Eraser

There are three points about this film that I would like to address.

1. "That place is like a fortress."
I never realized how much of a movie staple that is until tonight. But what's interesting is why we find it interesting. Is breaking into places we shouldn't be allowed a fantasy that we enjoy vicariously through the cinema? Maybe it's the repressed anger we feel about sticking it to our former employers, because, isn't that always the case?

2. The Railgun
Obvious physics problems aside, I don't understand why Arnie didn't use the guns the way they were meant to. They have x-ray scopes (despite x-rays not working like that) and could shoot through almost anything at nearly the speed of light. Arnie downs to guys in a warehouse and, rather than staying inside the warehouse where normal bullets couldn't hit him and shooting all the bad guys with the assisted heart-seeking x-ray scope, he walks out and shoots everybody with two railguns. He would have killed just as many, if not more, people if he had been using normal machine guns; probably would have done less damage to cousin Tony's docks, too.

3. Train Operators
They are people! I think movies really tend to forget this. For those of you who haven't seen Eraser, SPOILER ALERT, the bad guys die in the end. Arnie locks them in their limo and it gets hit by a train. Wonderful. But does anyone think about the guy who operates the train? No. Nobody does. This poor fellow is just driving a train through town assuming that when the gates come down on the road the path will be clear. But today the path wasn't clear. Today there was a limo on it. The engineer blows the horn and puts on full brakes, but it's too late. The point of no return has been crossed. The train obliterates the limo and although there will always be thoughts of "that was awesome," surely the engineer must be hoping that no one is inside.

"They had to catch a train," Arnie quips before he vacates the scene.

The train finally grinds to a halt. The engineer has already reported the incident. A dozen emergency vehicles drive down the gravel lined railway, hundreds of metres from the initial collision. They manoeuvrer slowly around the wreckage keeping a close eye out for bodies.

The engineer is questioned; detained even. The bombardment of questions fail to penetrate the guilt-wrought conscience of the engineer; only causing noise and distortion, like rain in an ocean.

"I could have stopped sooner. They might have made it..."

The death of three men lies solely on the conscience of the train engineer. An honest life forever stained, a soul tortured.Four men's lives were lost on that day.

Bad Arguments

Give give it a little bit of thought.
Now, I'm no scientist, but I did complete high school. Isn't methane flammable? And for that matter, isn't butane? I mean, that's what makes it so good for lighting on fire.

See if you can follow this reaction.
CH4 (methane) + 2 O2 -> 2 H20 + CO2 + energy
Or, hell, this one:
2 C4H10 (butane) + 13 O2 -> 10 H2O + 8 CO2 + energy
We can even go crazy and say,
2 CH3OH (methanol) + 3 O2 -> 4 H2O + 2 CO2 + energy

It seems to me that we exhale CO2, so we breathe it in naturally from our atmosphere. And inhaling water vapour never really hurt anyone. Seems to me you put three incredibly clean burning fuels on your list. Bad argument.

After all, we're not afraid of inhaling the fumes from our lighter, sewer gas (you inhale methane when you're in the shitter, get over yourself), or from a candle! How dumb do you have to be to not understand that when you burn a candle, the stearic acid they claim is in it burns into the atmosphere you breathe!

It seems to me that cigarettes are most dangerous when eaten. I know these people aren't smokers, but ignition is a vital part of the smoking process.

And finally, if you think all those "chemicals" are bad for you, you're not quite getting it. Chemicals aren't bad. Everything is made of chemicals (acetic acid is vinegar. You put it on your fries). Some chemicals are in other weird shit, but if that puts you off smoking, check this out.

I'm not pro-smoking, or anti-smoking. Do what you want. If it's not affecting other people, whose business is it? And if you want to talk about the smell, let me know and I'll prepare a lecture on perfumes.

The Commons

I began responding to a Facebook status regarding the uncommon nature of common sense, when I realized that I didn't know this girl well enough to delve into a full argument. So I have come here to blog about it.

