffs to about a dozen songs, mostly soft-indie or rock from the plethora of guitar tab sites online. Lately I've been experimenting with adding my voice, but I've found that my voice only goes with 1 in 5 songs I know and I am not comfortable with this ratio, so I'm going to stick to singing with my brother as my audience for the time being. Anyway, I'm writing this blog for several reasons. First, I felt I needed to write a lighter, more funny blog about something in my life, and I don't think I've blogged about my guitar adventures yet, so that seemed like an obvious choice. Second, is that today was the last school day before our nice secular holiday break. We had a half day today and half of the already shortened day was spent at our yearly "Christmas special". All of the kids who are either in band or in a theater group were gone from class for rehearsal and prep and many of my classes were pretty empty. I hung out with my friend Zak for the day and we got to talking about our song. From the beginning of the year we've been singing (in varying degrees of annoying volume) the song "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler to each other in Foreign Policy because we thought that song best epitomized our feelings about life. Plus, last year when I watched this video, I realized it might possibly be the best song for a man to sing sarcastically. So today we decided it was time to upgrade our selection and we decided to run with "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith. While it may not completely dominate "Total Eclipse of the Heart" in terms of manliness, it has the distinct advantage of being playable on the guitar. So today we memorized the lyrics and this afternoon when I got home from school I sat down in front of the computer with my guitar, went online, and checked out the tabs for the song intent on memorizing it so I could astonish Zak over vacation. At first it seemed pretty easy, no more than 5 or 6 different chords in all with some pretty easy patterns. Plus, most of the song consists of incomprehensible wailing so I thought I'd be able to pick it up pretty easy. I was cruising along until I hit some new chord I had never tried to play before. B Minor. Now, it is important to note that with there are several different ways to play a chord (similar to piano which I've played about 1000 times longer than guitar). The fingering the tab showed for this chord made it extremely impossible. Absolutely unplayable. I could get four of the five notes but that fifth one would end up sounding like a dying animal. And while I haven't verified this, I'm pretty sure the whole point of the song is love, not dead animals. So I was in a quagmire. I'm sure I'll look back on this some day, laugh merrily and say something along the lines of "Oh Andrew! You were so naive," as I'm playing B Minor chords with my eyes closed. But for right now, that chord is the devil. Like a cruel prank. Like Aerosmith wanted to tease me with a song I could almost play, "But let's throw in this joke chord!" Thanks guys.

Happy holidays,
Andrew

Short Story 1 Installment 1

Alrighty, walking home from school today after an epically short Model UN meeting I was struck with the inklings of a new story, one that centered around a single character (like most of work lately), but put more emphasis on human nature and how a singular existence can effect one's perception of the world. Also, it seemed like a really interesting, if a bit fantastically unusual, concept. I'll be posting stuff as I write it, so the only thing you guys'll see are the bare bones, completely rough draft stuff. I'll post edits when and if I see fit, but seriously who are we kidding? I don't make mistakes.

Short Story 1 (Until I find a better name, you guys can comment with thoughts/suggestions)

Installment 1

The world consisted of asphalt. Perhaps not the entire world, but asphalt stretched into the conceivable distance, and even after the sooty black disappeared into the horizon there was still the thought of more. It stood n a complete circle, encompassing everything like a large black maw of some great creature, swallowing up anything and everything. It was completely flat, as flat as human instruments and design could allow for. When it rained the water simply filled the surface, not running off in any direction. When it snowed it was impossible to judge distance. The completely flat surface of the asphalt was disorienting in it's perfection. But it was a perfection marred by its purpose. Like a beautiful detail on an otherwise grotesque and revolting visage, the great circle of asphalt stood on the earth, so massive that it curved with the land that fell away beneath it, separated by rock or dirt or grass my many hundred feet of compacted tar.

