[Fathom Zero]

Here it is:

Entry 01, July 8th.

Hi. I'm Fathom Zero. I'm 15. I don't personally know most of you, and I
don't think I ever will. I live in Lawton, OK. I used to live with my
mother, until yesturday, July 7th, 2006. In order to explain why I do
no longer, Ineed to provide a little back story:

My mother and father have been fighting off and on over the custody
of my two brothers and I. I know for a fact that my mother and my step-
father genuinely love us, while my father and his wife do not. I've
been to court on three different occasions to argue my case. Hardly
any of it was taken seriously and was dissmissed as influence on my
mother's part. As a matter of fact, my good grades were actually used
to attack my mother's case, the basis of which was that I was only
getting good grades because I wanted to live with my mum. My entire
future, of which my grades were more than likely dependant upon, had
nothing to do with it whatsoever.

That's all history now, and Judge Is-a-cock decided to toss us in with
my father and his ugly-ass wife for six months, with next to no
internet access. In all likely-hood, they're probably reading this
right now. In which case, I'd like to say fuck you. I don't think I'll
ever have the gall to tell you that to your face.

Moving on.

I am now stuck in this house. I've never before wanted to go back to
school. I wish I took Summer School. I have CABIN FEVER. I have a very
tiny room, right next to my brothers' room. I have a bed-frame and bed,
while they only have one bed to split between them and no bed-frame. It
just sits there on the floor. I can't pick up the Heavy Metal station
on my pitiful clock radio, so it is now tuned to the local oldies
station, whatever that is. The computer I'm typing on is a reformatted
Windows '98, loaded to the brim with American Online 5.0 ads. I think
I even saw a Compuserve one. I refuse to use word, so I'm using
Notepad. I'm thinking of bringing my PSP over and Piggybacking off of
the asshole neighbor's WLAN connection. At least I have a machine where
I can hone my L33t skills. Hah. I hate L33t-speek.

My dad and his wife have two dachshaunds, or wiener-dogs for the
uninitiated. They refer to the dogs as their kids. I wonder what they
refer to my brothers and I as when we're gone.

Sweet! America's "Sister Golden Hair" is on the radio. That song always
got to me. Well I keep on thinking 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair
Suprise. Well I just can't live wiithout you, can't you see it in my
eyes? Anyway...

The dogs are constantly annoying and rip to shreds anything they can
get their damn teeth around, be it important papers or shoes.

I'm afraid to say anything around my father or his wife. And that's
okay, because they're just as afraid of me. I like that. My stepmother
is unworthy of the title, she will always be "My father's wife".
My stepfather earned his title.

My father's wife is ugly. I MEAN U.G.L.Y. Terrifyingly. It looks like
someone hit her in the back of her thighs with a sack of nickels.
Nasty. She has a face that you could cut a roast on and facial hair to
boot. Hense her title, "Yeti". She is, I hate to admit, the wicked
stepmother, personified. I hate to attatch labels and maintain that
real life couldn't possibly be the way it is in stories and that all of
those other people saying it are being melodramatic, but there is no
other way to describe it. That's just what she is.

Let me give you an example:

She gives my brothers and I one towel to split between ourselves when
we go to use the shower. I chalk this up to be stepmom bullshit and
dry off with my dirty clothes, instead. It doesn't bother me. But
it happens again and again over the course of a few weeks. I confront
her, which neither of us want me to do, and ask her what the fuck her
beef was, in kinder terms, of course. She says that was how she and
her two sisters did it and that's how we're going to do it. I call foul
and go to my dad, because I can't do shit about it. Apparantly, neither
can he, because she's got his nuts in her back pocket. Bitch.

She also likes to take us to church to "get some Jesus in us." She's
Catholic, which makes it a little easier because I've been to many
a Catholic Church. In my opinion, they're cold and boring and usually
have some near death old man whispering into his the microphone he's
hidden somewhere talking about people hundreds of years ago that I care
nothing about.

To me, church is like therapy, you'll only get something out of it if
you care to put something into it. That's just the way I am. I have no
problem with people who want to go to church. It's all good. If the
world ends and I end up in Purgatory, well fuck. I was wrong. Better
hope there's such a thing as reincarnation.

Anywho, enough of my ramblings on theology. Back to my father's wife.

