Paranormloia and the Mystery of the Squatch

This morning I went on a hike. I've been trying to do that regularly of late, taking advantage of the nice weather to keep in shape. This morning, however, I went quite a bit earlier than usual. I woke up before my alarm and couldn't get back to sleep, so I thought I'd make the most of the extra time. It ended up being great—I was up and back before it got too hot, and the rising of the sun made for an aesthetically pleasing venture. Plus, a certain peace attends the early morning as many still lie aslumber, abound in dreams of whither their minds might wander.

The only thing that concerned me about the hike was that the peace and quiet might necessitate extra precautions. My mind is an imaginative one, which makes for fun and terrifying experiences. A factoid that I frequently remember on my hikes is that cougars and bears are not foreign to the Wasatch Mountains, which is where I hike. Therefore, paranoid as a clam, I am constantly on the qui vive for signs of dangerously adjacent and adjacently dangerous animals. Except for scat. I am no scatman. Today, as with every other day, there were no signs of dangerous animals, and no cause for worry. Except for scat.

...until...

By the time I had climbed and was heading back down the mountain, the city below had begun to stir. The most notable sign of this was the construction happening just downhill from my trail of choice; I had noticed the familiar clank and whir of heavy machinery when I was about halfway down the mountain. As I approached the section of trail that ran adjacent to the construction site, I glanced over, mildly interested in what they were working on at the moment. I didn't expect to see much, as they were still at the point of leveling the dirt. And I didn't, really. A bulldozer, dozing bulls, and dirt. However, as I continued to watch, the bulldozer lurched forward, and, like a drawing curtain, gradually revealed a mysterious scene. In the trees behind where the bulldozer previously worked, there stood a lone, dark figure...

My first thought was bear, because I'm bearanoid. But then logic came acallin', and I remember'd that bears usually avoid loud noises. Heavy machines, which were directly nearby, produce loud noises. Therefore, etc. Upon examining the shape further, I decided that it was probably just a dark stump or rock or other thing of limited interest. Drained of any previous intrigue, I was about to forget the spectacle entirely when my mind stumbled upon an astute association: wooded surroundings, indistinct dark figure, mystery... This was the perfect set-up to make my very own instagram joke/insubstantial claim about Bigfoot! Along with possible danger of death, my senses are also always on the qui vive for instagram fodder.

So I stopped along the trail and pulled out my phone/camera. I was a good ways off, so at first I was concerned about how the resolution of the picture would turn out. But further consideration led me to realize that the blurrier it was, the more similar it would be to all of the other Bigfoot evidence pics. I chuckled to myself as I zoomed in as far as my camera could and tried to find the dark shape on the screen. It was difficult to aim the camera precisely, as is common with zoomed-in long-distance shots. I glanced up at the actual scene to find a point of reference from which to work. When my eyes rested on the scene below, I suddenly became uneasy. The dark figure that I had assumed to be inanimate began to move—just noticeably at first, before it sunk slowly into the surrounding foliage...

I stood there, dumbfounded, and a little disconcerted. My eyes remained fixed on the spot. For a moment, I hoped that the shape would reappear so that I could still get some sort of shot. Or was it the hope that another look might quell my fears? Man. What was that?

I snapped out of my stupor and continued the final leg of my hike, this time picking up the pace a little bit and glancing over my shoulder from time to time. Seeing mysterious, mobile, black shapes in the woods doesn't help bearanoia. It also doesn't help paranormloia, which is paranoia of the paranormal if you're not good at dissecting words that I just made up. I had sasquatch on the mind while all this was happening and my logical conclusion from earlier was that it probably wasn't a bear. So my next logical conclusion is that it was probably sasquatch, or a construction worker. But if it was the latter, that dude was pretty sasqueschtrian, which means abounding in sasquatch-like features or having to do with the squatch if you're still not good at dissecting words that I just made up. He would have probably been teased about it in the past, in which case I would feel bad, but wouldn't deny that it was true. I don't know. The color of the thing was uniform and it was super dark and moved lumberly and creepily. If that was human, get that man a posture coach. I don't know if that's a real thing (it is), but I'm making weird suggestions to cope with the discomfort I feel at having witnessed the unknown—perhaps something that precious few have ever seen before. In my heart of hearts, I believe I have joined the ranks of the Squatchwatch: an exclusive guild that I just made up of eyewitnesses of the mystery of the squatch if you're still not good at dissecting words that I just made up. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the squatch; he was trampling out the vintage where some grapes and stash were watched. Glory glory, hallelujah. There's no turning back. So be wary as you wander the foothills of the Wasatch—there is magic about. There's big in them there foothills, if you catch my drift. Perhaps, henceforth, they should be referred to as the Swasatchquatch. Sqwatchsatch? Wasaquatchs. I'm no good at this.

