Scam

Just a warning to all my friends and people who might read this. While recently reviewing my bank records, I found a charge for "PURCHASE MADE ON 02/23/08 AT RESERVATION REWARDS 800-7327031 CT" and a $10 charge. I'm pretty sure I've seen this on my bank statements before, but didn't think much of it, but this time I decided to look into it because it was still unfamiliar. I found out that this is fact a widely known and ongoing scam that is being run thru the interweb. Here is a site that gives some advice on how to deal with them. I shall be doing this tomorrow. Just a little note to tell you all to check your bank statements.

This has been a public service announcement from Swampy.

(Can't You) Trip Like I Do: a treatise on natural and artificial highs

When I run, my mind wanders, and this particular time I began to wonder about similarities between the euphoric "highs" attained by sustained exersize and recreational drug use.

When you exercise, you are essentially tearing apart your body and rebuilding it. During the catabolic part of this, you are destroying your own tissue. When this happens, your body releases seratonin (even tho I can't spell it) and other euphoria-inducing chemicals to numb the pain that you would feel. There is also the rush of adrenaline you get from a workout as well, and these factors contribute to a significant feeling of elation during and after. A greater shot of adrenaline can frequently be created through public performance, such as street busking, stage performance, or even public speaking, as well as through dangerous activities such as skydiving and base jumping, hence the creation of the "adrenaline junkie".

With recreational drug use of any sort, artificial compounds are introduced into the body with the intent of re-creating and perhaps surpassing the effect created by your own system. These compounds bind to seratonin receptors in your brain and trigger them to make you feel good.

Similar effects can be created through self mutilation behavior, and it is believed that this is the reason many people engage in 'cutting'.

Now for the similarities: you can and will build up a tolerance to all of these activities after continued exposure, and a greater fix will be needed to achieve the same feeling. A bigger hit of heroin, more alcohol, a longer run, a higher base jump, a bigger stunt, a bigger crowd, a bigger show. The similarities here are stunning: with the continued use the need for the fix becomes stronger and the amount needed increases.

Now for the differences: run longer, perform in front of a bigger audience, or play a sport, and you're likely to increase your lifespan. Seriously. There is scientific evidence for this, I promise. I'm a biologist.

Smoke more, drink more, shoot more heroin and you're likely to decrease your lifespan. Seriously. There is scientific evidence for this, I promise. I'm a biologist.

Thanks for bearing with me during this little brain jaunt.

Wanted: plumber, belt a MUST.

A large portion of my day was spent re-routing the water systems for several of our 500 gallon fish tanks. We are slowly replacing our old chiller system with a newer, more compact, (hopefully) more reliable one, and to do this, we need to remove the old 80lb monstrosities, and cut about 10 feet of PVC piping and angle it around a few obstacles (pronounced "ob-stack-uls). Sooo, cue Justin. I enjoy the days where I get to do new and strange things, like figure out the best configuration of pipe angles to create a good current in an artificial pond or build new plumbing for the aquariums. The only down side is that while I'm doing this stuff, I don't have time to work on my shows, so I feel like I'm falling a little behind on some of the public performance aspect of my job. (Although, it was cold today, so I didn't really miss getting into the water on this specific day) To make up for this, I ended up putting a quarter INTO a full, sealed soda can today at lunch. Somehow it came up that I'd spend some time street performing on South Beach, and the people I work with were surprised, and immediately demanded to see something. Not having cards, I whipped out a soda can, borrowed a quarter, and proceeded to astound people. It was good fun. The girl who was the most skeptical at the beginning was the most amazed at the end, which I find to be a fairly usual progression. It's really quite amusing. It made me want to get back into street performing, but there's not really anywhere good to do it around here unless I go down to the bar district about 5 miles away and perform there at night. That could have some potential, but the place is so crowded that it would be hard to spin fire there, and I bet the police would be on me like...well, like overzealous police officers on an unlicensed fire spinner in the middle of Coconut Grove.

-Edit-
I just had a run in with Spanish speaking Jehovah's Witnesses. They knocked on my door, I answered, they said "Buenas tarde" to which I responded "Good evening" and noticed the literature in their hands. They said "Hables espanol?". I thought quickly, and in a flash of inspiration, put on my best gringo accent and went "OON POKE-OH". They handed me a pamphlet in english, and invited me to come read the bible in the street with them, and then left me alone. It was BRILLIANT.