She suffers from what I call "Disposable Religion". No matter what you
do outside the church, beit murder, abuse, masturbation, whatever,
you're absolved from it all, which, I assume is how confession works.
The same can be said of any other religion, except for those damn
witches and pagans, because we all know they're such a threat to our
children. You can praise Jesus all you want and pray for peace all
you want, you're still a shitty person if you act like a shitty person.

She likes to lecture us on things, like: "If God wanted you to have
coloured hair, he'd've, (a combination of he would have), made you that
way." I hate to be the one to break it to her, but marrying a divorced
man isn't something the church is too keen on, either.

She'll take the wafer and the grape juice and get down on her knees
and pray for something, and then, ON THE CAR-RIDE HOME FROM CHURCH,
she'll bad-mouth my mother in front of me. It's almost enough to make
me scream. One day, in the middle of church, I should just scream.
Embarass the hell out of her. Hey babe, I'm a teen. I've got no job
prospects yet and can chalk it all up to teenage angst. You've got to
deal with all of the stares from people you don't know.

She only works on the weekends from 2:00PM - 9:00PM. This leaves the
rest of the week open for us to do her dirty work.

I'm tired now, so good night.


Entry 02, July 9th.

I have to write this down while it's still fresh in my mind. I'm lying
in bed at 10:45 Am. I usually sleep till noon. My father comes into my
room and asks me if I want a waffle. I agree. I like waffles. I sleep
for about another 10 min. and walk out into the family/living room.
Sunday News on CBS is on TV, a segment about Road Bowling in West
Virginia was on. The only thing I remember was it being excessively
boring.

"Waffle's done!", Yeti shouts from the kitchen. I don't know whose
waffle it was, since I was the last one up, so I hesitate and ask her.
"It's yours if you want it.", she says. So I sit down and remember
that these wierdos keep their Maple Syrup in the fridge. What the fuck?
I may not be a rocket scientist, but I know that when syrup is cooled,
it hardens and contracts. So it takes me about 3 min. to slather my
waffle with the amount of syrup I like: a lot.

During this time, my eldest bro walks into the kitchen and waits his
turn. The my father comes in, followed by my younger bro.

Younger bro makes himself a drink and takes a seat across from me. I'm
still pouring syrup out of that damned container. My father walks
further into the kitchen next to his wife and begins to lecture us on
leaving wrappers on the floor and how to properly put gum in the trash
can. Yeti chimes in about how her precious dogs could get sick from
eating trash.

Her dogs are dumb.

She says that if the dogs get sick (they won't) and she has to take
them to the vet (she won't have to), it'll be coming out of the money
she uses to spend on the Little Debbies and other assorted treats she's
under the impression we can't live without. I know for a fact that she
can't live without her snack cakes. We can. We don't even want to be
here, much less eat your food. I guess this is just another hazard of
owning two $950.00, dumb dogs.

Now on to the good part.

At this point, she thinks she's on a roll and thinks she can tell us to
do anything. So she tells us about another thing we do that irks her.

Actually, it irks both her and her mother.

Setting down half full cups.

Wait a minute, maybe you didn't hear me right.

SETTING DOWN HALF FULL CUPS.

Perhaps you need to hear it again.

SETTING DOWN HALF FULL CUPS.
SETTING DOWN HALF FULL CUPS.
SETTING DOWN HALF FULL CUPS.
SETTING DOWN HALF FULL CUPS.
SETTING DOWN HALF FULL CUPS.

Yes, apparantly it is such a travesty to not gorge yourself on all of
the liquid in a glass at once. Maybe it applies to other things, like
food. So that's the reason why both she and her mother are cows.

Me, well I'd never heard of such lunacy, so I scarfed down the rest of
my waffle and high-tailed it into the bathroom to take a cleansing
shower. After which, I went into my room, sat down, and started banging
out this little scene.

Maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe I'm over exagerating (sp?). However, I feel
at the end of these six long months, I will have given you just a taste
of what it is to live in this house.

Later That Day...

I've spent most of the afternoon and morning playing Onimusha: Dawn of
Dreams. I've always loved the Onimusha series, more than any other.
Aside from the Metal Gear Solid series, of course. This Onimusha has
proved to be most fun for me. It's probably the most original of the
series, taking a departure from the survival-horror style static camera
angles in favor of a 3rd Person Adjustable camera. As an added bonus,
co-op makes an appearance as an unlockable, instead of straight out of
the box, a la Enter the Matrix. It wasn't co-op in Enter the Matrix,
though. Even though it was poorly executed, it still had its moments.