Common sense is simply the more common form of any multitude of senses. For example, some common uncommon senses would be Spider-man's Spidey Sense, or M. Night Shyamalan's The Sixth Sense. As Deadpool, seen here, so neatly illustrates, the occurrence of common sense is a notable event.

Let us compare common sense to another "common" occurrence: the common cold. Though we do not spend a particularly large portion of our lives afflicted by the common cold, it is nonetheless common. If you are a non-believer of Spidey Senses and Sixth Senses, then I now ask you to name an uncommon cold.

...

That's right, you can't. There's no such thing. So, common sense is much like the common cold, and strikes with somewhat rarity. The lack of sense in people is like their lack of viral infection.

LBP

I'm still not on the bandwagon.

It's fun. It's entertaining. It's creative. It's multiplayer. Yeah, it's a great game.

But it's not "OMG-my-life-is-nothing-without-this-game;I-must-create-levels-and-have-them-be-judged-and-everyone-will-love-me-for-once!"

It's more of an "ah ha ha!" in a childish voice while you bouncily clap your hands together.

It's amusing, it's entertaining, it's bright and wonderful and uplifting.

But take a look at the Halo series.

• Aliens. Check.
• Guns. Check.
• Vehicles. Check.
• Multiplayer. Check.
• Machinema. Check.
• ....

Actually, I- um...

Blog over!
I gotta go!

Right of Way

I don't mind the guy who didn't slow down for my while I was crossing the street. I don't mind the guy who zips just past me as I'm stepping up on the curb. I don't mind the guy who pulls into the intersection while I'm crossing to save his spot. What I do mind is the guy who stopped at the stop sign for me, waited until I was almost across the street, then decided to drive directly towards me anyway. Let me draw you a very shitty diagram.
Seriously. He waited until I was almost finished and then accelerated directly toward me. A half a stride behind and he would have hit me. Some people are just plain motherfuckers.

Layout Problems

Why is "Add to Dictionary" the option right by the suggested spelling when you misspell something?

Now "percipitate" is my my dictionary as the most common misspelling of "precipitate" and I don't know how to purge my dictionary of accidentally misspelled words.

I'll be just another asshole who doesn't bother to spellcheck his shit.

Party Time

The Mount Royal University appears to be hosting an event at their on-campus drinking establishment. The event? "Tight, Bright & White."

Am I a bad person to think that sounds like a really good party?

Oh! You mean close friendship, festive decor, and winter season precipitate!

.... yeah, that's what I thought you meant too. Sounds... sounds like a good party.

David Hume Can Suck, comma, a Dick.

It has come to my attention that the creators of Malcolm in the Middle have based one of their characters on one of the most noteworthy philosophers of the last half millennium.Though one might not see the obvious resemblance of David Hume in the popular sit-com character Stevie, it is clear that the dialogue of the character was modelled after Hume's own work.

Here's an example:

Hence we may discover the reason, why no philosopher, who is rational and modest, has pretended to assign the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show distinctly the action of that power, which produces any single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the utmost effort of human reason is, to reduce the principles, productive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular effects into a few general cases, by means of reasoning from analogy, experience, and observation.

That has twice as many commas as necessary. They don't even make sense! It's like he puts in a comma to breathe.

Skip to 3:50 to hear how I read Hume in my head.

The Ironing

I recently wrote a blog post about stealing and being a bad person.

The night that I wrote that I had a thousand dollars stolen from my bank account.

Two Wrongs Make A Right

Dear Blog,

It has been said that the best way for a man to live is to be true to himself. Well, blog, I am a bastard; a complete and total bastard. I lie and cheat, and to add to my repertoire of evil I want ever so dearly to steal. What's more is that I want to revoke the righteousness of another as much as I want invoke the impurity of another. I feel as though I want to taint that which is near me. But at the same time I feel evangelical about it; as if the wicked is the truth and from it breeds sense and balance. It's as if I want to corrupt people with the life I know to be true.