Workout

Justin's Workout

Bike 1 mile to warm up
Run 3 miles for time, alternate Vibram 5 Fingers/regular shoes (15-18 minutes)
Bike 3 miles for time (7-8 minutes)
Bike 1 mile to cool down
Sit-ups (150-200 reps, hold last one for min. 1 minute, if unable to hold, do 100 more)
Push-ups (30-50 reps)
Curls w/ 15 lbs each hand (50 reps minimum, go for max)

Repeat 3-5x weekly after working 9 hour days at a job requiring lifting 50lb weights, and manual labor on a regular basis.

After doing this for the past 4 months or so, I now weigh 220 lbs...sheesh.

This week

Well, I'm enjoying things at work a fair amount. I fill up air tanks pretty frequently, and I'm getting to know the guys at the dive shop a bit, and they're nice fellows. I'm learning how to do the reef presentation, and one or two more times doing it with a supervisor and I'll get to do it on my own soon. It's really cool going down in there. There are some BIG fish. Groupers about 6 feet long weighing about 300lbs, 2 moray eels about 6 or 7 feet long, and a bunch of other smaller fish, probably 300 or more in all. There are some pretty angel fish, a cownose stingray, and a bunch of grunts. The groupers occasionally "boom" when they want to show agressivness. The sound inside the aquarium is like a wrecking ball smacking into the wall, and you can feel the shockwave at the base of your skull. I still get to do the shark shows, but now the interns are learning to do them, so I have to watch them and let them know what parts of their show to work on. I vacuumed the manatee pool today with Romeo, the largest manatee in the park. He weighs about 3000 lbs, and he's very friendly. He came by to check out what I was doing about every 3 minutes or so, and although he's about half the size of the orca, he's not nearly as sneaky. Hopefully I'll be able to start training the baby nurse shark, Bosco, soon. He's about 18 inches long and kinda cute...for a fish. Sang some Backstreet Boys song with some of the other guys from work at a Karokee contest at a sports bar the other night. Some girl from the audience gave me her sunglasses, and one of the girls that I work with came in 2nd place. She should have won, but her cheering section was sitting closer to the stage than we were, so they sounded louder. Anyway, that's what has been going on here.

On leadership

As a registered Independent, I'm in a rare position of being able to complain about both Republicans and Democrats. In an election year when the Democrats were essentially handed an invitation to the White House, they have fielded a pair of candidates that have continually failed to impress me. If either of them wins, it becomes a historic event: the first woman/black president, however, America, being what it is, is going to naturally turn its eyes to the white, male, stereotypical image of "president", and the Republicans know that this is a likely scenario. The Democratic candidates are spending so much time attacking each other "inexperience" and "special interests", that when the time comes to show a united front in the general election, they're going to be absurdly hypocritical in supporting whichever candidate does win the primary. The candidate that has impressed me the most at this point in the election has been John McCain (an this is not because I'm watching Die Hard, and his name bears a striking resemblance to John McClane). He's managed to show that he's willing to work across party lines, however he doesn't have the view on the war that I support. Unfortunately, neither do the Democratic candidates. None of them are willing to take a stance to remove American troops and bring them home, which is what I want to see. Anyway, I've yet to decide who I will be voting for, or if it will even make a difference in my home state, but fortunately, I still have 9 months to decide. Whoever wins, January 20th, 2009 will be a wonderful day when I no longer have to listen to the leader of my country say "new que ler". Just for entertainment, if you haven't seen it, enjoy this piece of political humor for the evening. It came around a few years ago, but it still makes me snicker.

Part 4

This is the last part before I have to write more. Now you know as much of the story as I do.