I knew it was at least 200 miles in diameter. A while ago I attempted to walk all the way out of it. It was stupid, thinking I could. I walked for six or seven days; after awhile I forgot to count the sun rises and sunsets. Near the end I was about halfway through my supply of food so I decided to turn and go back. But that failed adventure proved enlightening. I discovered that there was an end, I saw the mountains. From the center of the circle (where I assume I am), I cannot see anything on the horizon but the towering hulks of clouds preparing to make their smooth and rapid descent across the sky until they disappeared over the second horizon. But as I made that journey to the edge I noticed the mountains. At first they were just minuscule smudges of gray across the horizon. But even then I practically lost my mind. To know that there was something except for asphalt. And as I walked on they grew taller and taller until I was sure that the edge was no more than three or four miles away. But then I noticed the clouds. The clouds, that brought rain, and thus life to be on this barren circle of asphalt, were sweeping closer and closer, past the mountains. And when they swept in front of the mountains I realized the true depravity of the situation. These mountains I had seen were indeed huge. So huge in fact that they gave the illusion that I was nearing the edge, when in fact I was not even close. I might have walked 40 or 50 miles that week, but it felt like I had to walk twice that distance to get back to the center.

The center. Where I first woke up, so long ago. I implemented a system of calculation of date several years ago. Using the sun and the moon I've been able to tell time and date since then. A.C. After calendar, I called it. It's a pretty impressive system, but I didn't come up with it until at least a few years after had lived here. The center, that's where I woke up. I don't remember much from those first few years. The thing that sticks most in my memory was the tree. The tree, still there even now. As far as I've been able to tell, that tree, along with some small shrubs and plants, are the only things in this place that aren't asphalt. It's not a gigantic tree, but big enough. I don't know the species. But it has wonderful fruit that never goes out of season. It's trunk is about 8 feet across and it's branches spread out, about 30 feet over the ground and 40 or 50 feet in every direction. It's got these gigantic leaves that are soft and change their color constantly but never wither and die. At first I was perplexed by this tree. I thought at first I was dead and this was some strange after life, something out of a child's imagination. However, over time, I've discarded this idea. The tree is real. The asphalt, though its hard to believe, is real. Everything is real.

The New Oceanic Version 2.0

The blog has a received a massive face lift in regards to the color, layout, and that giant whale at the top. All of the graphics (like the whale) were edited severely by me and I feel pretty proud about that because my 2D graphics skillz are not what you would call "amazing" or "clever" or even that most awkward of compliments "nifty". No, they lie in the large and always expanding plains of mediocrity next to the mountain range of self-adulation across the plateau of indifference. It's about 6:45 in the morning, on a weekday so you can't blame me if a slew of repetitive metaphors comes pouring out.

Anyway, the point is that this is only the first in a series of upgrades I'm going to be implementing over the next few months to dramatically change the way this blog operates. Another big change I'm hoping to implement is the inclusion of more pictures. More updates is another thing I'm trying to go for. Finally, the content of the blog itself may receive a small updates. It'll stil be a "summary of my life with jokes", but it may also contain more reaching philosophical essays, analysis on human nature, and construction guides for potato cannons. All in all my goal is to have the content of this site be completely unpredictable, and I think this new update is moving in that direction.

Until next time, I recommend you guys check out www.stopwhaling.org

Regards,
Andrew DeCoster

Snowstorms

Last Thursday my lovely little state of Connecticut was hit with a pretty good sized storm that brought snow, rain, ice, and strange combinations of the three upon the roads and sidewalks and cultured lawns. It's pretty early in the season, technically its not even winter yet, so this early winter nastiness is a bit foreboding in my opinion. Last weekend we got hit with another storm, and this morning I awoke to the news of a delayed opening for school. While all of this weather might be having a positive effect on the amount of my sanity that is slowly sapped every day during my internment in our local public school, it is also causing just as many problems.