Constpotifyaytion

Sundays are chill, unless something makes them not chill. A few examples of things that could make them not chill are:

• heat
• catastrophes
• things that scare/disturb you a lot

Today Sunday was mostly chill. It was hot outside and in, but I am borrowing a fan, which creates anti-heat. No catastrophes have happened today, at least not in the direct vicinity of my bed, which is where most of my day has been wrought. Part of today Sunday was super unchill, and it involved the last thing on the list above.

The evening was winding down and I was relaxed on my bed. I am of the opinion that Sundays are great days for intellectual endeavors, generally being less filled with cockamamie distractions and responsibilities than other days. This rang true today, and I endeavored my intellect. When feeling intellectual and endeavorous, I am wont to listen to instrumental music. The reason for this is that I love music. A lot. However, when I listen to music that I know well and that has lyrics, it's hard for me not to get caught up in singing or analyzing the song that's playing. When I listen to calmer instrumental music, I can listen and enjoy it without getting too distracted. This allows me to focus fully on my endeavor.

Today, I put some Rachmaninoff on my Spotify. It was relaxing and intellectually stimulating, and fit the bill just right. As I focused on my endeavor, I kind of forgot about the music. I knew it was playing, but was so focused and had it quiet enough that it didn't register in my mind that Spotify was even still on. However, Spotify is catty and jealous and craved my attention so much.

If you're familiar with Spotify, you know how it works: you sign up and can listen to any music they have in their expansive library for free. The caveat, however, is that with the free version, they play commercials from time to time to offset costs. These commercials come at supposedly arbitrary intervals, but realistically right when you're getting most into the music and least want them. This was no exception in my narrative. With me having forgotten about the music almost entirely, Spotify viewed this as the perfect time to recapture my attention. My peaceful Sunday focus was obliterated by a commercial, which, for some reason, had to be played at a volume that was much louder than the volume at which the music was playing. And I suppose it wouldn't have been that bad if that were the only problem; I probably would've simply been startled and gone back to work. But it was also the word that started said commercial, and therefore the word that jarringly snatched me from my peaceful, cynosural zen:

constipation

Imagine being completely focused in peace and quiet and thinking you're alone, when all of a sudden someone sneaks up behind you and says in a monotone, matter-of-fact voice, "constipation." Experience my experience. And as if that weren't enough, I was stuck there—frozen in horror, still stunned from surprise, only able to sit there helplessly as I was aurally assaulted by some hussy going on about constipational discomfort and why I needed relief. Congratulations, Spotify. You've got my attention. I don't need relief. Constipation is not matter-of-fact. You know nothing about my needs, or my bowels. Plus, your commercial and its tactics were startling enough that any bowel obstruction I may have had previously would've been resolved on the spot. Maybe you should've thought this one through a little better, hmm? Keep your vociferous constipation to yourself from now on, thanks.

Verde que te quiero verde, pt. 2

St. Patrick’s Day was the other day. Traditionally, people wear a bit of green to celebrate. But I always feel the need to go all out in my Patty's Day apparel. Partially it’s because of my thin ties to the Emerald Isle, and partially it’s because I'm not sure whether or not I'm a leprechaun. My sense of loyalty and devastating fear of the unknown cause me to pretend to be something I'm not, or maybe am. Thus I trudge on, depressed and dressed in green, seeking some semblance of affirmation by putting on a facade and hoping it's not one. People tend to enjoy this outward kowtow to a debilitating inner conflict, so that's how I continue to celebrate. But for those who don’t have emotional issues and the looks of a jolly green midget, simply wearing green does just fine.

In fact, it does highly fine. Several years ago, I postulated that people who wear green are mighty fine. As the SPD came and went this year, I reflected on this assertion; I am of the opinion that this remains true to this day. Now, I recognize that this is an opinion. But I also recognize that not all opinions are created equal, and I wanted to see how my opinion stood up to the indisputable virtues of truth and internet science. Thus I embarked on an interwebbital journey for confirmation bias.