But damn, was it SHORT. I finished it in three hours, separated by a
trip to the movie theater. The only other game the beat that, well I
should say games, was the Gungrave series. Now THAT was a game. Total
ass-kicking action and explosions, just long enough to get your
attention and provide you with some thrills. That game was made for the
arcade. I'm disappointed at the lack of arcades here in the States.
I was looking at my 3 month old PLay Magazine issue the other day and
say a kickass Dynasty Warriors-esque game and got all excited. But then
I realized I'll probably never see it on this side of the world.

Bastard American kids, spoiled with their PS3s and X-Box 360s, they
never got to experience the true glory of the arcade, all the sights,
the smells, the pizza-faced teenagers watching the Ticket Redeeming
counters. You never go over there, though, because Street Fighter
doesn't give flimsy tickets as your prize. No, sir. You prize is the
knowledge that you could kick anyone's ass with that red knob-like
joystick and a small set of buttons. Reputations were made and lost
in the blink of an eye. Of course, there's always tommorow, providing
you kept some of what was left of your allowance to play the damn
things.

Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat, and all of the rest of those kinds of
games weren't really my bag, though. I'm more of a pinball kind of guy.
Nothing beat Whirlwind. The Addams Family one was okay, so was the
Twilight Zone one. But the Elvira one was horrible. And even though I
know it exists, I have yet to see the Nightmare On Elm Street pinball
table. Ah, fond memories of earlier years. That's all we have in the
end. My life has been short, but I have a lifetime of memories to take
with me.

That sounded so damn cheesy.

I shouldn't worry about what I've done but worry more about what's
going to define me as a person in the future. Never dwell on the past.

/CHEESY

Oh well, I'm sure the rest of the house has went to the pool by now.
They left me alone in the house. I'm gonna go sneak on the laptop with
the internet right now.

End.


Even later that day, at 6:00 PM...

My father tried feebly to get me interested in a job mowing lawns for
$30.00 bucks a pop on the military base. Fat chance.

In order to explain why I turn down such easy money, I need to go back
to last summer.

It was the summer of 2005, I was up in Westbend, Wisconson, staying
with my father for two months. I had already had a job as a librarian.
I loved it. It was good. It made me feel good as a person to
contribute something to society.

My father got me a job, and for that summer, I was the custodial
engineer for the United States Armed Forces Recruitment Center in
Westbend, WI. I had to clean the ugly pea-green coloured bathrooms and
empty out garbage cans, wipe windows, et cetera. Definately not
something I was used to doing each and every day. For this, I was
figuratively paid $100.00 a month. I say figuratively, because in the
end, I never saw any of the $200.00 dollars I had earned.

I want to stop here and say that, from personal experience, based on
cleanliness of the offices, if you were to pick a division of the
military, the Marines would not be it. It was by far, the dirtiest
office out of all four branches. They had chewing tobacco spat out all
over everything, food stuffs overflowing from all of the wastebaskets,
you name it, they had it all over the floor.

Anyway...

I took this info to my mum and she called her lawyer, who is a shark,
and they took it to court. My father's, (and subsequently, his wife's),
response was that they had tried to make an account, but it was just
too hard. I know this for a fact, because I've seen transcripts of the
court proceedings. They then changed their response to they had really
given me the money, but forgot about it. Whatever, though.

When you live a life like mine, you have to get used to routine
disappointment, which is something no one should go through. That's
why I wasn't mad when I found out I had scrubbed Uncle Sam's Shitters
for nothing. I just called it bullshit and went on with my life.
That's not the only reason I don't trust my father or his wife. I
trusted him, even after her perjured in court. Even after all that I
still trusted him. No. The real reason I don't trust him now is because
he lied to me about my grades at school during my freshman year at
Lawton High School.

I live in perpetual fear that nothing I do will be good enough, all
of this is compounded by the fact that my father and mother are
squabbling over pointless shit my father brings up in court and
every move I make is documented. Every paper, every grade, every bowel
movement is catalogued and is somehow skewed in a way to take me away
from my mother and put me in the talons of my father.

I had been doing fairly well until about halfway through the year, when
my knowledge, or should I say lack of knowledge, in German landed me in
trouble. At the end of the school year, I managed to scrape by with a
D+. But during the year, it was a constant point of contention.
I was constantly told that I was going to fail if I didn't get my head
in the game from both my mother and my father. My mother legitimately
cared about my future. I know now that my father did not.

