space-bean

It's like this dark monster I can't get rid of!


But that's okay, I love it anyway.

So, for those of yo who didn't know, for the past month of so, my status message on MSN Messenger ("Windows Live" for you weird types) has simply been, "Troz!" And, while I'm sure a lot of you have been wondering, "Why?" One person finally had the guts to ask, and here's how it went.

Anonymous Person:
So, tell me, Tyler dear. What is the meaning of this...'Troz'?

I said:
It's "Zort" backwards.

Then I said:
Duh!

Anonymous Person:
...Yes. Though by meaning, I did in fact *mean* 'incredibly long backstory full and ANSGT and plot'.

So then I'm all:
Oh.

So I'm like:
Well, it all started back in the old country

And I started telling my story:
My grandfather, a prominent pigfarmer of his time, was trying woo a sweet damsel named Helga (Note: When I say "old country" I mean yes, so old that helga is still an attractive name)

Then I went on to say:
His rival, however, the dastardly poet know as Florrisimo, wished to wisk away Helga on his shiny, ox-pulled wagon, and sacrifice her to the satanic pagan gods he worshipped.

Then I said:
My grandfather, as you can imagine, was terribly angry to learn of his arch-rival's dastardly (the old country was also so incredibly old that "dastardly" was still really the only adjective to describe bad things) plot

By this point I was having fun, so I went:
He discovered it by way of Old Joe, his barkeep, who was very up to date on all goings-on, dastardly plots, and contemporary male fashions.

Then I was all:
"Now, Grandfather." He said (everyone called him grandfather, no one really knew his real name), "Grandfather," he said, "In the very simple, wise words of my great, great, great-grand-uncle: You snooze, you lose."

So I finished it off with:
Filled with holy rage, my grandfather stormed to Florrisimo's house only to find that he had been drinking wine and had dozed off. Suddenly deprived of the foracious duel that my grandfather had originally planned out in his head, he threw an effing pig at him.

Me:
And there you have it.

Anonymous Person:
But why Troz?

Me:
I dunno. My grandfather never got around to that story.

Me:
That part, leastways.

Anonymous Person:
Ah, I see.

The amazing thing about online chat programs, Google Talk, Windows Live Messenger and such, and something that I really must give the hundreds of companies insane amoutns of credit for, is the incredible amounts of anonymity, and furthermore complete and total apathy for the human race as a culture that it cultivates. Think about it, people you've never met, convening for themselves personas possibly only used on the world wide web, knowing of you only the information conveyed upon the usual online venues, having only the knowledge of your existence when that little "Online" button flashes with your name next to it. Feel special, MSN user, no one cares if you're really alive or not anymore.


On another note, I've decided that I like playing bass because if you take off the B, it spells the first three letters of "Assassin."

The Rules

The 1st player of this "game" starts with the topic "6 weird habits/things/hates about yourself" and people who get tagged MUST write a journal about their 6 weird habits/things/hates as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says "you are tagged" in their devpage comments and tell them to read yours...

1. Most people have 21 bones in their sternum (That group of bones in the middle of your chest), I have 22.

2. I'm scared to freaking death, of bridges.

3. I've had my own personal stalker for four years.

4. I will listen to music that no one else EVER listens to. Ever.

5. My favorite smoothie at Jamba Juice is Green Tea.

6. I'm left-handed. Beat that.


And... I guess I'll tag whoever's watching me. Congratulations.

Okay, so it's not quite the Valentine's Day stuff I promised yesterday. I must have been delusional or something. I'll get it up EVENTUALLY, hopefully today. Provided I'm not too lazy and my camera's working properly, and I stop making lame excuses like my camera's not working properly. This is one of my least favorite holidays, rivaled only by "Beat Your Older Brother With A Stick Day" (What? You don't celebrate that?) So please excuse me if I don't exactly treat it with much optimism. I don't care if that is the key.

Been watching Master of Disguise recently (hence the title), and I must say it is one of the stupidest, if not the stupidest movie on the planet. But in such an insidious way that you keep coming back to it. I can't stop watching. "My father... your son... you must be my SISTER!"

Brilliance, I tell you. Brilliance.


So, okay, back to a topic of relative relativity... relatively. Valentine's Day. So, Saint Valentine was one of the many martyred saints of ancient Rome. Meaning this guy's well over a thousand years old. The one picture I've found so far portrays him as a slightly balding, elderly gentleman. So, my problem is, when people give you these cards saying "Be My Valentine," are they telling you to become thousand-year-old balding men? I have to ask the Hallmark company, who's twisted idea was this? Which employee, honestly now, had the sick and twisted fetish to make all impressionable little children thousand-ear-old balding men? It must be stopped, I tell you. I mean, sure, you made a holiday celebrated only by the people already hooked up, but do you have to go and add insult to injury? Let my balding children go!!!</b>