METHOD

I scoured the internet looking for veritable evidence of whether or not people look better when wearing green. The evidence I found was veritable. Below I have juxtaposed pictures of common internet folk. One picture is said internet folk not wearing green. The connected picture is of the same internet folk wearing green. You be the judge as to which one looks better:

RESULTS

Now if you're like me, you're hesitant to trust average people. After all, they're average, and we're all familiar with the law of averages. But I think we can all agree that we know we can trust celebrities. They live exemplary lives and never let us down and are immune to the problems of common riffraff/streetrats/streetdwellers/streetfolk/commonfolk/commoners. Here are some examples with celebrities—people you can trust—, following the same format:

*These are real pictures of real celebrities, and no stunt doubles were used for any of these pictures

Joan Rivers

Robert Downey, Jr.

The Hulk

Neville Longbottom

Britney Spears

Miley Cyrus

Lindsey Lohan

Arnold Schwarzenneger

Michael Jackson

Steve Urkel

Batman

Marilyn Manson

And Lady Gaga

DISCUSSION

There's not really anything to discuss; I think the results speak for themselves. In honor of science and celebrities and veritability, I think it's high time people started making the change for themselves and going green. In fact, I'm so encouraged by the results, I've created a tumblr account on which people can share their success stories. It's a support group of sorts. I've entitled it Trans(vert)mation. Vert is the French word for green. The whole word actually sounds much more exotic and desirable if pronounced with an outrageous French accent. It's okay to be afraid, but don't let it stop you. Feel free to send me before and after pics and I'll add them to the irrefutable evidence of the re(vert)lution. You, too, can reach out to your best self and make the trans(vert)mation.

You're Going to Die, Again

There have long been rumblings throughout the history of the world that, some day, the world will be history. In our ever-nagging desire to be able to predict (and thereby establish control over) the world around us, many people have attempted to pinpoint when exactly the world will transition from presently- and pleasantly-inhabited sphere to historical factoid. There was the Y2K scare. There was that prophet guy. There was that Mayan Doomsday. And now we've got Ragnarök. Oh and it's today.

Ragnarök is the ancient Norse doomsday, essentially. According to Norse tradition/mythology, after 3 years of never-ending winter, a mighty horn would blow and signal the beginning of the end. The gods would engage in mighty battle, destroying everything and resulting in a reset of the human race. Only two would survive to repopulate a new and fertile earth: Lif and Lifthrasir.

I haven't personally experienced 3 years of never-ending winter, but I can't speak for the whole world. There was that polar vortex, which may have included a time warp or a worm hole. And I didn't hear a mighty horn blow, but I did get some nice new headphones and maybe I just missed it. Another downside of having to always be connected. So seeing as how my name is neither Lif nor Lifthrasir, it looks like this will be the end for me. I had no idea it was so close; I wish the Norse would've been a little bit better about communicating these things. All it would've taken was a quick editorial or blog entry to a major news site and I wouldn't have to scramble to find fulfillment and meaning in my life before it's prematurely and violently snuffed out.

A few years ago, when I caught word of the Mayan Doomsday, I decided to compile a list of things to do before I died. I wasn't able to accomplish the vast majority of them before that Doomsday hit. Luckily, the day came and went, and the world wasn't completely annihilated. This was good in general, and especially because it allowed more time for me to complete my list!  !!!  Here's an update on how things are going with my list! !

Join a Yacht club

So the yacht club that I originally intended to join seems to have disappeared without a viable trace of their contact information or very existence. I wasn't aware it was a secret yacht club, or I would've probably tried a little harder to get in. Needless to say, I didn't complete this item.

Start an Emu farm

Technically I didn't start my own emu farm. But I do drive by several farms on my way to work, and one of them has an emu on it that I see from time to time. My crippling social anxiety has kept me from networking with that particular farm owner, but I have a lead. We'll mark this one partially completed, citing disability.

Wrestle a large dangerous animal

I'm not much of wrestler, I'm more of a pacifist. I don't remember where this desire came from, but the closest I've come is probably playing with my nieces. They're not large or animals. But Ragnarök says that there will be ferocious beasts involved in the end of the world, so maybe they'll come this way and I'll be able to complete this goal and update my post to all those who are anxiously waiting to know in their last precious moments on this earth. I'll mark this one AS OF YET incomplete.

Invent something [preferably useful] that gets famous

I don't have many resources to work with as an inventor. But I have come up with some neat app gaming ideas in my mind that would probably definitely get famous. The only qualification was invent it, which I did conceptually, and I didn't establish a timetable for famous, so I'll mark this okay pretty complete.

