RyanHarne.com

A co-worker of mine has suggested that I have been subversively traumatized. Without knowing, I have casually tagged along with one of the more dominant and overlording social trends of all time.

I am right-handed. But I’m not supposed to be right-handed. Let me get that straight.

My co-worker and I were chatting about all of those random topics that find their way to the forefront of office discussion when I mentioned that I do everything left-handed (or left-footed), except for writing. Hitting a baseball, kicking a soccerball, golfing, even my left arm takes precedence in my workouts (those prior sports suggestions now only happen on occasion as I’ve certainly veered away from those types of activities). The co-worker suggested that I had been taught to write by someone who was agreeably right-handed themself. I had never comprehended that possibility.

Now that I consider such a case, I realize that I clap entirely ambidextrously; sometimes I begin clapping right-on-left and other times left-on-right. It’s odd, really. But more so, this jolt of reality just makes me feel that one parsec out of alignment with the cosmos. It’s as if someone carelessly filled me in that my faded-wash Bugle Boy jeans are “so 1994″. I’m somewhat upset, but more so alarmed and perturbed.

“If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off…” Oh, where’s that hacksaw when I need it? …

And for the record, I do not own faded-wash Bugle Boy jeans, although, to further emphasize the return of early nineties fashion, I may just go hunting for a pair.

It’s common knowledge that I watch very little t.v. It just doesn’t intrigue me; I find the passive absorbtion of radiation to be a bit odd and therefore I pass on the occasion. Yet, of the few times that I’ve seen SpongeBob SquarePants I always enjoy it. The humor is so simple, subtle, and… childish. Apparently, I latch right on.

Allison and I decided to spend boring-ole’ Sunday afternoon at a movie rather than vegetating. Naturally, we saw, under my coercion, The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie. And I liked it; Allison seemed only partly amused. Oh well. Every now and again I enjoy watching a kids movie surrounded by the perfect audience: lots of sugar-hyping children. It’s fun to laugh at simple humor and watch how a youngster responds to the same thing. It’s also interesting to see how kids are flagrantly fed social order, and equally interesting at how they innocently accept it; so you can thank Hollywood (or in this case, Asian animators put to work) for directly influencing the latest generations of bright, young mind. But, anyways, the movie is alright; a pleasant escape from crappy weather and a lack of things to do.

I can thank Allison not only for the companion movie-goer in her but also for the guilt-driving upset looks and sounds she handed me when I confessed that I hadn’t touched a guitar in quite.. some… time. Perhaps a long time, if I am honest here as well. Yet, one of the things I had planned on getting involved in, somehow, since I’ll be in one location for a while, is music, or a band. I’ve sincerely missed the days of playing with Matt and the rest of J.A.V.A. I cannot tell you how awesome that was; every place we traveled to for a show was just fantastic. Matt’s skill on bass inspired me beyond textual comprehension; playing along with his sounds made me better (that may be directly related to the human mind and its self-taught abilities rather than some aura between Matt and me in playing, but still, same impression). So, grasping my thoughts back from that tangent - Allison making me guilty, me not playing guitar in forever… So, I restringed my latest electric today. Yesterday, actually, I talked again with Ryan, of D.I.Y., at Lynchburg Music Center about getting a tube amp. That should be worked out by the end of the month, I think.

Anyways, now that I’m thinking of it, I really miss the days of playing beside that wonder of music ability that was Matt.

I’ve waited so long for this. Really. Since day one. Here you go, folks; try this site out for size. Oh, I have comments too!

Thanks to Adam for his endless assistance. Further gratitude is extended towards each and every person who is currently in my links section to the right.

Oh wow, I am tired. I’ll add a few words more later.

The most invigorating level of working out is not the said workout, but rather the influx of adrenaline that the body is shocked with. This natural stimulant and recovery method doesn’t happen in significant doses during every workout, at least not for me, yet when it does occur… let the euphoria commence! I’ve always loved that sudden realization that my heart is still beating to the last track that my iPod was playing; the internal system of the human body is crazier than we think.