With my afternoon breakfast in my hand, I returned to my office intent upon trying to write some more. To my surprise, my computer’s power button glowed, and the screen was once again covered in words. I could have sworn that I’d turned the damn
thing off before I’d gone to sleep last night. I pulled my chair up to the desk, my Cheerios forgotten in their bowl beside me. I had not simply forgotten to shut down the machine after last night’s experience, for new words greeted me when I began to read. It was an idea both powerful and aggressive, but unfortunately, it moved with awkward steps and seemed to be posed in a stiff and unnatural way. Still, it was a recognizable thought despite being the remains of a living idea mounted on paper, or in this case, my 19-inch computer screen. The coincidences were too strong to ignore any longer; my delusions of hunting in that Jurassic forest were more than hallucinations. The butchered corpse of my first prize, left mangled and broken; the stuffed and mounted body of this second idea, nearly lifelike, but still stiff and awkward. I couldn’t believe it, but I could not deny it either. Excitement rose in my chest, and I whooped with happiness. It seemed that every time I fell asleep and imagined that I was a nearly naked Neanderthal, I was, in fact, writing. Where did these ideas come from? Were they part of my subconscious? Did they come from whatever suppressed area of my brain was creating these images of hunting in a primeval forest? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. What I did know was that it was time to get to work: I needed a nap!
After quickly finishing my cereal, I fluffed my pillow, closed the blinds, and lay back on my couch. I had work to do, and nothing was going to stop me. Nothing except the fact that I’d just slept ten hours and woken up a little less than an hour ago. Hell. Suddenly a solution came to me: daytime television! Nothing, and I mean nothing, is guaranteed to put me to sleep faster than the yammering of rednecks who insist on airing their private grievances on public TV. Thank you Judge Judy, you’ve just saved my career. Unfortunately, half an hour in, there was an attractive blond woman who insisted on wearing a shirt with a collar that dipped far too far into her décolleté. Call me a pig, call me a chauvinist, but either way, I was unable to look away. This wasn’t working. I needed a new course of action.

Improvement

Well, after about a week of running in my 5 finger shoes, when I wear my regular shoes, I can notice a difference in how long my form holds up. My calves are stronger, which means I can keep my kick longer, which translates into more power. I like them.

Interpretation

Different viewpoints and interpretations: what a blessing it is to have them. An interpretation is perhaps the most wonderful thing that two humans can chose to share, however, they can get you in a whole world of trouble.

I'm certainly guilty of writing things specifically intended to be viewed different ways by different people and thereby spark debate; after all, debate, not love, is what makes the world go 'round. Well, debate and a mix of the gravitational forces exerted by the sun and various other solar bodies, but they're not important in this conversation.

However, say something is written to entertain and inform a small group of people, it is unfortunate when something is misconstrued (even if, in retrospect, it's very understandable that it was), especially when it's seen as a viewpoint diametrically opposed to the one that was supposed to be presented. It makes me regret that text is such a limited medium in some ways. Sarcasm and facetious intent are so hard to display and so easy to misinterpret.

That being said, if anyone stumbles across this blog who doesn't know me personally, please bear in mind that very little of what I say is intended to be taken seriously. If you were to take a grain of salt with everything that I say facetiously or for every exaggeration I make, you'd probably die of sodium poisoning before reaching the end of an afternoon with me. I like my job, and I feel that the people I work for are doing a good thing by entertaining and educating people about marine animals. The best time to teach someone something is when they aren't even aware that they are learning. When you've got them laughing or smiling, that's the time to slip knowledge into their brains, and that's what I love about my job: edutainment (that's education and entertainment, in case you weren't paying attention). They also do a wonderful job of rescuing, rehabilitating, and releasing manatees, and I'm proud to be a member of the group of people who are trained to do this. It's a really good feeling to know that you're helping save an endangered animal.

Installment the Third

Third part of my short story. Only one more part until I have to write more.