Have a reason to be interviewed

See this one's a little hard to gauge. Some people might be genuinely interested in learning more about traditionally uninspiring aspects of my life, like my sock collection or my sleight in hanging wall art. So I don't want to deflate anyone's enthusiasm, I'll mark this well it depends.

Wear a speedo in public

Check

Get a real-life massage in a real-life massage place

This one could be open for interpretation as well. I went to the mall yesterday and got a massage in/from one of those massage chairs that are just sitting unhygienically out in the middle of the hallway. So technically it was a real-life massage, but the reality-lifeness of the place is less technical. This one's a well yeah if.

Drive one of those golf carts around campus

I can't even think of anything relatively close to this one. Incomplete

See the aurora borealis

I did look at pictures and even a video of it on the internet the other day. So in a way I guess.

Go to space

No. I did listen to a broadcast that was supposed to show the nearby flyby of a potentially dangerous asteroid in our galaxy. But they didn't actually ever find the asteroid (!) and I wasn't actually in space, so in spirit.

Be in a volcano

Not physically. Emotionally, yes.

Grow a beard

Grew and metrosexually maintained. Check

Evolve something cool

I recently thought of something that I could do that might potentially alter the evolutionary course of my offspring for generations to come, but I don't personally know how to go about conscientiously evolving things. So no not really or AS OF YET incomplete, depending on how you look at it.

Beat up a bad guy

I had a dream about it once, not too long ago. So pretty much no, but I did dream about it.

Travel cool places

I went to the Dominican Republic this past summer, which is a quite cool place. Check

Lay siege to something

Mmm I have a new roommate and sometimes he and his fiancée just sit in our room and I feel weird about being in there at the same time as them so I just kind of wait them out in the living room. Not in a cool way

Something love related, I'm sure

Another ambiguous one. I didn't actually experience an unusual amount of love towards another human being, but it's almost baseball season, and I went on some dates and I'm wearing pants with hearts on them, which are all love related, so sure

So if you count partial completions, I'm at about 5/17. And according to Norse calculations, I have about 11 hours left. That's completing a new life-long aspiration every hour until I go out wrestling a ferocious beast. Doable. Hopefully, this will all qualify me for the ranks of Einherjar. Valhalla receive me!!!

Thom Martin

Oh, what's this? Oh just a picture I found on the internet. Yeah just the frontman of my favorite band coddling what looks to be the same-ish guitar I just purchased. See the resemblance?

Manifest destiny.

Grammar Detective, pt. 1

Recently, I was reading. As the words passed through my brain, one particular combination caused a brain clog. Such was the nature of the unpleasantry that I had to fix the clog. The phrase was:

‘hold my own’

Examples:  I can hold my own in cage fights with wolverines. My roommate holds his own when he’s pixie dancing.

Hold my own? Hold my own what? What does that even mean?

As I researched the phrase, I found things. But they didn’t satisfy. They didn’t make semantic or morphologic sense. I was left empty. So empty…

But then my brain unclogged a bit, and I was able to think. Maybe I was going about this all wrong. Maybe I was missing some key factor. Since the phrase didn’t make sense as presently constituted, perhaps there was a previous constitution that made lots of sense—a sense factory, if you will. Maybe the phrase had changed over time. But from what? Since an own or one’s own is not something that can have an action done thereunto, I decided to investigate this first. The only logical explanation is that the original phrase employed some different manifestation of ‘own,’ a different spelling maybe.

Whilst preserving the phonetic purity of the word, the only other spelling I’ve found is ‘Oanh,’ a Vietnamese surname. Therefore, the phrase, written, is actually ‘hold my Oanh,’ which is to hold this:

Maybe it's a holdover from the war. Maybe it was coined to engender interracial appreciation. Maybe it's a phrase of endearment. By all means, it doesn’t make sense.  ...logically. But it does make perfect sense semantically and morphologically, and the primary purpose of language is semantics. Therefore semantic accuracy is always the goal, and can always be used to sort out confusing linguistic conundrums. Personally, I think it better not to make an Oanh one's own, let alone hold one. But to each his Oanh.

