1. Roast Beef Sandwich at The Cafe At The End Of The Universe — Though the sandwich itself was quite wonderful, it was the Douglas Adams reference that made the whole thing so much more memorable.  Pictures inside the “flipbook” section.
2. H1N1 — a week-long quarantine and the feeling that I had to ring a bell and yell “Unclean!  Unclean!” everywhere I went afterwards.
3. Prometheus — My new computer’s name.  Prometheus can be seen as both good and evil depending on the interpretation of the myth.  Prometheus dual-boots Linux and Windows.
4. Killzone 2 — a LOT of hours spent playing that game.  A LOT of swearing, too.  In descending order, my class preferences are: Sniper, Saboteur, Medic, Tactician, Engineer, Assault, Soldier.
5. “California Of The Past” summer presentation — work-related event where I met a lot of cool people, got to play with a lot of cool equipment, and learned a little bit of history along the way.  We served cake.  No lie!
6. Trip to Sacramento — work-related, #5 related event.  I realized that you haven’t gone all-out in interior decorating until you decorate the ceiling.  Pictures inside the “flipbook” section.
7. Christmas in Arizona — Always great conversations at the dinner table.  I heard the sea bass was good.  Pictures and video MIGHT be posted…provided I can get those consent forms signed.
8. A Moving Experience — we moved last September, and I’m still finding out cool things with the new place.  The cats seem to enjoy it here.
9. Pimp Hat — I got a pimp hat for Christmas…I just need to find a feather.
10. Trying to remember 10 things from 2009

Hey there!

Just thought I’d stop by and say hello. I was listening to Tori Amos’ “Digital Ghost” and something clicked in my head to come in and check the place out. Quite apparent is that a lot of things have changed, but I do see bits and pieces of the familiar. We still have a few things in common.

The pen is different, but the fire is still there…so obviously, I’m not quite dead. Especially not today, old friend.

— Silence

A warm wind blew across the desert as a battle raged in the distance.  I heard explosions along with faint muzzle flashes out there where my brothers fought.  The communications radio brought many things — battle orders, a momentary celebration, a desperate call for a medic, a soldier calling out enemy positions.  I got to take it all in from afar.

Through my scope I saw you setting an ambush.  From behind cover you looked around.  “They’re not here yet,” you must have thought to yourself.  I saw a soldier, a warrior, a man with family and friends.  I saw a loved-one’s picture in your pocket.  I saw a common bond — a worn-out man longing for the comforts of home, longing for a warm meal, longing for peace.

In many ways, we were kindred, like others who had come before.  We both had jobs to do, duties to perform, orders to follow.  You sought to kill my brothers while I sought to protect them.  I know it was more complex than that, that war is not black and white but shades of gray.  We all have to live with the things we have seen and done.  Well, at least I do.  I saw your eyes widen when you heard the gunshot.  It was an honor to have met you in combat.

Named somewhere in-between a hockey player numbered 33 and the lead character in a movie where a DeLorean went 88, Martin was an awesome dog.  Energetic and friendly, entertaining and obnoxious, unconditionally loyal.  Born sometime in October 1995 and brought home by the parents soon afterwards, the young Marty and I bonded almost instantly.  One of his earliest stunts was to run a lap through the house with the TV remote in his mouth.  Definitely my kind of guy.

One day, I rolled a hockey ball towards him and he dutifully nose-bumped it back to me.  I did this a couple more times until it eventually turned into a full-blown game of fetch.  Soon afterwards, I was playing ball hockey with him.  In my head, I can still hear his nails clicking against concrete as he tracked the ball from forehand to backhand to forehand.  He fetched the ball after a wrist shot and dropped it at my feet.  He anticipated bounces from the walls and made every effort to ensure that the ball did not get behind him.

He always seemed to know when I was losing control of the ball — that’s when he’d come in for a poke check, take the ball from me, drop it at my feet, and give me this happy grin as he dropped back into position.  He ALWAYS charged on a toe-drag move.  In fact, the only move I had that consistently got past him is the only move I have left in roller hockey…forehand deke, cross over to backhand.

Marty was a constant companion through both good and bad times.  He was good for one more hug through times of sorrow and grief.  Most significantly, he was the main catalyst in an enchanting spell that made all my sadness and worries momentarily disappear — when the entire universe contained only he, myself, a hockey stick, and a roller hockey ball.

I miss you, Martin.  Hey listen, I don’t care what anybody else says — when you get up there, find the other guy with a whole bunch of animals around him.  The first guy’s name is Steve and he’s cool.  You’re looking for Francis, though.  Drop the ball by his feet.  I’m sure he’ll know what to do.  I bet his backhand isn’t better than mine.