Lately, I have been considering such micro aspects of life. Filling my lunch hour with books, I’ve been able to cruise through several selections so far. Having a set time for relaxing with knowledge (or opinions) is so appreciated. The latest: A Short History of Nearly Everything. What a wonderful text so far, I’m clearly having fun. The target audience is noticably for those with little background scientific knowledge (or, for that matter, interest) so at points I feel desperate for a pinch more of depth; however, overall, this book is a blast. This book seems to chronicle all scientific discoveries from the time that humans seemed interested in asking, “Why?” Even with only finishing a small fraction of it, I am recommending it without hesitance.

And thus, life carries on. An assertion here, a debate there; everywhere a cause for wonder. Oh, back to the music…

To appreciate the tedious tasks that life provides is true moral clarity. However, I have garnered only scant traces of that ability over my years. Mind you, I entered into the office-setting workforce early on and have accepted those menial objectives as they came; a teenager at an engineering firm isn’t well-regarded to complete intense, creative goals.

So naturally, as you may have guessed, today was one of those watch-the-clock days. I was assigned to get a majority of a project finished by the end of the week and these next few days will be a jumbled mess of calculations and spreadsheet creation. The responsibility is appreciated, and I shouldn’t expect more than basic stuff at the moment due to my novice stature, but this particular assignment is a bit monotonous.

Anyways, I did talk to Rianna and Sherrie at JOE BEAN’s *friggin* EXPRESS ESPRESSO after I got off work. Rianna demanded I compensate her place of employment following my pro-Daily Grind comments. I have nothing against Joe Bean’s, but I prefer to get my drinks there while either Ri or Sher are working because they know exactly how to make certain delicacies for me.

I will respect all readers by silencing the blog now just in case my face plants itself into the keyboard due to utter exhaustion. I’d hate to one day look back on my un-revised writing and see oddly jumbled consonants, vowels, and numeric characters scattered about.

In a shameless effort to promote business, I recommend all Lynchburg locals to tirelessly throw your coffee-cash towards the Daily Grind in Wyndhurst. “Why, on earth.. ?” you ask. Because they are the only coffeehouse in the area that provides free wireless internet access to its customers. Once the other, few, shops around here realize that business is funneling away from them, they will be sure to clue-in (although hints and properly-submitted suggestion cards will help). “Wi-Fi” is the next necessity in this thriving, technological consumer market. Daily Grind.. Daily Grind…

As if I was supposed to flawlessly segue here, Allison and I met up Friday evening at the Daily Grind for some catching up. Oh you know, the usual - how school, home-life, out-of-home-life, relationships, extracurriculars, and such are going. She eventually grabbed my Mac from me and had a field trip while I took pictures of the bustling DG atmosphere. [A side note: if the DG seems unnaturally crowded, you are exactly correct; and rest assured that I have already submitted my recommendation to add more seating to the vicinity] Later on, we went back to her place to look at photos both old an new. Catching up is wonderful, delightful, and a necessity to maintaining fulfilling, long-distance friendships.

I finished Who’s Looking Out for You? in the same period of time that it took me to read Stupid White Men. O’Reilly has an honest and respectable expression of his opinions and provides common sensical advice for people of all types. This is the type of solution-bearing that I wish Moore would have included; however, directors are generally either known for recluse ideals or vehement endeavors, the latter being Moore’s ambition. But returning, Looking Out for You is fascinating and, for me, enthralling. I noticed no “conservative slant” to his writings; actually, this book took on no political tone at all, it was more of a guide-book to making sure things swing well with you throughout life.

For record-keeping purposes, I’m right now at the L-burg Starbucks. And I swear to you that Bob Villa just walked in. I’m not kidding; he’s even wearing that large parka to hide the ubiquitous toolbelt, I bet. Somehow, I feel honored and redeemed from this bleak Sunday. Oh no, he just left. Here goes another spiralling depression.

Just kidding