That night, I dreamed. I found myself once again surrounded by towering trees, clad in loincloth, and toting a spear. This time I was not a total stranger to this strange land. I quickly scanned the forest near me and did not spot any phantasmal fantasies or transient thoughts. I would have to track my prey this time. I set off into the woods with determination and a goal.
As the sky grew darker, the forest came alive. Ideas flitted from branch to branch on wings as swift as those of a bird, but these small thoughts were not what I searched for. Their speed and size made them a difficult target. On the trail ahead of me, I spotted a more substantial prize. I must have gasped, for the creature turned and looked in my direction. Surprise and fear showed momentarily in the intelligent eyes, but they quickly turned to resolve and hunger. This idea was not an animal to be preyed upon, it was a predator in its own right, and if I were not careful, it would have me. I snarled my challenge, and the creature howled in reply. It lowered its head and charged. I held my ground as long as I dared, and at the last moment, I threw myself sideways and stabbed out with my spear. Wood sank deeply into the flesh of the beast’s hindquarters, and it growled wordlessly in pain. Whirling quickly, it lashed out and struck me. The blow knocked me backward, but my grip was strong upon the wood of my weapon, and my spear came away with me. Gathering my legs beneath me, I lowered the point and lunged. I felt the blade go deep into the wounded idea, and it died there on the end of my spear. Standing over my prize, gasping in air desperately, I knew then what triumph was. This idea was one of size and strength. It had meaning and purpose. I bent to skin it and butcher its carcass, but my recent failure was fresh in my mind. A new approach was necessary.
Rising to my feet, I pruned some stout branches from the smaller trees near the trail. I also harvested many large armfuls of the aromatic plant that grew in dense patches on the forest floor. With patience and care I bent myself to the task of mounting and stuffing the body that lay before me. I’m not a professional in this area. The closest I’ve ever come to the art of taxidermy was in 5th grade when I’d made a piñata that looked like a donkey for Cinquo de Mayo. Despite this, my attempt to restore a semblance of life to the dead idea and instill it with shape and form was not unsuccessful.
I woke the next day, refreshed and optimistic. It was midday, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Lewis, must have already come and gone because the kitchen and living room were spotlessly clean. My dog was nowhere to be seen however. I glanced out into the yard, where the open gate and empty expanse of emerald lawn lead me to conclude that my canine compatriot had gone AWOL. Fortunately, the fickle animal usually returned home when his stomach told him it was lunchtime, so I was not overly concerned. The open state of the gate troubled me more, however. Mrs. Lewis always closed the gate after herself when she left. I’d have to call her later and see if my dog had been in the yard when she’d gone for the day.

It mostly rhymes...mostly.

My day in poem form:

This day at work, you great big jerk,
Was standard and routine
I started off with hack and cough
To scrub a pool marine

The scum was there and laid quite bare
I must smite it from my sight
And when it was gone, I'd move along
Knowing that I'd done all right

For filling air tanks, I received much thanks
For divers like to breathe
As the day grew hotter, I longed for water
And my sweat glands needed reprieve

At home in my room, I got a broom,
And cleaned up puppy mess
Then took her back to rejoin her pack
She's happier now, I confess

Feeling like a grouch, I crashed on the couch
And watched some movies on TV
While eating meat cooked at great heat
Which made it difficult to see

Now to bed I go, for my brain is slow
There's more to do tomorrow
If I'm to partake of IHOP's free pancake
This rhyming crap must stop

Deffinately an idiot.

Well, I thought I'd be able to take care of her, but I ended up locking her in my room for 8+ hours each day, and I couldn't do that to a puppy, but I couldn't let her run around our house eating the furniture (read: couch) and making a mess. I took Chloe home to her sisters, and she was happy to see them and have a yard again, and I felt good knowing that I'd done the right thing. I'll miss my puppy tho. I think the only animal I have time for is a cat. Maybe a hamster.
*sniff* 'Bye puppy.

So...I'm an idiot.

Well, I went out for a friend's birthday tonight, and walked down the wrong dark alley.

When I realized that I'd gone the wrong way and turned around, right behind me was a sport utility vehicle full of puppies. Yellow lab puppies. I stopped and looked at them, and asked how much they were, because I've wanted some canine company for the past several months. "$300" was my reply. I sighed, and kept playing with the only puppy that was awake. She started to gnaw on my arm, and roll around and generally be absurdly cute. The guy laughed and said "She like you. For you, $200." A good salesman knows his mark, and this guy was decent at his job, and he had an easy mark. I caved. I'm now the owner of a 2 month old yellow labrador puppy that I named Chloe. She's absurdly cute, and very frie
ndly. She also sniffs everything, and has caused this post to be re-typed about 4 times due to her attempts to occupy the same part of my lap as my computer.

Part Deux

Continuation of the story started yesterday.