Polish

I’ve often been told throughout my life that I can be anything I put my mind to. After a number and variety of crippling failures, I’ve come to face the bitter reality that that’s simply not true. *sob* Give me a minute…

*clears throat* But I have found a loophole, and, after all, that’s what life is all about: finding loopholes so we can continue to justify living and believing how and what we want instead of facing reality. The loophole in question is Halloween. Every year, on this purportedly hallowed ween, you can be, if just for one night, whatever is within the reach of your imagination and means...

Cue another edition of Arts & Crafts!

I love me some Halloween action. Mostly because I love coming up with and making my costume. If you’re brave enough to peruse my blog (MostlySFW), you’ll find ghosts of Halloween Past. Not specifically ghosts, but costumes. My blog is not haunted. (probably) Most years, I think up my costume early, like sometimes by the summertime sometime. This year was a bit later, but I’m happy with how it turned out. My costume? A totem pole. Would you like to see how I made it? Step into my office.

Prep work

Research. For those who don’t know, totem poles are structures carved from trees by indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest.

They were created usually to commemorate legends, beliefs, lineages, or notable events. I am indigenous to the Pacific Northwest. And in seeking to create my costume and continue my Halloween tradition, I was commemorating both a legend and a lineage of Halloween costumes which came before. I found this very fitting, like hopefully my costume would be.

From a design standpoint, totem poles usually consist of a pole and totems. These totems are groups of figures or characters stacked one upon another, forming a tower of sorts. The most prominent feature of each figure is the face. Sometimes the face is the only feature of each character that is displayed. They also boast some sweet designs and accoutrements. Therefore:

Pole position

The first thing I had to do was give myself the illusion of a pole. Poles are like this    l     . Humans are more like this o-+––< My body is kind of like a pole, but then I have all of these pesky limbs and stuff that totally throw it off. So to reestablish polarity, I had to sever my limbs. Metaphorically. In reality, I just had to fuse all of me together. Instant pole.

To do this, I bought a fabric in which to swaddle myself. When wrapped properly, the fabric hid the fact that I have separate legs; when I was done, no one would have suspected it. To add to the totemnity of my pole, I looked for a fabric that sported a Native American-inspired design. And I found one:

Personal totems

On a totem pole, the next definingest feature to the poles is the totems. Totems in most cases are faces. Totems in this case would also be faces. My face, to be exact.

I stood in the bathroom and took a series of pictures of myself, like a teenage girl. I made a different face in each one, unlike a teenage girl. Once I had gotten a gaggle of faces that I found satisfactory, I took them to a local print shop to have them printed off. Before doing so, I asked the deskman how frequently people printed off weird things there. Deskman told me that people did it all the time. I don’t know if she was being honest or if she just wanted me to print them off so she could laugh at whatever came out. I left that shop with a stack of papers with my own face on them.

I cut out my faces, which was a surreal and terrifying experience. After regaining a sense of reality, and once decapitated from the paper, I attached the faces down my front at equally-spaced intervals.

Wing thing

A stylistic element I added was wings. Some totem poles have wings, and I’ve always wanted wings. To create the wings, I bought poster board and markers that resembled wings. I then did a little bit of research on Native American designs, and began to draw and color and cut. After a while, a finished product was finished.

I detached my arms from the rest of my body and used an ancient Native American technique to attach the wings to my detached arms (tape).

Accoutrements

To emphasize my Native Americanness, I found a few more accessories. First was a ribbon with a pattern. I used it as a headband and wristbands. 

Next was a thing. I don’t know what to call it. But it is a thing that looks like this:

We'll call it a dangle strip. I attached these around my ankles. Last but not least was a cheap pair of moccasin slippers.

Totem Pole

And the final totem pole:

This is me as a totem pole. 

I enjoyed this costume thoroughly. Only a few caveats: It was hard to go anywhere when outfitted as a pole. Poles have/are just one leg, which makes it impossible to walk by definition. This particular pole had wings. But they were fake wings, which meant no flying. On top of that, they make it quite difficult to grip and maneuver a steering wheel. If you've ever had wings before, you know what I'm talking about. Also, people try to carve things into you. Whether it was their initials or those of their significant other or both in a mathematical equation of sorts, I was never keen on the idea and had to disappoint several times. But aside from that, being a pole is cool. Sometimes people wouldn’t know which face to talk to, but that can be seen as a plus. If ever I said something inappropriate or awkward, there was always another face to blame. Also if I needed to escape any other socially-tense situations, I could just assume pole position and people would think I was an actual totem pole. Finely crafted.

And when all was said and done, wings make a nice addition to any and all home decor.

Native Americans know.