I've done it before, too. I've incurred trust, both sexually and emotionally, to those who (at least have told me) hold it so dear that they would never think to give it to anyone. Perhaps I am a thief in that respect. But to me that trust is a virtue that I want to make grow. I want her to see that love is the greatest thing that anyone can ever ask for in life and that it can be trusted in me. I want her to trust that I would cater to her every desire.

I want her to trust that under all the deceit, under all the malicious thoughts, under all the vices, under all the evil that is founded to my very core; I want her to trust that loyalty is the virtue common among the wicked and the righteous, if she only cares to have it.

Response to "No News is Good News"

I was going to respond in the comments, but it started getting so lengthy that I think it will make a better post than a comment.

I didn't really know what to tag it with. It's nothing serious, though. Just the same old shit. Though through this experience I believe I have some insight on what it might be like to be mentally challenged. I always wondered what it would feel like to know that you have a mental disorder. How do you deal with it? How do you respond when something triggers it? Can't you control it if you know it's going to happen? It's really the strangest feeling.

It's like taking a giant step in understanding the meaning of life. It actually reminds me of Donnie Darko now that I really think about it. We all have a path, "God's channel" as Donnie puts it. We can manipulate the events that occur as long as we follow this destined path.

I guess there's just really no point in fighting it.

No News is Good News

Because everything truly newsworthy is always bad. You never stumble onto something that you get really excited about. I don't, at least. I always get bummed out when I read something new.

Maybe I'm just a fucking lousy poker player, betting more on a lost cause, and this blog is the like the camera under the table that shows all my cards. I have a good hand, but I'm never going to win. So I don't know why I keep playing this stupid game when all I ever get is bad news.

Come December I'm going to think that things will turn around; something might go my way. It's not, and I know it's not. But I'm going to fall for it anyway because, well, I'm a fucking retard sometimes. A classic fool.

English

"Charged with sexual battery" can so easily be misread as "charged with a sexual battery."

We need some new words up in this bitch.

Yeah, you saw that movie... like a champ!

Keep up the fuckin' nice work.

Relationship House

Relationships are like houses. At first they are new and exciting. You develop them and explore them and fantasize about all the big plans you have for them. You talk about it and share it with the world. And eventually two types of people can develop.

One type of person always wants something new and exciting. They want bright colours all the time and new furniture. These people like to keep things tucked away in their place, either to only be seen when used, or to be forgotten entirely.

The other type of person has lived-in the house. They want things to be comfortable and hate to throw things away. Trinkets of memory and self expression litter any and every unused surface, exposed in the context of the house.

The second person wants to stay in that old house forever. They will try to take it with them even when it is condemned and demolished; even something as plain as a doorknob has meaning and value.

The first person wants a bigger house, like the ones you see on TV. They want lots of open/empty space to show their friends how much better their house is.

Regardless of the house, home is where the heart is.

Too Rich

I have three fundamental problems with leaf blowers.

1. Protection. Okay, so you have hearing protection. What about me? I'm outside too! Where once there were the sounds of the birds in the trees and the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, nature's beauteous splendour ev- b'RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-WRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRBWRRRRRRRR-RWRRRRRRRRRRWRBRRRRRRRRRRRRR-RRRRRRRBRRWRRRRWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRBR-RRRRRWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrwrrrrrbrrrrrrr!
- of life so peaceful.

Sorry, what was that?

2. Effectiveness. So the basic premise is that you blow the leaves onto someone else's property, right? Seems like it's not -

Motherfucker!

- air turbulence, right?

3. Cost.

-OR-

What's the fucking point?

Standard of Living

I think it must be an element of the human condition to desire in life the most what we do not have; to want to do what we can't do, or what we are, or at one point were, bad at. Some people aren't smart and think that life is better when you are educated. Some people are poor and think that life is better when you are rich. Some people are single and think that life is better being together.