The my father brought up that I was going to fail anyway, because I had
too many absenses. It wouldn't matter that I turned all of my work in
and was making fairly average grades, no that didn't matter. I blame
that mainly on Lawton Public Schools, which is easily the worst public
school system in the country.

Naturally, I was crushed by this news. I by no means put as much hard
work into school as other students did, but I think that what I did
should have counted for something. So I shut down. If it didn't
matter anyway, why should I continue? So I maintained a half-intrest
in school and spent most of my time playing Final Fantasy and watching
B-Movies. That is, until I got sick. Real sick.

I was feeling a bit down, around mid-February. I remember this all
vividly. Then I started coming down with the flu. Finally, it ended
with my collapsing in the hall-way before lunch break at school and
being woken up by my best pal Ryan. He said he was walking beside me
when I fell down. I wasn't really so much passed out as I couldn't open
my eyes. I called my mum and I was home for a week. I went back to
school the next week. For a day. Then my eyes swelled shut. I found
out I had both Strep Throat and Pink Eye.

I went to the doctor and he wrote me a pass for all of the days I had
missed before the Pink Eye and for any future days I may miss. That was
for five days. I went back to school on a Friday, February 27th. I
come home, do my homework, and play Final Fantasy X. My grandfather
calls on the phone. He usually doesn't do that unless it's for my mum.
My stepdad tells him that my mum's at work. I can only assume that
my grandfather called there next. My mum comes home, we'd made pizzas.
I made a Chicago-style deep dish, like the kind the make at Giordanos,
for any of you who live in the Windy City. My mum walks in all quiet
and I go back to my room. I come out about a half an hour later to find
the television and computer off. I get a glass of tea, and as I'm
walking back to my room, I see my stepdad holding my mother in his
arms. She's crying. She told me to go to my room. So I go, willing to
do anything to make her happy in a time of need. An hour later, at
11:00 Pm, I go back out to see if the storm had quieted. It had,
although she still looked a little off-balance.

I sat down on the couch and she gathered the rest of the family on
the couch as well.

And that was when she told us that she recieved a call from my
grandfather who got a call from the police and my aunt who found my
uncle dead of a gunshot wound. A suicide.

I didn't tear up. I don't mean to sound like a hard ass, or insensitive
but I'm just the guy that keeps a level head in situations like this.
It was overwhelming. My aunt lived with my uncle, in Cleveland. He had
had visitation with his children that day, and when he brought them
back, he brought with him all of the toys from his house and a check
for a "large sum of money to take care of the children". A stand-up
guy if I ever knew one.

Later, we found out that he was in the terminal stages of prostate
cancer. He'd had it for a very long time and neglected to tell us.
He was there, at my grandmother's house, not two months earlier for
Christmas. He must have been in so much pain.

The funeral was awesome, although I was mortified (haha, get it?) on
one occasion in which I fell asleep in a chair in the funeral parlour,
not thirty feet from the body. Eew. I had the good fortune to have my
other uncle wake me up.

He laid there, with rosary beads in one hand, tabasco sauce in another,
covered in a Terrible Towel, in his Mario Lameux jersey. He looked good
for a dead guy. In the end, however, he was cremated and his ashes are
to be spread across the Sonoma desert, which he loved. He was the man
who introduced me to the tradition of Midnight Turkey.

I refused to touch the body, though.

Anyway, I'm chasing rabbits. I must return.

After all of these ordeals, the multiple sicknesses, the death, etc. I
had accumulated 3 weeks out of school.

When I got back to school, I was faced with a mountain of homework.
At least, that's what I thought. Most of my teachers didn't care enough
to assign anything for me. In Debate, we didn't do anything, anyway,
because there were only five students in the class at that time. Five.
My English teacher didn't give me any work because she said that it
was unfair to have to make her get all of this work together in such
a short time. I told her that my mom would sue both her and the school
system, which she would. That seemed to set my teacher scrambling. I
told this all to my mother and she came down the next day and forced my
teacher to give me some form of work. So what I mostly got were packets
of worksheets from most of my teachers. I didn't do all of them,
because they were all due that week, but I did do the ones from the
classes I had the worst grades in, I.E. German and English. Prioritize.
I didn't get any packets from my Algebra teacher, though.

