Spatial Relationship Feet Kickin’…

listen people, it is just too goddamn big, ok?

Always lead with a double entendre, that’s what my mentor said.  I took it to heart.

Went to a wedding this weekend.  Pretty righteous.  A buddy of mine Topher and his lady Erin got hitched.  I had a fantastic time, perhaps a little too much to drink.  Next door to the motel we stayed in, there was a closed Arby’s.  One with a discarded sign.  Wanna see it?


I'm thinking... hernia.

Whenever I show people this picture to people, the first question they ask is, “Did you steal it”?

To which I reply by showing them this picture:


"Okay... so even if we take it, where are we gonna put it?"

Which they then reply with, “So?  You still should’ve taken it.”  And I must admit, I don’t really know how to respond to that.  I know that they understand photography and perspectives.  Perhaps they think it’s a trick of the camera?  So, I usually go with, “It’s actually frickin’ huge, which is what I was trying to show you with that picture.  It literally was twelve feet tall.  Literally.”

Then they just look at me with those eyes.  You know the ones, so full of disappointment.  It’s the day they had a math problem their dad couldn’t solve.  Just this disillusionment, this disconnect between their ideal and the reality of life.  They look at me like they did when their first love broke their heart and it kills me. I’m sorry!  I’m sorry for the thousand little hiccups of life.  I’m sorry for the way you can want something so simple, and it’s all you can do to attain it.

Wait, why am I apologizing for not stealing seven hundred pounds of failed franchise allegory?


Here’s a picture from Chi that I’m a fan of:



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We Have A Feet Kickin’ Winner!

And the answer is:  Once a week.  That’s perfect for me because… well because it let’s me actually get some stuff done and produce a quality product.  I believe that I will settle into a Monday update schedule.  I suppose I could put together a poll for that too, but nah.

Thanks again loyal readers.  I hope you are enjoying this and having a wonderful time!  I will produce a post this week approximately sometime.  I will then post it and you can read it.  Afterward feel free to comment.  Or not. Really, it’s up to you.

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Kickin’ My Feet Up 2: Electric Bugaloo

Some of you may know that I have successfully found a job.  The details are as such:  I will be working for Amazon doing inventory management for video games.  It is a temp gig, but with a chance to find something long term.  This rocks on fully two different levels:  Firstly, you may have noticed that I have been less then enthusiastic about coding lately.  This job involves analytical and business thinking with technology as a supporting role, which is exactly what I want to do.  Secondly, the commute is just right, taking about 20 minutes on a bad day.  Success!

That leaves me with a big ole KMFU question.  What do I do with this site?  Seems a shame to leave it unused.  I’ve had a lot of fun and it helped me retain my sanity.  I assume that people have on some level been enjoying it.  Why would I want to throw all that away?

On the same hand, do I have time to maintain a thrice weekly update schedule (this week not withstanding) while working 40+ hours a week?  Would that leave me any time for other pursuits?  A difficult question!

I’m going to sit down and ponder these concerns.  I want the answer to be right on a lot of levels.  To make sure that I get all the information to make my decision with, I am placing a poll.  Partake of it, if you will.

KMFU will announce the decision on Monday.  Enjoy your weekend!

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A Feet Kickin’ Mystery…

what happened to Monday?

Googling for sausage shoes was surprisingly tame.

Look.  I’m not going to make excuses, I missed yesterday.  It’s just that, if you truly feel that the safety and integrity of this world, nay the very cosmos, is less important than an update then you and I will need to agree to disagree.  Because that is the sole thing that would prevent me from updating on time.

But enough of that, let’s talk of something happier then the sacrifices made to preserve your freedom.  Like… festivals.

Every road stop town with a main street has a festival, so chances are you’ve seen one.  Consisting of a combination of “common human trait of celebrations and gatherings” and “thing that everyone has experience with but most still manage to fuck up” festivals are a enjoyable endeavor at best and a sociological case study at worst.  I guess what I’m saying is that they’re worth the price of admission.