What is odd is that only that last fact can go the other way. No rich person ever says, "fuck, what I'd do to just be poor!" No educated person ever says, "I wish I never learned any of that!" Maybe they'll say, "that was a waste of time," but they don't knock the education, just the time it takes. But people in relationships always seem to be able to wish they were single. Becoming single is easy. "This isn't working out." It's four to five words, depending on how well you enunciate. It's the reverse that is hard. Granted, "do you want to go out?" is only six words, but there is an argumentative factor. The response affects the outcome. You can't break up with someone and then they refuse to break up with you. That's not how it works.

One might say that it is the irreversibility of the process that is daunting. But education is also irreversible. So how can we say that one irreversible process is entirely positive while another is not? One might say that education doesn't hurt anyone, but we must always look deeper. Classes often fill completely up. Programs are often waitlisted. Your enlistment often ensures that someone misses their chance. Someone suffers the detriment of your benefit.

Being single is sometimes necessary, much like it is necessary that every start out uneducated, and that it is good for some people to be poor. But just because it's necessary and sometimes can be fun (let's face it, knowlegde can be a burden and finances bring a certain financial responsibility. Also, there is class comrodery. It's lonely at the top, they say) doesn't mean that it's ideal.

But this is just me. Some people must want to be single, just like some people might want to be poor and uneducated. Spiritual enlightenment, afterall, disregards institutional learning and material possessions.

Those who can't do...

Real life is really fucking hard. There are so many things that can go wrong. It's not standardized and you can't just go back and correct your mistakes when you fuck up.

School is easy. A lot of people have trouble with it, but you just have to do the work. It's simple. And if you do fuck up, you just try again.

A lot of people say that's the same with life, but it just isn't. So many things are unique. When you fuck up a relationship, it's hard to fix. In school you can scrap it all and start over. Some people say that about relationships, but I think they miss the point.

A relationship can have all the same variables the fundamental grounds of the relationship are different for every person you are with. Every relationship is unique. In school, the variables all change, but the question is always the same. You can practise over and over with no consequence to anyone. It's all the same and you can only get better at it.

Plus, you get to take breaks from school and when you do, nothing has changed.

The Illusion of Choice

I was playing Ultimate Alliance 2 with TK the other day and I've come to fully realize how black and white that game is. To a certain extent, it offends me.

If I wanted a someone to tell me what to think, I'd watch FOX News. I would hope that intelligent video game designers would have a better understanding of moral ambiguity. Although it may make for a more linear storyline, I hate when you're given a supposed "moral choice" only to be crowbarred back into the main story for Act III.

In UA2, you choose either Pro-Regulation or Anti-Regulation in a so-called modern civil war. In truth, your options are very clearly douchebaggery or the American Dream, respectively. Though the choice of obeying possibly questionable governmental laws versus violently rebelling in order to remain unidentified is very clearly ambiguous, the character dialogue makes for a very obvious dichotomy of right and wrong. The Pro-Regs are evil, and once you are "shown the folley of their ways" you are railroaded back onto the path of the righteous.

To put it another way, there is a game about Anti-Regulation with the option of playing as the bad guys for a few levels.

Why can't your choices ever matter? So many games have this "choice" feature that is as superfluous as the "customize" feature. Take Fallout 3, for example. You choose your gender and race free of any social persecution (for a world based off the 50s, that seems... inaccurate). You get down to choose every little detail right down to the width of the bridge of your nose. Of course, you cannot change height, weight, or any other physical feature of your character, but, hey, making a scale function in two dimensions is incredibly... uh, easy, actually. But I digress. The fact of the matter is the customization process has no effect on gameplay and neither does your "Karma." If you're bad, the good guys try to kill you. If you're good, the bad guys try to kill you. The townspeople act the same, Raiders will always attack, Mutants will always attack, the Enclave will always be your enemy. Nothing you choose changes anything. I understand that something like that becomes immensely complex, but for something like UA2, why not play out the ramifications of Pro-Reg winning?

To voice this argument another way, and to reference Zack's latest post, if an element is unneccesary, why have it? If the choice of good or evil doesn't change anything, who cares? If you can't join the Empire, why join the Dark Side? That would be like Luke doing everything Vader told him, but he still has to blow up the Death Star in the end.