For the rest of the year, I gimped along. I hardly even remember what
happened after that, except some kid stole my Spring Edition of Heavy
Metal and I read Flowers for Algernon. It was a nice book.

Then it was testing time. Two weeks before the finals, we had to take
all sorts of practice quizzes, which I aced. Somehow, I defied all
logic and reason by making the highest grades in every class. Everyone
was amazed at my turn around in grades. It didn't suprise me at all.
I've always been a testy kind of guy, LOLZ OMGZ. In the fifth grade,
I tested into an average knowledge of what a 12th Grader knows.
I was ecstatic to say the least.

Also at no suprise to me, I passed my Freshman year of High School with
flying colours. Yippie, somebody strike up the band.

So, as usual, my dad and his wife were stumped.

Entry 03 July 10th.

We got a lecture this morning on how my father never lied to us and
what's going to happen during the months we're here. He said that
I was the main concern, because in three short years, I should be going
to some college or something. They had to find some way to "help" me
before I got back to school, so my grades wouldn't be as bad as before.
I don't even think they know what classes I have now.

Entry 05 July 14th.

I haven't made any other entries since Monday because I had no computer
in San Antonio. That's right. On a spur of the moment decision, Yeti
decided to take us to San Antonio and to Sea World and Six Flags.
And, boy, do I have some stories to tell.

We left on Monday at three. I remember well. There was a flurry of
activity as we tried to throw everything we needed into the car in
under ten minutes. It was fun to watch, as I was probably playing
Onimusha while everyone else was packing.

We were out on the road, eventually.

I found out that the Yeti has an annoying habit of singing the wrong
words to popular songs. Horrible renditions of "I Wanna Rock" and
that stupid Laffy-Taffy song.

For most of the ride, I was sitting in the center section of the Honda,
two seats away from my littlest bro. There wasn't much space and car-
rides are one of the most uncomfortable things for me. They aren't
good on my back and I've always been carsick. That's why I don't eat
when I'm going cross-country, which I do at least once every four
months. If I consume anything, it's going to be french fries and water.

So I sit, for seven hours, back in pain, and I have to sit through the
horror as my father listens to AM radio and Michael Savage and The
Savage Nation. I hate how his bumper music is heavy metal, as if
something he has to say was actually interesting to me. All he is is
a fat bag of hot air. I don't care for politics that much, anyway.

Oooh, Dee Snider's House of Hair is on the radio right now. He and
Alice Cooper are both fantastic radio DeeJays, unlike David Lee Roth.
Horrid. PEACE SELLS, BUT WHO'S BUYIN'? was the song playing. A very
good one.

Anyway, I'm chasing rabbits again.

For most of the trip, I slept lying back as far as I could and off
to the side, with my head up against the door, kind of like a side-ways
sit-up. I had an olive coloured blanket made of some material that
kept sheding on me, like some dog with the mange or leprosy. Haha.
My bro kept stealing the blanket away from me. This would be okay, if
I didn't thrive on heat and the car didn't have the air-conditioning on
full blast. I'm wrapped in a blanket right now and shivering. Room
temperature for me would be about 85 degrees. I was practically blue in
the face.

It also didn't help that the sun was shining on my face through the
untinted windows. :frownyface

I was woken up by being poked in the face, sometime around 4 at a gas
station, some ways after we blazed through Wichita Falls. I was the
one who had to take the dogs on a bathroom break. Yay, I could barely
contain my joy at being woken up for that.

So, after I almost take of Emma the Dog's head by slamming the door,
I took off into some bushes, dogs being dragged behind me. Angus the
Dog takes a whiz immediately. Emma doesn't do anything except for bark
at the rather large and angry looking black man talking on his cell
phone. Yay.

I high-tail it back to the Honda. They ask me if both of the dogs did
their business. I told them that they did, simply because I didn't want
to go back to the bushes and I wanted to go back to sleep. Lucky for
me, Emma and her female bladder lasted all the way until we got to the
Comfort Inn outside of San Antonio.

I was woken up again and asked if I wanted something to eat, knowing
full well that I can't have anything to eat in the car, lest you want
it on the back of your seat later. So I got a small frie and a medium
water from McDonalds. I have no patience for people who say Mickey D's.
HATE IT.