On the plus side, I got the lion's share of my Christmas shopping done over a week ago and our tree is looking more and more festive everyday. Christmas time in my house is one parts Splinter Cell via Ghost Recon via obscure spy movie for every two parts Holiday festiveness. After our shopping is done every member of my family hoards up in their room and waits there, sometimes for three or four days until we believe enough time has passed so we aren't suspecting of harboring gifts for our loved ones. Allowing them to know that we care enough about them to plop down the $9.99 it takes for the collector's edition of Lawrence of Arabia on DVD is simply forbidden. Instead we slowly filter presents on at a time, all stupendously wrapped, until the tree begins to look like a refugee camp for lost or misplaced packets of holiday cheer.

Happy Holidays,

Andrew

Presidential Primaries

The presidential primaries are around the corner and I'd like to take this moment to publicly endorse Senator Barack Obama as my vote for the 2008 elections. Now, before any of you crafty readers jump to some conclusions you should know that I support him for reasons besides his amazingly handsome face, his deep baritone voice, and his deep soulful eyes (although to be fair, that's about 40% of it). In fact, I've read both of his books, Dreams From my Father and The Audacity of Hope. They're both tremendous pieces of work and I recommend both to anyone who is looking to get an insight into this inspiring public servant.

In addition, the concept of Obama as president is very trendy and while that might not be the most noble of assets, it might get him the votes he needs. So, this spring if you're a registered Democrat (if you're not, feel free to use the back button on your internet browser to navigate away from my blog), cast your vote for the man who inspires you to get in touch with your inner American, Barack Obama.

Death of a Magic Trick

There are few things which continually serve to fascinate and amaze me as much as a magic trick. It's not the thought of magic that truly entrances me, but the thought and notion of the reality of the trick. How do they do that? Tonight I decided I would find out just how this magic coin bank my brother has had for the longest time worked. It's a pretty simple setup, now that I know how it works. A large box, walled on three sides, with a clear plastic cover on the fourth. The coin is slipped in the top and falls trough what appears to be an extremely thin tube into a tiny box on the bottom of the larger box. Looking through the two sets of tiny windows allows you to see the coins, just as you put them in, but really small. I knew that a distortion of light was at work here, it's impossible to shrink something like that with the setup I held in my hand. However, I was sill mystified as to how they fit the coins down the tiny tube in the first place. Looking earnestly through the first plane of plastic did not reveal any hidden mirrors. So, I decided to find out for myself. I forced open the plastic cover and discovered the set of diagonally intersecting mirrors. They reflected the walls of the box to make the tube appear thin when it was, in fact just a facade that was covering a larger chute.

Now I know, I suppose.

Impending Stagnation

I can smell it in the air and feel it every time I get out of bed in the morning. Not when I wake up, it should be noted. Shaking off the lingering transience of dreams leaves me feeling like I just left a place I would have liked to stay in a little longer. Perhaps it's just because I don't get enough sleep. I'm inclined to think that I'm awake too long. There is a strange, obscure partition that separates our reality from our dreams and occasionally these defined regions of existence comingle and intersect. Recently I've tried my hardest to work and excel in my reality so that my dreams are tinged with the sadness of what could have been. More recently I've found myself slowly losing the fight against indifference. The outcome is inevitable. There will come a time when I no longer judge my potential worth as an individual in a degree violent enough to warrant my continued efforts. At this point I see it more as a race than anything else. What will happen first? Will I stop trying? Or will I be on the receiving end of a drastic change of scenery? I truly need a change of scenery. I find it harder everyday to cope with the way my house contains no right-angles. Or how when I walk outside in the morning with my dog, my eyes still blurry from sleep, my hand slams into the door. I fear that I am violating the most fundamental of rules of human conflict, don't run from the problem, deal with it. Unfortunately I don't believe that this is a problem that can be fought. The slow degeneration of my place in this town, crowned with the residual indifference I feel every time I read the local news can only indicate one thing: I need to find myself in a way that escapes the reach of indie songs, or slow and reliable mantras, or engulfing myself in work. I need to feel the same sort of way I felt while I was in Biloxi, doing something that anyone could do and reveling in the feeling of oneness with myself.


It all sounds horribly contrived, but I assure you there are few things more genuine.