As I said before, I understand that an impactful choice system exponentially complexifies a game. It's like having to design multiple games in one and weave them all together. It's hard work. But so is realistic physics, dynamic ambient light, interactive environments, multiple character choices, Co-op modes, user designed levels... the list goes on about features of a game that make it harder to make. But designers work on them and do them well. So why don't designers put that kind of effort into the "choice" feature?

Misinterpretation

There is a common misinterpretation that people have about me. They say I lack confidence and seem to think that I need an ego boost.

I would like to clarify.

I am awesome.

It's everybody and everything else that sucks. The last thing I want is for people to pour on condescending and insincere compliments. I'm an average sort of guy with moderate ambitions. I don't pretend that I'm going to be someone big one day anymore. That's all bullshit anyway. There's nothing wrong with being nobody. Most everybody ever has never been anybody.

Well Shit, I'm Old

It just hit me the other day that I am old. I don't need a wheelchair or a colostomy bag, I don't need to watch my diet and get plenty of walks, but I am officially old.

To put it in another way, the world is progressing past me. It's the beginning of being left behind before the inevitable end where you are nothing but a memory. It occurred to me when I was looking for music on the radio. I don't want "Today's #1 Hits" or "Calgary's Hottest New Music" because all that shit is terrible! I look for 80's rock, or usually some sort of grab-bag like Jack has music from the 90s as well. A few days ago at work I switched it to classical because I didn't want to listen to Chad Kruger doing a remix with Nelly featuring R. Kelly and Lil' Wayne about growing up in a small town a missing girls who fuck like panthers but had emotional problems that he overlooked because he has financial wealth. That, ladies and gentlemen, pretty much sums up what new music is and why I hate it.

So, that's it. My days of being a youth are numbered. No more will my generation be defined as a culture of the current music. We are those who stand fast at the edge of the millennium and look out at the musical wasteland. Beneath the shrill cries of underaged girls we breathe;

"Kids these days..."

Backup Strategies

I think the worst thing about backup strategies is that if you have doubts about the success of Plan A, what reason do you have to believe that Plan B will be anymore successful? Plan B is just as capable of failure as Plan A was. So why the hell have a Plan B? Or why not have an infinite regression of alternate plans?

What's worse is when you take a Plan A, swap it for Plan B, because Plan A seems bust, and then when Plan B fails you think you can resort to Plan A as your "Plan B". Well, guess what? It doesn't work that way. When life is in Fail-Mode, no amount of planning in the world can stop it.

My problem with the whole "wing it" strategy is that it lacks commitment. I want to commit. I want to turn things away because I'm already in something. It's kind of like those assignments in school that were completely open. When you can do anything you want, you can't ever think of what you want. There needs to be some restrictions, some limitations. There needs to be boundaries that can be pushed before you're really creating anything. Otherwise you're just making a big fucking mess.

Slim (or less so) Pickings

I have just come to the horrible realization that women are getting married.

There are only a certain number of women in the entire world who are my age. Now, while the acceptable age range grows, availability of women is decreasing at an exponential rate. Women are getting married, turning gay, dying, and becoming bitter, jaded shells of feigned human compassion everyday (see "Independent" Woman, or Female Dick). At any rate, there are fewer and fewer women available and once they're off the market they are almost always lost forever. They are a non-renewable resource until I can be frozen in time and awaken to an entirely new demographic; something which I would be very adamant against. I don't have anything in common with people who were born in 1989. I can't imagine what I wouldn't have in common with someone who were born in 2029.

Part of me says, "Shit, I gotta get on that," but there is the more prevalent problem that women don't look their age. It seems to me that women hit puberty and look anywhere from 15 to 28. Somewhere along the way to 28-hood, they suddenly become much older and fall into the 28-35 range. So I have no way of identifying a woman who is 23 with any degree of certainty that she isn't an old looking 17 year old. Similarly, I have no way of positively asserting that someone who appears to be 28 isn't actually 23.