When I came to, my head hurt like hell, but more importantly, my pants were gone. Now, I’ve been in this situation before, usually with alcoholic assistance, but never had I awakened surrounded by uninterrupted greenery, discounting that one time in Central Park. However, the trees that surrounded me now bore as much resemblance to Central Park’s chlorophyll containing inhabitants as Samson bore to Mahatma Gandhi at his most emaciated. They were big. I’m not talking about “Wow, that’s a big tree” big, I mean these anabolic angiosperms were the size of your typical Manhattan skyscraper. More disconcerting, however was the long, heavy spear that was gripped tightly in my right hand, but even that faded into the trivial when one took note of the bloody and mangled corpse that lay in front of me. The life had clearly been let from this body through the application of the weapon that was even now held clenched close by my side. As I gazed, uncomprehending, at the form before me, images rushed to fill my mind. I saw myself, crouched in the tall grass, grasping my spear and clad only in a loincloth of animal hide. Only a few yards in front of me, a herd of small brown animals could be seen grazing on the foliage. Instinctively, I knew that these were no normal creatures. My writer’s sense told me that these were incorporeal imaginings given form and mass: Ideas. My fist tightened involuntarily on the haft of my spear. My breath caught in my throat. I had been unable to grow my own ideas, perhaps it was time to hunt some wild ones. I stalked forward on bent legs, my body poised to strike. As I crept into range, one of the animals must have sensed me because it lifted its head from the earth and gazed in my direction with a look of terror. I struck then, flinging my spear with all the strength I had. The throw proved to be straight and true, and the sound of impact was a jubilant tolling within my mind. The other creatures scattered into the dense foliage, but I had my prize to claim.
I bent low over the still warm corpse of this fresh idea, and considered how best dress it. Of their own volition, my hands reached to a small pouch at my side and pulled out several sharp rocks. I went to work, skinning and cleaning my prey. My labor was met with failure, however as I was not an expert in this art, and the fragile nature of my victim made it difficult to preserve its shape. My frustration grew into rage, and my rage grew until I was awakened by it.
I found myself laying on my couch, in my own living room, my head pounding intensely from the large lump that now graced the back of my skull. Stupid dog. I got up from the couch and carefully made my way into the kitchen, intent once again upon forcing my refrigerator to yield a yeasty beverage unto me. Freshly refreshed, I returned to my computer, albeit with a somewhat tender head, and turned on the dark monitor. A page full of text greeted me, like the Virgin Mary appearing before the eyes of a weary soul near death. I must have written something while I was disoriented from the fall and the blow to my head. I quickly read the words that were there, and I realized that it was not the Virgin Mary that gazed back at me, but rather the disfigured visage of a once beautiful woman, now covered in pox. My idea was here, but butchered and mangled almost beyond recognition. Only my recent proximity to the corpse allowed me to even recognize this once graceful thought. Damn, it had seemed so promising. At least I was writing again. With that encouraging thought in my mind, I finished my beer, opened the front door so the dog could let himself out into the yard, and went to bed.

Part 1 of ?

I can't really think of anything right now, so I'm going to post the first bit of a short story I've been working on since December of 2006 or January 2007 or so. I don't write on it too often, so it's far from complete, but feel free to leave constructive criticism.