I go back to sleep and wake up before we get to the hotel. On the way
there, there are Cartoon Network billboards, featuring Cheese from
Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends and Lazlo from Camp Lazlo. My bros
flipped out when they saw them. Aye, aye, aye.

The hotel sucked. The people staying around us sucked. The only good
part of the hotel was the expansive list of channels it offered. Sadly,
most of it was spent watching CNN or Fox News or CMT or Animal PLanet
or the Food Network. The "playground" was absolutely pathetic, I almost
wish I had photos of it. It was a slide, surrounded by a concrete
fence, in an area no larger than a picnic table, jutting off of the
side of the main building and just beside the pool.

The room sucked, and because my brothers got the bed and my father and
Yeti had control of the thermostat, it was a blistering 40 degrees
every night. Must be hard, being fat.

We brought with us all sorts of breakfast bars, pop tarts, and
Cup-O-noodles. Nobody actually ate the noodles because:

A) The only one who eats them is me
and
B) I'm not exactly itchin' to put styrofoam cups in the microwave,
the room didn't come with any hard cups, and Yeti was already using
the coffee machine to brew her daily mud to fuel her addiction.

Styrofoam emits all sorts of dangerous things when burned, so I'm told.
God only knows what happens to it when it's bombarded with microwaves.

So I didn't eat any breakfast, not that I would anyway. My bros and
father, however, did. They had waffles shaped like Texas. Say what?
Waffle irons shaped like Texas. Wowie. That almost makes me sad I
didn't go to breakfast. I mean, how often will you get the opportunity
to eat a waffle shaped like Texas? In Texas, no less.

The day we got there, we checked in and were out looking for some place
to eat. What is Texas famous for, other than cowboys and a high
population of gay people in the major cities? That's right, barbecue,
a true American tradition. One medal America can truly wear proudly.
We saw a place on the Travel Channel called Rudy's: The Worst BBQ in
Texas. I don't know why they were so hard on themselves, the one I
went to was great.

All menu items are ordered a la carte and by the pound, including
Pickles and Creamed Corn. They also don't have plates, it's more along
the lines of sheets of wax paper. I decided on having some sausage,
making a brisket sandwich, and sampling some of the ribs. I didn't
eat the creamed corn. Whatever was left after we were done would go to
the dogs. Yes, quite a brilliant idea, giving greasy meat to two small,
incontinent dogs.

I finished the pickle and polished off my bottle of Root Beer and we
left, back to the motel room which would surely be in shambles. And,
wouldn't you know it, I was right. Most of the plastic bottles and
pamphlets we had were ripped to shreads.

I've got to go to bed now. I'll finish the story tommorow. It's 1:33 AM
right now.

Part two:


Continuation of Entry 05, July 16th.

That night, I was deemed the one who had to sleep in the chair. I can't
see how anyone can sleep in a sitting position. I didn't get any winks
that night, as opposed to the forty I prefer. I woke up groggy with my
back killing me. This was the day we went to Sea World.

Sea World was nice, it was pretty high tech. It had a really tall
coaster, though it wasn't as tall as the Millenium Force. It had a
water ski show and Shamu Stadium where the big guy swam. The Great
White tore my back to pieces. It was one of those floorless coasters.
There weren't any straight-aways on it, so you were always twisting and
turning.

Sea World also had a water park. Not that I could say much about it,
because I didn't do anything except for lounge in the lazy river. Did
you ever realize that, no matter which park you go to, it's always the
Lazy River and never what its really named. How did the lazy river
first start? Does anyone know? I doubt it. I suppose we'll never find
out and keep calling it the Lazy River. Although, I do know that it's
actually called the Lazy River at the Schlitterbahn in New Braunfels,
Texas. Theirs is actually more of a ride and takes you across the
entire park, dumping you out in a river after a twenty minute trip
through caves and junk.

Every park also has a wave pool, but I don't care about those. I
could just as easily go to the beach.

As soon as we got into the park, we headed to the stables where they
kept the Budweiser Clydesdales. They had a donkey there, too!
It got boring fast, so we left. We went further back to the left side
and ended up in a dead end. There was a place where you could have
breakfast with the sharks. I hope someone gets bitten for that stupid
idea.

There was a dolphin tank where, in exchange for food, the dolphins
would swim up to you and let you pet them. Yippie. I don't care much
for dolphins. They're too smart for their own good, just look at
Johnny Mnemonic. Crazy hacker dolphin.

