I'll just hold it all in my hand, thanks.

What does it mean..

2009-10-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a recurring dream of mine where I walk into a really tasty donut shop and am met by, really horrible customer service, and a disgruntled, surly black lady that operates the front counter. But this time, as I'm munching on my donut and walking into some sort of night club with only 7ft tall people there, the lady operating the counter at the donut shop calls me on the phone. and tells me I have a negative balance in my bank account. She's worried about me.

Thanks Sheniqua. I always knew you cared.

A ride on the winged supersonic brontosaurus that IS hyper-text transfer protocol.

2009-10-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

Some of you may understand when I say that one can truly get lost in the World Wide Web. I just went on one of those fascinating and mysterious "Wikipedia trips." You know, the ones where you google something you don't know too much about, and then as you're reading the article, another interesting tidbit jumps out at you, and you click on the hyperlink to it. Tonight's intrepid journey through the annals of Wikipedia went like this: Godwin's Law -> Usenet -> Portmaneau -> Tanganyik -> Maji Maji Rebellion -> Cap gun -> Airsoft -> ...... ***Dozens of fascinated mouse clicks later*** .........And you've arrived, with me, at 12:36am, October 20, 2009. I'm now learning about the Nash Equilibrium, which is a solution concept of Game Theory where if each player has chosen a strategy and no player can benefit by changing his or her strategy while the other players keep theirs unchanged, then the current set of strategy choices and the corresponding payoffs constitute a Nash equilibrium

I love Wikipedia.

Blogger's Remorse

2009-09-13T19:30:00.000-07:00

As I re-read the different posts I have written, albeit few, I myself sense one overarching trend: They seemed a lot better when I first wrote them. The harsh clarity of hindsight is a cruel mistress. I have come to the bittersweet realization that a writer has over and over again, almost cyclically, that he/she needs to be better -- more potent, more engaging, more stylistically unique, more... whole. The catch is that learning to be a good writer seems so ethereal sometimes - like something hidden in a heavy mist. The well-intentioned writer senses progress, but shrouded by the murk of doubt, purpose and poignancy waiver and once turgid ambitions atrophy like raisins in the sun.

Ultimately, it is the metaphoric skill of "painting the picture" that I desire most, and consequently have the hardest time accomplishing. To invoke a concept in the mind's eye and watch it shimmer with initial vivacity, then to carefully funnel it using 26 letters strung in a managed order onto a verbal medium, thereby allowing a reader to catch that small image and put it on like a pair of spectacles, seeing in their own mind's eye what the writer sees --that's Literature. That's the goal, my goal, and undoubtedly the goal of any writer ever to live.

As I falter in my quest for literary competence, please be patient. All five of you who read this blog. Maybe four. I haven't checked in a while. To be a writer! I would construct sentences that ping off your reading glasses and buzz the windows next to you. I would describe in detail the most fleeting emotion, the most delicate gesture, and you would feel them as if they were your own.

That day, barring any unforeseen maelstroms or red flare warnings, will come. I'm just going to have to work on it. And you are going to have to tread the wine press. The wine press of mediocre writing. This press is plain and the rewards are few and far, but hopefully I will, with any luck, make your windows buzz one day.

Don't let those nasal Moms push you around, Jerry

2009-08-20T21:48:00.000-07:00

I was in bed not long ago, musing to some Swedish electronica (which is renowned for inducing revery) and true to form I eventually cast my mind quite vividly to something long forgotten: the first time I read Harry Potter. I'm no apotheosizing fan by any means, but the avid and perceptive reader of the series will remember well that the name Tom Marvolo Riddle = I Am Lord Voldemort. What a sweet anagram. <--- (a link for the uninformed.) Feeling inspired I leapt up, shirked my headphones, and endeavored for the ensuing eight minutes to produce a rippin' cool anagram for my name:

James Royal Rasmussen

I quickly discovered that I only had 7 unique consonants and 3 unique vowels in my name. Gay. Way to go, Mom and Dad. Obviously you didn't have obscure grammatical oddities in mind when you named me. I read the list of anagrams I had conjured from my name:

As nasal moms use Jerry.
O messy SARS; un-ajar meal.
A lass nears; Summer joy.

A sense of defeat slowly wrapped around me. My original plan was to create a name or a sentence that would strike fear into the hearts of men and women. Well I failed. The most foreboding and misanthropic of the three was about SARS and an un...ajar...meal? What the stupid. My anagram had the hoped intention of terror and a poignant sense of bête noir. Like the name Voldemort. What a cacophonous and scary name! The only name I was able to pull out was Jerry. Who is a fat kid that used to work with me at my phone support job. He had a perspiration problem.

I'll try at a later date to produce a better, more bloodcurdling anagram. In the meantime, I need to enhance my word-concocting prowess. Hello online scrabble. My name's James. I'm bad at anagrams. Let me shake your lexiconic, word-wielding hand. Pleasure to meet you, really.

Simple HTML Error

2009-08-05T19:14:00.001-07:00

I am Optimus Prime. There was a problem with the html formatting on James Rasmussen's blog, which wasn't allowing his apotheosizing fans to comment. Now you can. Autobots, roll out.

