Mom



I lived with my parents at my aunt Marcia & Duke’s house. This happened for one month in real life right before 3rd grade, when my parents had to sell their 2nd house one month before they could move into their 3rd house. I was, however, my current age, and quite annoyed at living with them.

We were watching South Park, and there was an episode with a giant destructive monster, and every time it would destroy something, a joke display on South Park would score another point, as if it was a videogame. It was part of the humor of the episode. I was playing it with my computer of course, and I wanted to show them how if you went into the properties for the video player, the joke-score would be listed as an attribute along with resolution, length, video codec, and all the other video attributes. Someone had actually tagged each point that was scored in the episode content with a timed-tag that would increment a counter that would be displayed in the actual episode tags.

I basically went into file->properties, then clicked over to the next tab, then there were 3 or so attributes, and if I clicked on one, the score would appear in the right column, matching the South Park episode’s current score.

I wanted to show them this, but they wouldn’t pay attention. When it came up all easily, my parents were immediately talking to each other and not paying attention. The display timed out. I bitched and moaned at them about how lame it was that they couldn’t pay attention for 5 seconds… Especially Mom, who I thought wouldn’t understand it as much without seeing it, because she’s somewhat technically challenged in real life.

So anyway, they finally agreed to give me their undivided attention, and of course THAT time, it took me forever to find the attribute. It wouldn’t come up as easily. Something had changed in the program, and I had to click through and go through 100+ attributes to find it. It was a one-shot thing. A bug in the video player software that made it 20X harder to find a user-tagged attribute if you had already open and closed the attributes list once during the episode. And I didn’t want to close and restart the video player again (as I had recently done in real life 30+ times in order to re-optimize my Media Player Classic video playback after trying to tweak my video player into handling SBS 3-D anaglyph video).

So finally I stormed off and left in anger, not even finishing act 3 of the South Park episode. “Fuck those guys!” … I go back to my downstairs room — complete with the bunk bed I used to have in MY downstairs room in their 3rd house (which we weren’t in — we were in Aunt Marcia & Duke’s house)…

And there’s a DEAD BODY in the room!

Now at the time, I had decided to masturbate, and I really didn’t want to call 911 to report the dead body, because I knew they would totally encroach on my jerkoff time, being in my room, snooping around for evidence, generally not giving me any jerkoff privacy (Hmm–no Carolyn in this dream!). So I started, but then I started to get paranoid that if a masturbatory-length’s worth of time passed, the police would begin to grow suspoicious that my delay in reporting the dead body implied my complicity in a murder I did not actually commit.

So finally, I decided to call 911. But the phone at their house was not working for 911 called! 0 for operator wouldn’t work either! It was some stupid VOIP (voice over IP) phone that had stupid problems. Maybe someone was downloading torrents, sucking up all the bandwidth? But no, I believe the situation was that other numbers would work, but not 911 or 0. I had tried to look up some non-emergency or other numbers in a phone book, but I still had no luck. What the hell is wrong with this phone?

Finally — still in my underwear for some reason — I go to houses across the street asking if I can use the phone. People are hesitant to let a random crazed 38-year-old man in his underwear in to call 911. It just doesn’t sound like something people want to do.

Eventually, someone finally let me call the cops, who came.

''Dreams... They're the hurricanes that wash the soulfilth from the superdome of our nightminds.'' --Xavier:Renegade Angel

“Dreams… They’re the hurricanes that wash the soulfilth from the superdome of our nightminds.”
Xavier:Renegade Angel (more…)

Crazy crazy crazy shit not at all like real life! I don’t even know where to begin describing it.

We were at some hotel with my parents. I want to say it was a bit more to the west, like Centerville, but it may have also been a bit south as well. Point is, I’d been there before. Years before. Me & Carolyn had gotten a hotel room with some younger, slightly trashy, slightly rednecky brunette girl named Kate, and had had some times together in the hotel room years before. But then we’d just left, abandoning our stuff and forgetting it was ever there in the first place.

