dream

Had a really messed up dream last night, just have to write it down, perhaps I will quit thinking about it before I go to bed now. I warn you now, it's messed up.
I drempt that I had failed, horribly. I looked like I was in the civilian world, but I kept thinking that the military was part of it. For my failure, I had to kill myself. Now, I'm not sure if in the dream that I was told to do it, but I remember feeling that it was obligated. Much like a Samurai committing sepiku (ritual suicide for failure to protect his master). Here is the freaky part, I felt that if enough people wanted me to live, that I wouldn't have to do it. But everyone was completely indifferent. Couldn't care one way or the other. I wandered around everywhere, dreading killing myself. Finally, it was apparent that I would have to do it. I drank Hemlock, and I remember thinking that was how Socrates killed himself. Here is where it gets really freaky. I am dying, slowly fading out, scared. And I remember, this is a dream, this one is over, and the next one will start thank God. But it didn't. I stopped "dreaming", and only experienced blackness, and nothing.
Let me tell you, that is one hell of a way to start a day! No, I am not suicidal, have no intention of hurting myself. well, maybe a few brain cells with some alcohol. So don't worry, I'm not gonna do something stupid. But that is a messed up dream. I will figure out what it means to me at some point.

my bread,

Oat bread Kcal fat (g) Chol(mg)Na (g) Carb(g) Prot(g)
Ingrediant ammount
2lb loaf
Water 1.25cups+2Tbsp 0 0 0 0 0 0
Margerine 2 Tbsp 140 16 0 220 0 0
Honey 2 Tbsp 120 0 0 0 34 0
Mollasses 3 Tbsp 180 0 0 60 45 0
Oats 1.5 cups 450 9 0 0 81 15
Wheat Flour0.75 cups 300 1.5 0 0 54 12
Flour 1.5 cups 660 0 0 0 132 24
Gluten 0.25 cups 120 0.5 0 9 6 23
Salt 1 tsp 0 0 0 2360 0 0
Sugar 4 Tbsp 180 0 0 0 48 0
active dry yeast2 tsp 0 0 0 0 0 0

total= 2150 27 0 2649 400 74
1 slice, 1/2" of 7"= 154 2 0 189 29 5
1 slice, 1/4 "= 77 1 0 95 14.5 2.5

Old stuff, but still funny. at least one post a day...

Well, my buddy Nate and some of his friends came to Chi-town for St. Pats day, as Mike was getting married and wanted a bachalor party. No worries for his bride to be tho, they were here drunk watching the NCAA tournament the entire time. No hookers, strippers or nothin. I think we're all a little growed up for that. At least I am. But I was only with them for Friday night. I had planned on staying in the hotel that night, after we got done harrasing innocent bar employees. However, comma, I ain't in the drinking shape I used to be in. Trying to be responsable, I had my girlfriend (Deb) drive me to the EL (what we call the above ground subway in these parts), and I trained into the city, planning to train back the next day. Anyone who has drank with me for a night or so knows that when I hit a certain point, my go home instinct kicks in before I get in trouble. If I ignore it, I do stupid things like fall in dumpsters and break bones (true story for those who don't know).Well... I was a long way from home, and the instinct kicked in hard. I wanted to be home, and nothing, not cops, not lack of bathrooms, or taking the wrong train was going to stop me. Should have been easy enough, take the red line to the blue line, call Deb, and I'm home. I went the wrong way on the brown, got turned around, came back, and there was no bathroom. What i remember mostly is leaving the station to find a back yard (i'm in a city, no dice), making it back to the second platform, and for the sake of any future political ambitions, I'll deny anything after that point. I got on the red, made it to the blue, and started heading home. I watched a guy sitting across from me puke all over himself, and never wake up. I wondered if I would pass out like him. I think the girl next to me thought that. When she go off she practially ran. I then remember that I texted Deb that i would be in the station in an hour, and since that ammount of time had expired, plus some, I had better check my text's. In a fit of drunken wisdom that only I can understand while drunk, I had turned off the ringer. Deb had been trying frantically to get ahold of me. Her brother is a chicago police officer, and she had been about to call him to see if they could find her big drunken boyfriend somewhere on the EL in chicago. In her mind I could have been stabbed, murdered, or worse yet, passed out in a corner of a station. All of these were legitimate concerns. But my drunken ass prevailed, and texted her back. Not call, text, cuz i figured I was too drunk to talk. and I probably was. When I finally made it to the station, Deb was just relieved to see that I was OK. Then I promptly threw up on the car ride home. In the car. Ain't done that in a long time. Car stank for days. And Deb never got mad at me. to bad she is an ex.

