I knew I liked the place right away. It was a small apartment, virtually identical to hundreds of others in the area. The walls were a plain and peeling white, the floor a cheap carpet. Furniture was sparse: a single chair and a couch, salvaged from the dumpster, and a coffee table, missing a leg and being propped up by a stack of books. In the corner sat a stereo, with two medium-small speakers. Home sweet home, I guess.

One of us! One of us! One of us!

My iMac has recently fallen trivially ill, and, having done as much as I can on my own (without spending money), I am making a plea for advice here before I bring it down to the Apple Store to be tweaked. The problem is this: The Firewire ports on my iMac DV+ 450 are essentially dead. Both my Firewire peripherals (5gig iPod and LaCie CD burner) can receive power through them but cannot transfer data. I have tried all the do-it-yourself fixes that Apple recommends: zapping PRAM, resetting the Firewire ports, etc. Thus do I cast my appeal for assistance upon the winds of the internet. Any suggestions?

She awoke slowly, mumbling unintelligibly to herself. She slid slowly off of her loft bed and opened the windowshades, taking in the beautiful afternoon panorama that faced her. A small, satisfied smile crossed her face. This was her town. She was in control. She was awesome. Screw all that, she WAS. Time to sieze the day, and the night. Oh yes, especially the night. The smile grew to a grin as the endless possibilities sprang up in her mind. Carpe diem, indeed.

Tunes: "Dirty Dirty", Die Trying; "Calico", Alien Ant Farm; "The Glory of Love", New Found Glory.

Some lyrics that have stuck in my mind recently:

"So they took me down to the gallows/
And this boy he say to me/
Why do you smile when the rope's around your neck?/
I said I'll tell you boy when i get back" -Dispatch, Open Up

"I was lying in the grass of Sunday morning of last week/
Indulging in my self-defeat" -Len, Steal My Sunshine

"My, my, the cruelest lies are often told without a word/
My, my, the kindest truths are often spoken, never heard" -Ben Folds Five, The Last Polka

"But now is the time/
We will survive/
To see the light of another day" -Slick Shoes, Now's The Time

Kind of random, I know, but since when am I supposed to make sense?

My name is Devan, and I am a warrior. My weapons are not guns or swords or bombs, but the passion and fire of my heart, mind, and soul. My armor is not kevlar or steel, but my faith and trust. My enemies are not other people, but my own inner demons that assault me without ceasing. My allies are not nations and armies, but singular individuals who have pledged their support and love throughout my life, wherever it will lead.

For my name is Devan, and I am a warrior.

Tunes: "I Won't Back Down", Tom Petty; "Stoned", Smashmouth, and a dedication, you know who you are. "I'll Never Fall In Love Again", Dionne Warwick.

Just got back home from visiting Heather in MI. Had a lot of fun on that trip filled with driving, card games, and sarcasm. (Hi Laurie, Hi Barb, Hi Nick!) Anyway, a bt of creative writing as a welcome home sort of affair:

It was a dark and stormy night. That's how I'm supposed to start, right? I don't really see the appeal of that line, myself. But I'm getting sidetracked. My story DOES begin on a dark and stormy night, but the weather wasn't foremost in any of our minds at the time. I was sitting at home late on a Thursday night (or maybe Friday morning by that point), playing multiplayer games online with my friends around town, chatting about expansion packs and the RIAA and which major site just got hacked, you get the idea. So I'm sitting there and without any warning, the back door slams. Now, both my parents and my sister have gone to bed hours ago, so I mute my speakers, type "brb" into my chatroom and slip out to see what's going on. I strain to hear anything as I creep along the hall and down the stairs. The dog isn't making any noise, and she's usually all over anything that moves. She's not much of a guard dog, but anything that might pet her or play with her is usually worthy to bark over. I looked around the first floor and found nothing. Checked the locks, everything was shut tight. I was starting to waver between self-doubt and fright. Did I just imagine it, or was there someone else hiding nearby, waiting for me to move? I glanced at my watch, and decided that at 3:40am I was in no position to be worrying about possible intruders. I turned to go back upstairs, then paused. I went back to the door and, taking a hair, I stuck it along the doorframe over onto the door. Satisfied, I went back up to my room. About an hour later, I was just getting into bed when the door slammed again. Adrenaline pumping, I ran downstairs and to the door. The hair was stil there, in the exact same place. I ran down a quick checklist in my mind. I wasn't on any drugs, and I couldn't come up with a rational explanation for what I'd heard. Sighing, I flipped the light switch as I went to get a drink-- and stopped. The light didn't turn on. I stared, horrified. And then I awoke. I think. I never understood what happened that night, but it hasn't happened since. I hope it never does.

Thought #1: For some reason so far unknown to me, my blog is listing my post times a few hours ahead, so don't trust those for a while. (It's almost 10am right now)

Thought #2: Mike Golby said some very flattering things about me the other day ^_^ (I can't figure out his permalinks so just look at the bottom of Monday's postings)

Thought #3: Feeling kind of sentimental... This goes out to everyone in my family, blood or other.

It's not the pot that grows the flower
It's not the clock that slows the hour
The definition's plain for anyone to see
Love is all it takes to make a family

"Love Is All It Takes", Romanovsky and Phillips