Perhaps if I can break through the 28 year barrier I can enter a new and wonderful realm of sensible women in their early 30s who look and act their age. Unfortunately, I don't know if, at the age of 28, I'll be able to act mine.

Tax Reasons

I sometimes wonder if the money is worth it. I'm only in classes this semester still for tax reasons. I'll earn more from my tax returns than the classes have cost me if I stay in school. But sometimes I wonder if it is worth it. If I dropped out I could try and work full time and earn all that money back in no time. I guess I've just been trained not to drop out because of how it reflects on one's record (one wonders how my ex's record looks... or even how she managed to withdraw from so many classes in the same program...)

Maybe I just think it builds character to stick things out when they have a definite end. After all, learning never hurt anyone, right? Sometimes I wonder if that's really the case, though.

I guess in the end none of that matters. In a few weeks' time it'll all be over and then next semester will be loads of fun with Zack and then it'll be off to actually do the program I should have done from the start.

Winter Home

So, I'm back in the winter home for, well, the winter. I keep telling myself that I'll have so much more time because I... to be honest, I have no idea how I think I will have more time. Maybe it's just that I'll have more space to spread out. That was my biggest problem back home. It's actually nice to have to enter a different room to play video games after you wake up. It's good to have to walk through rooms to get to things rather than over things to get through rooms.

There is, however, a terrible drawback. I have to start all over again. I need to get my setup right and stock food. I own a bag of crisps and a 7-up. That'll have to last me until breakfast tomorrow. Then hopefully I can buy my weight in groceries.

The biggest change this year will be not having my best friend Thom living so close. I think it might get a bit lonely without hanging out on DnD Tuesday, or bailing on classes for a bro day when the weather is shit. All that space is good for my things, but it could use some friends to fill it out.

Balls.

In a word, Fuck.

In a longer word, FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCKKKK!!

I can't not think about things. It's all fine and dandy to "let things happen," but I just can never not think about what could happen. And then I'm left disappointed when it doesn't. I need a time machine to go back to art school when I was in my first year and do it all differently. I think I wasted my early years worrying about how not to waste them instead of wasting them having fun. Now it seems like I'm too old to have fun. Not that 23 is old, but in the surroundings of almost entirely 18 year olds, I'm ancient.

I guess I have to play catch up on life. Finish school, get a job, and be the same kind of miserable everyone else is. Maybe then I can change it from the inside.

Facebook: The Social Radar System

I've started to notice the total absence of sociability on the Facebooks. It has started to become a weird combination of two things:

1. a training blog
2. a voluntary low-end spy system

It seems we only use it to either post shit we find, think, or feel, or we're scouring it for what other people think, do, or look like. We very seldom talk to anyone other than a forced "It's been a while."

I'm not saying that I'm an advocate for keeping connected with Facebook. If I was I'd be Facebooking all the time and making lots of comments and plans and keeping in touch with all the people from way back when like we always say we will but never actually do. Now I'm finding myself, however, having to keep my head down on the old Facebooks. I suppose it has happened a few times in the past, but it's just an odd feeling. I don't know what is wierder, feeling like I have to keep off the grid or wanting to be on the grid.

For those of you who remember the disasterous Jenn-Charlotte situation, I contemplated quiting the Facebook then. I'm starting to think that it's a not bad idea. Granted, it is a way for people to inform me of things that are happening and for me to look at what other people are up to, but maybe it's time to step up the sociability and kick the network out of this social network. If I want to know how someone is, I should have to try some form of active communication to find out, rather than reconstruct a plausible timeline based on cross referencing photos, comments, and statuses between a number of friends and even friends of friends...

Then again, part of me really likes that. It's like playing Detective. Social Detective. Only like an 8 year old because you don't want to talk to people.

Playing make-believe is fun.

Words and Sounds

As a general rule of thumb, I believe that it is discourteous to produce a sound from your mouth that cannot be spelt.