Cobwebs

2009-08-05T09:20:00.000-07:00

I haven't been on here in quite some time. Forgot about my little chunk of cyberspace. My original goal was to write my thoughts and musings of the day or week for the purpose of becoming a better writer. If you can wield words, you have a power few have. And if you know anything about me, you would know that I LOVE power. And gatorade. Mix those together? Powerade.

I love powerade.

That's all for today.

Jamaica & Other Stories of Questionable Veracity

2009-07-20T22:37:00.000-07:00

Jamaicans. I think most people have the wrong idea about these people. Why, you ask, do I bring this little island up? Well the last three sales of mine (selling security systems) have been with Jamaicans. And let me tell you. Yes you. Let me just tell you, and you alone. They are some of the hardest people to sell to in the world. While we're on the subject, among hard demographics to sell would include (but are not limited to): Asians, Polish people, and people over 95 years old with greater than or equal to one hernia currently installed in their abdomen. And robots. Robots are way hard. Space dragons are equally surly and abrasive.

Yep, and last Tuesday I met a 95 year-old Polish space dragon named Edmund. What ensued on his doorstep was stuff of legend. The Guinness World Record Foundation declared the sentence Edmund spun as the most insulting chain of words ever recorded. He wove a string of profanity and vulgarity, that as far as we know, is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan. Edmund's wife is a Vietnamese robot. They have a son named Reginald.

Q: James? Are half the stories you tell true, or is the percentage even less than that?
A: The answer to that is relative.

Items of Importance

2009-07-16T00:42:00.000-07:00

I overheard a lady today saying, "Ohhh this movie just tugs at my heartstrings." --And that's fine. Perfect grammar, common phraseology and vernacular. However, I got to thinking. What is a heartstring? The only thing I can think of that could pass as a heartstring is the outer lining of the heart, called the pericardium, which houses all of the major vessels and capillaries that supply nutrients and give life to the heart.

If you gave someone's pericardium a tug, it would result in a massive myocardial infarction, leaving the "tugger" of the heartstring surprised and bewildered, and the "tugee" most likely dead.

So people, let's think before we say anything, do anything, or release any media to the public that would tug at ANYONE'S heartstrings, ok?

If you were thinking about tugging any heartstrings in the near future, think of the ramifications. Think of the children.

Let's all just be careful. ♥♥

Q-U-A-D-S

2009-07-14T07:57:00.000-07:00

Last night I had the best of dreams. You know the ones. The ones where you have giant quadriceps and for some reason you have the uncanny ability to bound across the ground in leaps of 30 feet or more.

Well it was one of those dreams, and oh my-lanta was it great. I looked down, and I was wearing tight, taut, and tiny red shorts and my thighs were rippling and tan. The rest of my body was just as decrepit and thin as ever. But these quads... my oh my.

In my dream I started off by vaulting forward, then planted my next foot down and pushed off, leaping farther forward and gaining speed. Before long I was doing bounds of several yards at a time. Forthwith, I was leaping fences, garages, small buildings, and eventually I merged onto the freeway and began my journey as a super-humanoid automobile. Smiling as the high velocity caused my blonde hair to billow and surge, I passed car after car as astonished drivers gave reproving but impressed glares at me. The wind whipped at my face and the air was sweet as I wound through the forest roads of Connecticut, the only man to ever achieve freeway speeds using merely his natural elements of biology.

Then I woke up, and I was wearing white soccer shorts. My quads were no longer Olympic. And, as all dreams of that fortitude, I was only left with disappointment.

I've tried to extrapolate what this dream means in the macrocosm of my life, and the only thing I can think of is that at some point in time, I'm going to have massive thighs.

Yep, it's gonna be sweet.

Kinesics

2009-07-11T19:34:00.000-07:00

My current job allows me to view people as most people don't usually get the chance to do. If you think about it, most of the communication with people is at work, school, a social scene, etc. But I am a door-to-door salesman, and as such, I view people as they are relaxed at home, in their "natural element" or "domain," if you will. It's fascinating to see how people react to someone uninvited on their doorstep. You really do get to delve into an often un-traversed slice of someone's psyche if you roll up to their door as a completely uninvited stranger. Better yet if you're offering something. Even better still, if you're offering something they don't want or can't see a need for. And the best part: using rhetoric and body language to get them to listen to you when they don't want to, and build interest in whatever you're doing. Here are some things I've noticed:

1) If their arms are crossed, they're skeptical and are building a "barrier" between you and them.
Solution: Get them to hold something (a sign, a brochure, paper, anything) - They will have to unfold their arms, and their defense is gone.

2) If you raise your eyebrows for a second when talking about something, it adds emphasis and credibility.

3) Use masculine arm and hand gestures, and use your body to point at stuff. People will follow your pointing a lot better.

4) Don't stand square on the door, stand at an angle. It eases people up a bit.

Just a couple of things I've learned - by no means comprehensive and by no means professional. Just some fun stuff I've discovered while observing people.

On a similar note, I saw a fox today, just chilling next to some stump in a guy's yard. It was legit.

Inauguration

2009-07-10T19:50:00.000-07:00

Blogs are a a fascinating animal. It's like having your diary put up on the world wide web, for all to see, for spider search algorithms to parse, for DNS matriculation to categorize, and for me to let out some of the things of my soul. And here I start. I really do hope very few people view this - it will become my journal, but more exciting because anyone can see it, but they don't. How avant garde of me.