Growing up in Michigan, festivals typically meant funnel cakes, “fuck it, let’s see if we can fry it” fare, rigged games of skill and fun if shoddily maintained rides.  I once had a fried Snickers bar that I wrapped in an elephant ear, before riding one a burlap sacks down a sheet metal slide.  For me, no experience sums up the meaning of festival more than that.  I didn’t throw up, but I lolled about on the ground groaning until my parents told me to get up or they would leave me.  Joyous.

These days, festivals are less a carnival than a extremely specific reason to get together.  Music festivals, beer festivals, vegan festivals, festival festivals.  In the end, all these festivals really just remove games and rides, and replace them with whatever specialty they offer.  A music festival and a rose festival are really not all that different.  People still need to eat, people still want to get tipsy at a time of day that would normally be an arrestable offense.  They just want to do these two things while either listening to music or looking at roses.  America was based on the idea of doing the same thing only slightly differently and arguing the superiority of each way in lieu of useful work.  So, really it’s no surprise that this proliferation would exist.

I visited a Sausage Festival this past weekend.  It was everything that always exists in a festival except they took the parts that weren’t beer and food and replace them with beer and food.  I guess a sub-theme was bacon, because they were wrapping the bratwursts in it and infusing beer with it.  Another indication of the ascendancy of bacon as the dominate combination food.

The Sausage Fest was enjoyable, in all aspects a good example of a prototypical festival.  Including the inability to organise things correctly.  If your selling points are beer and brats’ respectively, one can reasonably assume that people will be looking primarily for one of these two things.  However, at the SF, there was only one location to get either of them.  There were other vendors selling various other products and while I applaud the organisers desire to have a wider ranger of offerings, it seems that they should have seen to their own first.  Waits reminiscent of bread lines is not what you should be offering your attendees.

So there’s your lesson, future festival organiser.  If you believe in something enough to host a gathering for it, please make sure it is readily available at said gathering.  Seemingly a small step, yet the devil is ever in the details.

NOTE: For those of you who say that one is a carnival and the other is a festival.  First, I want to say that etymologically speaking, the two are very close.  Second, I want to say that I went to a bunch of carnivals that were literally called festivals. All that I’m saying is that they’ve been used interchangeably for years.

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Kickin’ My Feet Up On The #4…

because it drops me off at my house.

Wait a minute... that's not the Author!

Subtitle:  Body odors I have smelled.

Those of you who follow the complete set of Brennan Media Group (BMG) offerings know that I sat next to a smelly dude on the bus today.  While that doesn’t quite qualify as a revelation, the particular scent was novel.  While it was overwhelming my olfactory senses, I got to thinking about the variety of smells that cling to an individual when hygiene is no longer in the picture.  They tend to group into a few categories, which was what made this new varietal so strange.  It didn’t even come close to slotting into any of our favorite stink tropes.  I felt privileged to partake in what must have been it’s opening weekend.  Thank god I caught the matinee before all the band-wagoners ruined it for everyone else.

I would like to take this time to make a quick aside.  I know that, on the whole, people who smell on mass transit would prefer not to.  Oft times there are issues of finance, mental health, or age that contribute to their odor through no fault of their own.  I am not condemning them, nor am I condemning the ones that don’t bathe because they choose not to.  You can stink or not stink for all I care.  I’m not gonna be excited about you sitting next to me for 45 minutes, but I’m not gonna be pissed either.  However, I reserve the right to make fun of everyone, including myself.  During camping trips and other events, I’m sure that I have made B.O. no-nos as well.  I’m not perfect, but I still have a sense of humor about.  So should everyone else.

Without further ado, the offerings:

1.  Salty Pea Soup.

This one smells like a combination of sex/workout sweat that was allowed to dry and abortive culinary dregs.  Usually green in odor and always potent, this one lingers long after their carrier has gone.  A favorite of house guests, you’ll find sensual traces of them on everything everywhere forever.  Which is great, because now your new girlfriend wonders what or who you did on this couch.  Oh, if you don’t know how something can be “green” in odor, you haven’t scented this breed yet.