Somehow, I gained access to the room. I have no idea how that worked. There’s no logical explanation. My stuff was still in the room. This was approximately THREE YEARS later.

I think I had also tried to buy drugs from this girl, then didn’t want any afterward, so I didn’t bother staying in touch with her. So weird that I had a past history of drug use in the dream.

So yeah… Was it sex with her? Drugs with her? Just good times? If there was a past-threesome in the dream, it would have been nice to have a specific memory of that ;)

That was the thing — we had a history with this girl. I’d hang out with her and some of her friends. She had a specific friend that would smoke K2 with me in the dream, then be kinda upset that I’d always bring it around because he knew he’d smoke it.

We’d both left a lot of stuff in the hotel room, including the key that we’d never returned. This created some issues. I went to turn in the key, and was given a bill for $97,300 or so. I explained that just because I forgot to check out, doesn’t mean they should just hold a room for me for THREE YEARS and expect to bill me for it. This would ruin me!

The lady behind the desk (which was 2-3 floors below the main lobby/entrance, where hotel desks usually are) would have none of it. I decided to go over her head, which involved going one floor up (so now we are 1-2 floors below the main lobby/entrance). The person behind THAT desk was Eli, who basically crumped my bill, saying fugghedaboutit.

Even still, I had access to the room! I went back and realized there was a LOT of stuff I had forgotten there. It was like Christmas, getting my own stuff back. Kate had left an extensive cassette collection there, with tapes strewn about. They tended to be glamier metal. I don’t remember specifically, but I would expct Motley Crue and Def Leppard and Scorpions and the like. I spent some time putting them away. I took a few loads of trash out and dumped them into the maid’s cart when I realized there was not a trashcan to be found anywhere. I remember thinking, “How could she possibly have never come in here and cleaned the room IN THREE YEARS? She must have enjoyed having one less room to clean.”

I told my parents about it… And how Kate was probably only 20-23 years old. They kinda shook their head at the prospect of me & Carolyn getting hotel rooms with 20-year-olds. I asked them to take some of my unexpected stuff, as I now had more stuff than I could carry, and we had not planned to spontaneously find all this stuff of mine. They left with my stuff.

They were my ride, yet I went back to continue cleaning the room for 30-60 minutes, so I don’t know what they were doing. Waiting patiently in their car for me to come back? I doubt that would ever happen in real life. I should have known this was a dream… for so many reasons.

I remember thinking that me & Carolyn would have to go back to this hotel for the hotel bar, in hopes of running into someone who knew Kate, so we could give her back her cassette collection, and possibly buy drugs.

So yeah — a lot of the dream was about this girl Kate, who was never actually IN the dream. Very twisted.

REAL LIFE COMMENTS: The weird part was not the dream as much as having a DETAILED back story that went back YEARS. I had memories of parties and such we’d gone to with Kate, extensive memories lasting years. When I woke up in real life, I was positive that some of those memories were references to OTHER dreams I’d had in real life in the past. After (again, in real life) pouring through years’ of past dream journals, I could not find any of these other dreams that I thought were referenced in tonite’s dream, so I guess they didn’t exist. Or perhaps I never wrote them down. I don’t think I’ve had a dream with a years-long timeline since 20090611. From wake to finishing typing this up, it was 45 minutes.

''Dreams... They're the hurricanes that wash the soulfilth from the superdome of our nightminds.'' --Xavier:Renegade Angel

“Dreams… They’re the hurricanes that wash the soulfilth from the superdome of our nightminds.”
Xavier:Renegade Angel (more…)

So yeah… My parents did a lot of fucked up things to me. Judging by how they react to the stories, they’ve done more fucked up things to me than they remember. (Accusing me of making it up? Really?!?)

Things like back when my Mom wanted to take a nap, she would tell me there was a man outside our house trying to get in and kill us. This happened the most in our 2nd house. She’d lay on the bed, tell me to be really quiet — that he’d hear us, and come in and kill us. I’d lay on the bed in abject fear. If I made any noise, it would be shusshed. “Shh! He’ll hear is!” Or “I heard him just now! Don’t move!”