My brother had to take a whiz, we walked back across the park, only
to find out that the rest of the park doesn't open until 10:00. Fast
forward to 10:00. We walk a ways ahead of the crowd towards the roller
coasters an see a guy in a Sea World jump suit blocking off more
people. He says the roller coasters don't open until 11:00. Idiots.

"Metal Health" is on the radio, one of THE single greatest metal songs
ever. "Bang your head! Metal health will drive you mad!"

So we walk directly backwards to the 4-D theater. Apparantly 3
dimensions weren't good enough for this crew. They were showing R.L.
Stine's Haunted Lighthouse. I finally found out what Christopher Lloyd
was doing, some PBS show and this. He played the salty Captain Jack.
And he had a beard. It also starred that woman who played Marty's mom
in Back to the Future. I think her last name is Thompson, but I'm not
sure. It had that guy who played Mr. Green in Clue, too. He's a little
bit harder to see, because he's hiding behind a beard. It's sad because
he's been in many movies and that's the only one I remember him from.

And, making a super special cameo appearance, Wierd Al as the meek
pirate at the end of the film, serving Catfish Suprize that sprays
Captain Jack in the face. Here's a hint, the suprize was that it's
alive. That is SOOOO funny.

So, after the film, we go back and wait for five minutes for that
loser to let people through.

Right around the corner from that is the Steel Eel, a very tall, yellow
steel coaster with numerous drops and hardly any curves. I didn't like
it very much. Oh well, you can't expect everything to be awesome.

That's the problem I had with Disneyworld, the most magical place on
Earth. My expectations were sent so high for it. I mean, come on! It's
friggin Disneyworld, the paradise, the Eden, the Cibola of children
everywhere. How could it not be awesome? Well, I guess it's just
because I'm more of a thrill ride kind of guy. I like the massive
steel coasters and wooden ones. I wear the Son of the Beast as a badge
of pride. I SURVIVED THE BEAST. But no, Disney has none of that, lest
Space Mountain counts. Space Mountain is the ride of Disney. Everything
else is a poor attempt to cash in on other thrill parks, like Six Flags
or King's Island or the ultimate, Cedar Point of Sandusky, Ohio. Why is
it Ohio contains two of the world's greatest theme parks at once?

That's why I'm proud to be from Cinci.

After the Steel Eel, we went down the road a ways and headed back,
towards the sea lions show.

It was set up like an ampetheater, with the set sitting behind a pool
of water. We were to watch the Cannery Road Caper, which is about a
detective and his quest to find the lost Uncle Max, the detective being
a seel and Max being a walrus. It was good, but I should point out that
Uncle Max was a female walrus. Wierd. I guess it was for some reason
along the lines of the fact that females are less aggressive or some-
thing like that. I dunno.

I was starving, but we pressed on to the death machine that was the
Great White. It was a short ride with a peculiarly short wait. It
seemed as though it would be a popular ride, but I guess all of the
thrill seekers went to Six Flags that day. Pah, those losers don't
know what they're missing.

After that, everyone waited in line at the Rio Loco, which is the
"Crazy River", duh. We waited an hour in line with some of the world's
ugliest people to get on a ride less than two minutes long. The whole
thing was sad, and Dana's complaints about the heat were getting to me.
So I decided to mess with her, of course!

I said, "I love the heat, I could sit in the sun ALL DAY LONG. I don't
need a drink either, it feels goooooood."

I could tell from her cold, dead stare that I got the desired reaction.

Hah! I live for moments like this.

So, we go eat at the BBQ Shack placed conveniently outside of the exit
gates for the Rio Loco. In my ever expanding quest to make people mad,
I get a turkey leg, a fairly large one at that. It was the most
delicious thing on Earth, I don't care what those stupid vegetarians
say about how they're treated. I like animals, too... slow roasted.

And, after I'm done eating, (because everyone had to wuss out and get
sausage and brisket, even though turkey is cheaper), we catch our first
glimpse of the crazy italians.

The crazy italians traveled in a pack, about fifteen people. Every
encounter with them usually found them shouting and doing a conga line
through the park with their shirts off. They were happy about
something, I think it was because Italy won the cup. I dunno, I don't
watch that Fussball. I also think all the americans who like it are
wussies and fakers. You're just waiting for Football season in the
Fall, aren't you, America?

Soccer/football is alright. I'm better at it than America's football.
But, given the chance, I would much rather watch my favourite football
team, the Pittsburgh Steelers, than D.C. United.