Chuck Norris

This is probably not what you think it might be. I've heard a lot of Chuck Norris talk today on the interwebs, and just wanted to relate this story. A cousin of mine had a son who had cancer, name of Caleb. Now this was in the early 1990's, when "Walker, Texas Ranger" was big on TV. Caleb was in the make a wish foundation, or maybe starlight, honestly I'm not sure. All he wanted to do was get Chuck Norris' autograph, and maybe meet him. When Chuck Norris' representative was contacted, she said that Mr. Norris doesn't do that sort of thing. Well, people were stunned, but it was Hollywood. But the story is only beginning. Somehow, Chuck found out about this conversation. Turns out, the representative for him was very new, and fired on the spot. As it turns out, Chuck loves to do this sort of thing. And this is how much. All that was asked for was an autograph, maybe meet him. What Caleb got: Several in person bed side visits. More posters and autographs than you could shake a stick at. Video tapes made on the set of "Walker, Texas Ranger", by Chuck himself, having the cast and crew wish Caleb a speedy recovery. This continued, not a one time thing, for the rest of Caleb's life, which was about a year after that I believe. Now I love Chuck Norris Facts as much as anyone (Fact: Chuck Norris has no chin under his beard, just another fist), but the real man is far greater than any "Fact".

the little voice inside my head

Thought I would share this story, it seems to amuse people. And explains why I disappear sometimes. I have a little voice in my head that I listen to. It usually keeps me out of trouble. That is why, when out consuming my favorite legal beverages, I sometimes vanish. My friends know this, and think nothing of it. The little voice says "go home dumb-ass, before something stupid happens".
One particular evening, while consuming Labatt Blue and Rumpleminz with friends at the greatest pub on earth, The Pub, the little voice told me to go home. So off I go, walking (staggering?) up State Street, to my little house, also known as the Una-bomber Shack. The Una-bomber Shack was a one room house I lived in for several years, pretty much parked in the backyard of another house, next to a good size parking lot. I made it all the way home, had my key in the door, and my little voice said, "whoa dude, let's no go home quite yet, look behind you". I turn around, and there in the parking lot, sat a large industrial dumpster. Sometimes I need to ignore that little voice. That night I didn't. I HAD to see what they were throwing away. It appeared they were gutting the house in front of me. So, I climb in the dumpster. Rather easy to get in, there are lots of hand and foot holds on the outside. I walked around for a while (it was really big), looked at the desks and beds and stuff, and decided this was a stupid idea. Now, the inside of the dumpster had no hand or foot holds, just a smooth metal wall, about 6 feet tall, which is the same height of a drunken Rodney. The synapses in my brain, not being able to hold hands due to the aforementioned libations, did not tell me to stack up the furniture to get out. Instead, I remembered that in years past, I had been a fairly good rock climber, and I could mantle my way out. So I pulled myself up, and sat straddling the top of the dumpster. I thought, ok, now all I have to do is swing my leg over, drop on the ground, roll, and I am out of the dumpster. Note: no thought of climbing down like I climbed in. So, I swing my leg over, and physics happened. Physics being, when a force is enacted on a lever in one direction, an equal and opposite reaction will happen to the other end of the lever. My leg was one end of the lever, my upper body the other. I fell on my head and arm INSIDE the dumpster. There was no obvious damage to my head, other than what I had done to it at The Pub, but my arm at my wrist had swollen up to the size of my fist. I laid there thinking, "great. I broke my arm, and I am still in the dumpster". I honestly do not remember how I got out of the dumpster, but I must have mantled up again with a broken arm, because when we checked the next day, I HAD NOT stacked up the furniture. I remember laying on the ground, thinking, "wow, I forgot to roll". I went inside the Una-bomber Shack, and called my friend Katie, who was coming to visit me the next morning. She yelled at me repeatedly to go to the hospital, that my arm was broke. By this time the alcohol had kicked back in, and I was feeling no pain. I did my best to convince her that is wasn't broken, just sprained. I didn't really sleep that night, as the pain grew as the alcohol left my system. At 10:00 the next morning, Katie walked into my place, and I immediately said to her, "don't take your coat off, we're going to the hospital", to which she replied "I TOLD YOU IT WAS BROKEN!!" The consensus at the hospital: both ulna and radius had split about an inch up the length of the bones. I hate dumpsters.

Right off "The Bat"

Apparently I get paid to set at work and surf the interwebs, facebook, and create blogs. Really nothing to do at the moment, not much going on in the vibration monitoring world with the economy down. Keep waiting for the layoffs to begin. But until then, I am here, looking at the pretty snow outside my window (yes hate me those of you who reside in a cubical farm, I HAVE A WINDOW!!), typing away.
As for the title of this blog, I thought "silent storm" or "silent scream" just a tad too cliche. But I always liked the concept. And it was the first thing I thought of.
My brother recently gave me one of the greatest inventions ever, next to velco and the beer tap. A fleece ball-cap, with fold out ears. For someone who works outside in the cold a good bit, I have always thought "why don't they make a fleece hat with a bill?" Should have marketed that...