Will 1, US Federal Government 0

Yesterday I made the long, boring drive from Spokane to Seattle for the express purpose of wading into close-quarters combat with the Federal Government, and its champion, the IRS. On my way home, as a sort of stay of execution, I visited my friend Mary in Ellensburg. After a good conversation, I moved on to gird myself for battle. Last night, Mom made an excellent cut of brisket for dinner, which was most delicious. Afterwards, we watched Jeremiah Johnson, a film that dares to ask the question "Will he actually say something?" I noted that in the credits, the script was written by John Milius, of Conan the Barbarian fame. The scripts have certain similarities, such as the fact that the main characters just don't talk all that much, or really do anything except fight random animals and the occasional faceless enemy, all the while wandering around and having miscellaneous "adventures." Except there were no giant snakes.
This morning, after a gladitorial breakfast of pancakes, I prepared myself for combat with my foe. I sharpened my sword, burnished my armor, and then set foot on the sands of the coliseum.
After two solid hours of combat, I emerged victorious with the IRS's entrails still wet upon my blade. That's right, I got me a refund.

Another day, another game of dodgedick.

Well, it is that time of the year again, namely tax season. I'm going home for the weekend to give the IRS a pound of my flesh, and I am not looking forward to this. Oh well. My mother has indicated that she is going to attempt to procure a few episodes of MST3k from Netflix. The past few days have been rather odd. On Tuesday, one of the guys elected to bring a girl with him to lunch. Given the normal people present on our lunch outings, this is not the sort of move made by a man who is hoping for a piece of the action. At any rate, I made a few classic Will's-foot-in-mouth remarks indicating that, among other things, said female was probably an android, and therefore soulless. And the funny thing was that I ended up coming out of the thing looking not that awful compared to some of my dining companions, particularly the guy who brought her. To make a long story short, it was all an incredibly awkward affair. You know how it goes.
I'm not entirely used to the new office yet, though I am slowly but surely adapting. I'm developing a mild agoraphobia. I've come to take pleasure in the little things that alienate the outside world from the self. This is why I wear a beard, as it helps to keep the rest of the universe comfortably at bay.
In other news, THIS is incredibly funny, and the source of today's title. It is the true stories of a japanese school teacher.

Once I get done rolling the rock up the hill, it rolls right back down

I have discovered that in order to be a tech writer, you basically have to be an existentialist. You're stuck in an endless cycle of re-writes and updates, and the only way to find any sense of accomplishment in the job is to take pleasure in this cycle. I've found that I can do this, so I join the company of Sisyphus in Hell, doomed to roll a rock up a hill, knowing full well that the moment the rock reaches the top, it will just roll right back down. In the same way, the moment I finish a document, there will be a new build of the pertinent software with a completely overhaulled GUI and a whole slough of new functionality, rendering my just-completed document obsolete and useless, such that I must start again from the beginning and repeat. It is times like these that I am glad for my existential leanings, as they manage to keep me sane and productively employed.

I guess this kills our date to see "Moving Out"

So right now, I'm thinking Zombies. Of course, those of you who have spent significant amounts of time around me know that I spend a good deal of time thinking about zombies, so this should come as no surprise to you. At any rate, apparently, over in Seattle there was a zombie-themed rave where everybody dressed as zombies and such. Afterwards, this guy who attended the rave went home and retrieved his rifle and proceeded to shoot up the after-party, killing six people and eventually himself. My theory is that after a lot of drugs and alcohol, he could no longer distinguish between reality and fantasy, and after being bitten by a playful e-addled zombie girl, feared that he had become infected, and then acted out the scene of a thousand zombie movies. At any rate, the whole thing is a tragic mess, once more associated with zombies. The whole incident has me thinking of the bit last year where the kid was kicked out of school for writing a work of zombie fiction. I think there is something about invoking the imagery of the walking dead that somehow disturbs mainline society, namely in that zombies often serve as metaphores for the common member of society. Because they are effectively already dead, they may be killed without remorse by the hero. When a kid writes about killing zombies at school, he is seen to be talking about himself as something above the rest of the school, and therefore needs to be cut down. Just some thoughts.