But whatever. They were happy and I was happy for them.

We trudge over to the water park, because when you go to Sea World,
the best part is the water park, apparently. Not the fact that you get
to see killer whales send people flying through the air. Oh well, they
wanted to go to the wave pool. I should mention that you're not allowed
to change in the stalls, much to the dismay of my bros and I. Changing
clothes has always been private to me, I don't care if I'm frickin'
alone, I will change clothes in the bathroom, alone.

There's nothing worse than seeing a fat naked man whom you don't even
know. It's almost like some sort of molestation. But there was a small
place away in the showers that offered a curtain. I don't know why,
since the rest of the bathroom seemed designed to offer as little
privacy as possible. So I changed into my ill-fitting trunks and
trudged barefoot, (big mistake), over to the lazy river where I spent
most of the two hours in the water park asleep in an intertube.

Is it "innertube" or "intertube" because I pronounce it innertube?,
because I think it's spelt "intertube".


Entry 06, July 18th.

I had a very interesting night last night. It was about five minutes
after dinner, and my father and Dana were talking about something,
whispering while they did it. I was sitting on the couch with my
littlest bro, my oldest playing Playstation in the back of the house.
We were watching White Noise on HBO. It was alright, but not great.

Anyway, I go to get a drink and pass my father and Dana. She starts
yelling about some snowglobe pen got broken and she is L.I.V.I.D.
She says if she doesn't find out who broke it, she's gonna pawn our
Playstation, which is okay for me because I have another back at home.
My eldest bro, however, goes into hysterics because he is like I was
at his age, just marathon sessons of playing games, no matter if he had
beaten them twenty times over. I get tired of them, but he'll keep
playing them.

She said, and I quote, "I'm gonna go buy one goddamn nice Coach purse!"

Whatever.

Something odd happened, though. My father was apparantly possessed by
some mystical force and got up the courage to say boo to the goose.
I'm greatful he intervened, but at the same time, I take it with a
grain of salt. That's because he can comfort you and assure you
everything's going to be alright and you'll believe him, but later
he'll stab you in the back.

He says he's always in the middle, torn between his love for Dana and
his love for us. To be honest, it's more of a tug of war between my
brothers and I and he and Dana. He's caught in the middle, sure, but
we're stuck on the side.

He goes and quiets her down. For some reason, my brother decides to
confess to something he may have done. He says he might have broken the
pen when he dropped it a month ago. Never admit to anything you aren't
sure you did. Period. I know otherwise, because I used the pen ten days
ago and it wasn't broken.

So, after all was said and done, we get grounded until Thursday for
something one of us may have done and refusing to own up to it the
first time she asked. I call BS. My father sits out on the couch with
us for a bit and tells us we're going to have to adjust. So we need to
do what we did last summer and write up a list of things we want in
return for things we'll do and what an appropriate punishment would
be if we didn't do what we said we were going to. What it all amounts
to is the Summer Contract. I wish I could get you a picture of it.
It's this large poster-board with guidelines scrawled on it in various
flavours of marker.

It was sick.

We even had to sign it as if it was an actual contract, binding us to
it for good. If I see another one of them, I'm going to have to see my
lawyer to negotiate better terms. Hah!

Oh well. My terms were that I get a detatchable drive for the laptop
that I could put my stuff on, I.E. Planetside and all sorts of other
programs and PSP related stuff. I also wanted some sort of allowance,
since I don't really leave the house anyway. I wanted a library card.
And lastly, I wanted to go see "District 13" when it comes out in
theaters, it's "Banlieue 13" in France. It's already on DVD, all I'd
have to do would be to go on the French Amazon a buy it there, but
I don't have that kind of region DVD player and, besides, you'd lose
that authentic cinema experience, especially with an action film like
Banlieue 13.

I'll do pretty much anything to get those things. Even mow the lawn,
least favourite of all activities. I don't mow well. Not by choice,
either, so you don't get the wrong idea. I just don't know what's good
enough when looking at a lawn. As long as the grass doesn't reach past
my knees, I'm good. I have low standards.

One thing my father said that will stick with/haunt me forever is
this:

"I guess I'm just looking for direction. And with you, I'll probably
never find any."

End Transmission.

I'd like some feedback, though most of you will probably chalk it up to teenage angst. Oh well. That's what I live with.