2.  The Once and Future Fecal Matter.

Grandpa may not be able to remember his kids’ birthdays or self sufficiency, but he sure can fill a drawer.  His drawers that is.  Full of poop.

The scent seems to fill every space around you, until there’s no escape.   You find yourself slowing your breathing to attain hibernation.  Wondering to yourself if that old man is just sitting on a wading pool full of pants caca or what.

I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

3.  Moldy Corner of the Basement.

Apparently taking their cues from shoddy foundation work, the folks that parade this around believe in a good layer of single celled organisms.  Often the purview of the deliberate non-washer, this one can be insidious.  You’ll sit next to them, knowing, KNOWING, that you smell something.  What is it?  It’s not pleasant.  Where is it coming from?  Who knows?  Each tiny zephyr brings a different scent.  Once you finally find out that what is reminding you of playing hide and seek is that fucking hippy next to you, you’re gonna be pissed.

4. Secret S Rank:  WTF Grape Popsicle.

You know how in artificial flavorings, colors have tastes?  Like, you get an Otter Pop and open up blue.  It doesn’t taste like raspberries (or blue raspberries, which do not exist), it doesn’t taste like… what the ever the hell else is blue and has a flavor.  It tastes like blue.  Cherry gum tastes like red, and orange tastes like orange because people can’t name fruit.

Well today I found out that a homeless person can smell like purple, or rather grape popsicle purple.  It really threw me for a loop, because it smelled like it right away.  No preamble, no find the scent like with the Musty Basement.  Just grape popsicle, deal with it.  I was more confused then anything.  What did I know about human physiology?  Was this guy sick?  Was he a viral bomb sent by the Al Qaedas?  All I knew is that I had never smelled a person like this and that led me to believe that humans should not smell like that.  I’m sure he popped open like an overripe melon a few minutes after he left the bus, but I wanted to follow him and ask what he thought he was doing, smelling like an impossibility.

I’m not looking forward to my first popsicle after this experience.  I’m half expecting it will know where I’ve been and ask if I’ve seen its daddy.

Update:  Is Grapple the answer?

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Wearily Kickin’ My Feet Up…

just a little tired, nothing to worry about.

Shaun In Wonderland encountered an early spatial relationship problem.

Well, weeks like these show up on everyone’s calendar.  House guests, interviews, interviews, interviews, writing and grad school applications.  Individually manageable or even negligible, but taken together they’re quite exhausting.

I spent the better part of Monday and Tuesday at Microsoft interviewing for a few positions.  What they tell you is that you have three interviews, I mean after the initial interview with the recruiter.  Ok, so they tell you that you have four interviews and if they like what they see you’ll have more interviews.  Awesome!  How many?  They don’t say.  I met with eight people on Monday and six on Tuesday.  So, I know that I had at least eight goods interviews, but did I have eight in a row?  That remains to be seen.

This is fairly typical for software jobs.  You end up talking with almost everyone on the team plus a couple of people.  It has an amateur volleyball feel:  Ok, you’ve hit the ball over the net, now can you do it six more times?  If not, you probably won’t get a job.  Or score a point.  You know what I mean.

When you tack on the commute time in the morning and at night, it really turns a day stressful.  Normally when you go to work you aren’t nervous heading there about being awesome to everyone you meet and you don’t spend the drive home wondering if you were awesome.  Or maybe you do, I don’t want to tell you how to live your life.  Anyway, it can be exhausting.

When you add that to the fact that I’m going to be working on graduate school applications this week, it feels like I’ve spent 72 hours thus far vying for approval.  As much as I enjoyed my teens, I’m not ecstatic about this return to form.  Yes I realize that in an interview you are also interviewing the company.  However, if the company passes, then it still leaves you hoping they will accept you.

Thanks Internet, I needed to vent.

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Too Much Interview For Feet Kickin’…

Sorry guys and gals, I had an interview series today that lasted about 8 hours. I am wiped. I tried, lord I tried to write, but all I could come with was “blargh.” and “sigh.”.

Check back Wednesday for your regularly scheduled update!

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