T'ch is the best facsimile I can use to describe the sound that this girl consistently makes after every mouthful of food she packs into her gob as well as every time she talks, which is entirely too often. It's as if there is residual food in her mouth that she takes every opportunity to suck down. Maybe the noise knocks it loose.

Marvel Decent Alliance 2 2: The Return of Marvel Decent Alliance 2

SPOILER!

It was Ultimate Alliance 1.


God, I'm an idiot sometimes.

Marvel Decent Alliance 2

I haven't rage quit in a while, but UA2 finally did me in.

Who ever thought quicktime events were a good idea? Worse, who thought quicktime events with motion sensors was a good idea? Furthermore, who thought quicktime events with motion sensors and random windows of opportunity so that you never know if you didn't move it the right way or if you were too slow or too fast or if it didn't respond of you're not moving it enough or you're moving it too much or....

You get where I'm going. Beyond that, this game is about as balanced as a Globetrotters/Local Junior High Basketball team mash up. On the one side you have Wolverine, and on the other side you have... everyone else. Wolverine regerates health, causes the most damage, thus kills the most things, thus gets the most xp thus us the strongest character in the party. He's a freight train that never stops. Most of the boss fights include me trying to play my party and having all of them get gang raped because the computer knows who you are and that you'd be pissed if your AI got killed on their own until I'm finally left with Wolverine who runs around and murders everything. Though I wouldn't run into this problem if the AI did something when I was being attacked. But their survival strategy revolves around staying out of the way and not attacking anything.

Here's an example. I put Storm on my team because The Thing got himself killed. I thought that Wolverine could get in there and take the hits while Storm cast down lightning for the back. In the entire duration of a boss fight I saw her use lightning never! Not once! I took control and took down the bosses zipping around the room in 2 minutes. You know what moves I used? Lightning. It's almost as if they are worried that they will run out of power for a time when they'll really need them. Like when we're fighting one single trash mob. It seems like everyone is all over their powers then.

Needless to say, this game is one to save for the never that I will have someone else to play it with. At least I have Arkham Asylum.

The Internet: TV of Our Times

Our children will be defined unlike ourselves. Where we define ourselves from the decade that influenced us the most at the youngest age, our children will be defined by the state of the Internet. Children may one day be recognized by association to a meme. In their teenage years they will regale the wonders of yesteryear that were the events almost self propagated by the Internet; because when you think about it, our children will be the Internet. They will be the creators, moderators, lovers, innovators, and, God willing, destructors of the Internet.

Old People

I know I'm about to sound like "kids these days," but fucking old people.

Seriously, I know that you're old and all, but I don't think we should stand up for their shit any longer. I have places to be and things to do. Life moves fast, and while some things are meant to be enjoyed, some things are meant to get fucking done.

They always say that they were like us when they were young, and that they reached a certain age where they realized none of that matters and that you have to enjoy the little things in life; take your time, no hurry, you'll get there when you get there.

Well I won't fucking get there unless you hurry your old ass up. The reason things don't matter at your age is because you're retired. If lunch takes you all day, what did you miss? Nothing! I have half an hour for lunch and I don't want to spend half of it standing behind you because you can't decide whether you want Homestyle or Grilled chicken. You've had 40 years to decide whether you want Homestyle or Grilled chicken!

If you can't decide then move out of the way. I want a medium Combo #7 with a Fruitopia to go. I'll pay with debit because I know I don't have the change.

Maturation

I must be getting old.

Remember back in the day when you were a teenager and the most important part of a sexy dream is that you totally boned someone? Sort of like how the most important part of a sex scene in a movie was the fact that you saw boobies. But as we grow older we refine our tastes and understand that sometimes less is more. Sometimes an implication is better than a statement (or visual statement, as the case may be). We even come to realize that not getting what we want is often more enjoyable than getting it right away. We no longer have a need for the gratuitousness of sex (on a side note, why is the word "gratuity" used for tips? Shouldn't it be gratituity? I henceforth will object to paying gratuities on the basis that it is completely unnecessary).