Yeah, no wonder I still get adrenaline rushes when I hear outside noises, and sleep with music on to ensure that I DON’T ever hear such noises.

eye candy - rec room - while shaking camera (mostly on the edges)

...but on my forehead...

They also wrote 666 on my forehead when I was in the crib.

But, anyway, here was the one that actually brought me to tearful screams….

20090805 - Ripley's Believe It Or Not! museum - torture - Clint - sitting on the torture chair - (by Vicky) - 3806546444_9015cb57f3_o

Sitting in the torture chair... OF MY SOUL.

I’m about 13-18 years old, laying on the floor, watching TV in the TV room by the front door upstairs. On the other side of the front door is the kitchen.

I’m watching TV, not really paying attention.

I hear my Mom doing whatever in the kitchen. Making food? Cleaning? I dunno. I’m not paying attention.

I hear the garbage disposal run.

SUDDENLY, A LOUD SHRIEK!! My mom screaming bloody murder. Insane screams that you never want to hear.

She runs out of the kitchen, across the front door room, to where I’m laying, throwing her severed fingers all over my body.

Edvard Munch - Geschrei - The Scream - 1895 - color version

Mom... No.... Mom!!!!

I pretty much scream like a little girl, flailing about as if someone had thrown a handful of large spiders on me. (HATE spiders.) Get these, er, uh… THINGS… of of me!!

Postcard - Stanley Kubricks Clockwork Orange

oh god please make it stop no please stop no nooooo

Begin Mom laughing…

20031216 - Mom's highschool friends - Mom, Mary, Helen - (by Dad) - 2201357026_b9ce655767_o

...but who's laughing NOW? Oh wait, it's still you...

Turns out they were carrots she had chopped up into finger-sized pieces, with the intent of scarring me as such.

200703 - Clint's work - wall art - kitchen - Vegetables Marin - hottub - 112-1231 - 20070302

The carrots... they still haunt me... in my dreams...

Yea, pretty damn funny. A little less funny when you’re the recipient of it, but funny is as funny does.

And people wonder why I don’t want to have kids…

20100324 - Clint - 0 - The Xanatos Scream - by IMBJR from alt.slack [SubGenius]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(more…)

I was born 38 years and 1 day ago, on January 13th, 1974, at 8:56PM, during the Superbowl.

The next day, my paternal grandfather (the one who stormed Normandy on D-Day and taught computers in WW2) wrote me a note — which I did not receive until 36 years later, in 2010. Technically I never received it, since this note is an unsigned draft. I don’t think the signed version, if it even ever existed, ever made it to me.

One funny thing. Years ago, I wrote a blogpost to appear on my 100th birthday. In it, I question whether SuperBowls will even exist in 2074. Coincidentally, my grandfather wonders if SuperBowls will exist in the future as well! Two of us, 2 generations apart, posting the same question 100 years apart. DNA is some crazy stuff…

So here is the note!

1995ish - James Bernard L. - Washington Post front page - article - reworked

Grandad on front page of Washington Post

(more…)

//www.acm.vt.edu/~clint/download/imagedump/jesus1.jpg” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors.[originally posted 3/25/2008] Because I am outspoken, have a powerful web presence, and have unpopular and unapologetic opinions, I tend to attract trolls from time to time. For example, the guy who argued that we must protest South Parkbefore the series even came out. Honestly, I might be the actual troll here, as I deliberately put some stuff up to bait people into leaving responses, which is the definition of trolling. But that definition usually applies to neutral forums, not to posting to your own forum. So I’ll go ahead and call the people who attack me on my own spaces “trolls”, in the “I’m rubber you’re glue” spirit.

This is in response to my “What Would Jesus Smoke?” blogposts HERE, as well as my What Would Jesus Smoke (and other Jesus) Flickr images HERE.