/Story on
People ask me where I get my ideas. Some writers won’t tell you, others will lie. Some will say that they get their ideas from the news, or, in the manner of William Shakespeare himself, they take tried and true ideas and change them just enough to seem new. Neil Gaiman once told the story of Erasmus Fry, a writer who traveled to Greece and captured a muse. Calliope, her name was. For the next fifty years, he kept her locked in a room in his basement, and raped her regularly. This is where his ideas came from. He eventually sold his personal muse to another struggling writer for a ball of hair, covered in saliva, that had been extracted from the stomach of an obsessive-compulsive woman. A bezoar, thought to protect the bearer from all forms of poison. But I digress. Calliope, the muse, was then passed to a new master, who treated her much the same, before one day, she escaped with the help of a former lover and father of her child. Seems far fetched, but in reality, it is less so than you might think.
So, where do writers get their ideas from? Why do you ask me? I’m not a writer, I’m a storyteller. I’ll tell you where storytellers get their ideas from if you want. I hunt mine. With a spear. While dressed in a loincloth. I have the scars to prove it, for some ideas have larger teeth than others.
I used to do it the same as every other writer: scan the news, listen to the radio, read stories; hoping for something to catch my eye and spark that little something deep in the well of my mind that would jolt the pumps into action, and ideas, like water, would flow forth from my fingertips. Other times an idea would enter my mind of its own volition, and without a by-your-leave, it would set fire to the two story, three bedroom, one and a half bath, Tudor style house of my imagination. These were always the best ones, but fortunately, they were infrequent, for it is hard to find someone who would insure my imagination, and these burning ideas were very rough on the woodwork. It wasn’t long after one of these arson-inclined ideas had just come through, burning every other story out of my mind and leaving my imagination homeless that I went on my first hunt. I was sitting in front of my computer, staring at a blank screen of white that refused to hold any sentence more intelligible than “Susie’s rats don’t have leukemia because injured grasshoppers use pogo-sticks to jump over the lazy brown dog”. Before you go counting letters, that sentence doesn’t contain f, q, w, or x, so don’t waste your time, I already wasted mine. But that’s beside the point. Feeling frustrated and infuriated with Susie and her goddamn cancer-free rats, and not caring whether their healthy state was due to grasshoppers and indolent canines or not, I stood up from my computer, walked into the kitchen, and got a beer from the refrigerator. At least, that’s what I’d intended to do. Halfway through the living room, my own lazy brown dog decided that my stocking clad feet resembled his favorite chew toy, and leapt to his feet (san pogo-stick assistance. He wasn’t, after all, a paraplegic grasshopper) to pursue what, to his failing eyes, resembled a rubber hot dog moving rapidly in the direction of his food bowl. Having had similar hallucinations myself, I can’t blame the old bastard for his overreaction, but I can very well blame him for what happened because of it. As his teeth sank into the unsuspecting flesh of my gray cotton sock, I lost my balance, fell backward over an easy chair, and hit my head on the coffee table. At least I think it was the coffee table, it could have been the ottoman. I never did like ottomans, or their damn empires

I went running and my mind wandered.

The motion, it sets me free
My body burns and aches to quit
I push it farther than it's meant to go
Sweat fills my eyes, and it's hard to see
Please stop, please wait, please rest and sit
My body begs but I tell it no

Muscles fill with burning acid
Lungs that sting and taste like bile
I keep going with legs still striding
My mind is empty and face is placid
My feet are wings for a short while
When I'm done, they return to hiding

I throughly love my new shoes. Vibram Five Fingers are AMAZING
The only bad thing is that my calf muscles aren't used to that much of a workout yet, so they're going to be SORE tomorrow. A week or so of running in these, however, and I think they'll be tough enough that it shouldn't hurt.

Is it art?

Did you know that dolphins can paint? Because they can. This lovely piece of artwork was painted for me by two young males at work, Croix and Echo. Croix did the blue and the gold paint, while Echo did the turquoise. A third dolphin, Abacco, was supposed to do the gold, but he is apparently more into performance rather than visual art. When he was handed the paintbrush, he sunk under the water and began waving it around creating clouds of gold paint in the water, which he gleefully watched as they dissipated into his pool. Look at it as abstract, and see what you will. Tim saw it as a giant bird pecking a smaller emaciated bird, however I saw it as a person kneeling at a ledge hands on the edge, looking downward. Make of it what you will, but I like it, so there.

The depilatory process.

What makes us human? What separates us from animals? It's gotta be more than the fact that they have fur; after all, several of my friends could probably be legally hunted for their pelts. I have worked with highly intelligent animals, and I've seen things that seem frighteningly human in some ways, and I've seen people behave with remorselessness that would put a hyena to shame. Perhaps all that separates US from THEM is that every human, humble or arrogant, wants to leave some mark, some thing behind for everyone to see. Maybe this is just my way of leaving my mark. A binary equivalent of a dog pissing on a fire hydrant. Anyway, there was a trend of blogs going around like a bad case of mono in a Vassar dorm, so I though I'd make out with the captain of the lacrosse team and get my own infection. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.