These pictures draw “Christian soldiers” from all over the place, causing them to hurl entertaining vitriol in my direction. I fucking love it.

I always thought “Ye who has not sinned should cast the first stone”, but hey, Christians don’t seem to know much about being Christ-like, just like Muslims don’t seem to know much about being Mohammad-like. (And if they did, they would all have 6-year-old wives like Mohammad.) My uncle Sean has already published, analyzed, and commented on this letter, and there are already a few comments over there on his blog. He is more calm and collected, and can say how I feel better than I can. :)

Anyway, this gets ugly. Very ugly. Read on to see the love God puts in all Christians’ hearts. (That was sarcasm.) (more…)

Our 10 year marriage / 18 year dating anniversary actually happened 2 days ago, on the 10th. But our wedding reception happened on 2/12/2000 — 10 years ago. It was a pretty big reception, and was followed by an equally big party at our house that night. (There were a few hours in between the events for everyone to change, eat dinner, etc.)

A good hour of video was taken by our friend Tony T! I managed to get it converted to VHS, and later to AVI on the computer, and later to YouTube postings with YouTube’s stupid 10 minute limit requiring me to break it up into 20 parts of various sizes. Here are the videos — most of them peppered with youngest-cousin Todd being extremely annoying. Go past the jump to see the pics & vid! (more…)

I asked my parents about some of the crap that went down at the parties they used to host, and these were their responses:

From Mom:

“Well, I definitely commiserate with you. And yes–we stopped having big parties, at least partially because our “guests” didn’t seem to respect the fact that our home was not a playground. Which actually meant that they didn’t respect us. We sort of-kind of tolerated this for a while but, when we got a little older, we cut down and finally stopped having big, blow-out get-togethers.

Carolyn’s right about our toilet being broken. That happened when we lived in an apartment, but it was still our home. I don’t think anybody ever copped to having broken it. There was another incident when a college friend got drunk and fell through our glass coffee table, totally demolishing it. He paid for the replacement, but our enjoyment of these shindigs was already winding down.

I felt a little deja vu-irritation at those parties Britt and Chuck used to throw. People stamping cigarette butts out on their carpets, breaking furniture, spilling wine all over…there’s a point where having fun becomes disrespectful. And it’s even more unacceptable when the people are 30 plus years old…grow up, jerks.

Anyway, I was really sorry to hear about what happened to you guys. And I think you’re in the right to tell everybody how pissed off you are. They all need to know that destructive behavior is abusive and unacceptable–destroying a friend’s property is like slapping them in the face. Unfortunately, it’s not surprising that nobody has admitted blame. Besides not wanting to accept responsibility, they’re probably also humiliated and embarrassed. I just hope that your reaction makes them realize that they need to behave more courteously in the future. The unfortunate thing is that many of your friends are probably innocent people getting stuck in the middle of all this. But isn’t that always the way?”

From Dad:

“yeah, i think a toilet was broken once — cracked the tank part and I’m thinking it was in our rented apartment so it really cost us.

sometimes you know who did it, sometimes you don’t. its the price you pay for having parties….something will always get fucked up. when we had our Christmas party here in this house, someone left the water running in the sink in the master bath and flooded it —- how hard is it to turn off water????? No one was drunk or anything, and these were mostly our “adult” neighbors, so go figure (though a few of them brought their pre-teen kids (suspects!)). Don’t bother blaming people for the shit they do…if you know who did something, just dont invite them again. [Hard to do when I don’t know. -Clint] Chuck’s friends trashed Britt’s house every party and broke stuff, spilled and left stuff, etc. Chris & Britt haven’t had any problems with guests because they have more responsible friends.

It kinda goes with the territory and the “types” of people you associate with. Not putting you down, just some of your “friends”.

Ask yourself, “are they really friends, or just slobs looking for a place to party and trash?” We’ve been down that road too and simply stopped having large parties.”

I don’t want to be the last person in my family to stop having parties. So if shit does down at a party, guests need to expect to face an investigation without getting pissy about it. (more…)

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