I'm not going to go into details about this dream I had. Though I'm sure it is inferred that is was a particularly good dream, I assure you that you assume too much. It was good in the sense that a cup of tea is good compared to the goodness of a Dirty German (French Toasted Cheese and Bacon Pancake Sandwich grilled in Maple Syrup. Don't ask why it's a called that, I don't remember). Again, it wasn't gratuitous.

Some might say that it is boring or sad to have the realism of a dream be not in the vividness of boundless experience but rather in the modesty of situation. While some people have dreams about flying or superpowers or whatnot, I have dreams about attending lectures, volunteering to speak at a seminar, and all my real relationships being exactly the way they are in real life. But in the end, there is always something to be learned, something to be taken away and even shared here on the internet with the people who are even just curious about what I have to say.

From this dream I have learned this: It feels better to be wanted than to be had.

Maybe you can apply this to your lives. I know, much to my chagrin, that I can.

Dinosaurs are awesome but...

Seriously.

New Gen, Same Turok

It seems that the chronic problem with Turok isn't the concept, because if it was I wouldn't keep coming back. The problem with Turok is that every game lacks the ability to direct you when you're lost. This wouldn't be a problem if the levels were open and the objectives clear, but it seems more often than not that I find myself in a clearing with a lot of dead-end off shoots with an objective like "Kill Everything" or "Find the Key" only with the debilitating problem of there being no enemies left and it's a fucking jungle. Often times the section that you are in is connected by a secret gate or tree that can be shifted or passage hidden behind bushes. The problem with this is that the game comes to a screeching hault every few minutes not while you solve a puzzle, but while you decode what a programmer thinks should be the obvious course of action.

What makes this worse is that you have a companion who does nothing but follow you around. Maybe if I've been running around in circles you could do something productive like stand near where I'm supposed to be going. A lot of games give you something like a Bat-sense or Wolverine-sense or Spider-sense or AnimalX-sense to keep the action moving along. Turok has his 1st-person ponder where he holds his guns out directly infront of himself and stands there, or the active-ponder where he holds his guns out directly infront of himself and runs around in a circle about 6 times trying to find a Bowie and Gretel method of getting the fuck out of there.

Or maybe I'm just balls a Turok. Is anyone actually good at it? I'd like to watch them play to get a sense of where the "logic" comes in.

Dear Playstation

I'm sorry that I was so prejudicial towards you in the past. We haven't always gotten along and I know that is mostly my fault. The truth of the matter is you are the most awesome thing in the entire world and I've had more fun with you than I have on just about any other game system.

Your sleek new design, albeit inconvenient, demands well deserved attention. You don't stand upright and you negate the ability to pile anything on top of you; you have forced me to rearrange my desk and use a large portion of it simply to have you, but you are worth it.

PS3, you do not look better than my 360. You don't have the classics of the Wii. You will not play the PS2 games of many years' past. Your controller design is unchanged from an imperfect design. Why do I love you, you ask?

Free downloadable demos.

I was never the kind of guy who downloaded demos for my PC, but this is because my PC is used for so many other things. It has videos and word processors and design programs and entire games loaded on to it that never look as good as they could and play rather choppily. For a machine that cost two grand, my computer started to suck awfully fast.

But you, Playstation, are, by definition, designed for playing. And so I play. Some of your demos are not fun at all (Condemned 2, although scary, was hard to control and all too easy to get killed by something you couldn't see. Maybe your demo shouldn't be the level where your character is drunk. Maybe I just think 1st person shooters are lame). Some of your demos are so fun that I want to buy them when I otherwise would not (X-Men Origins was beyond fun, Wet was surprisingly entertaining, Conan is a $14.99 discount buy). This last point is the most brilliant marketing strategy ever, especially for a more consumer conscious culture.

I don't want to take a $70 risk on a game that I don't know that I will like. If I were to buy Conan at its opening price, I would be disappointed and be less likely to buy a new game before I let it become preowned and dropped in a discount bin, or if it was a good game, wrapped in a "classics" package 3 years later. I would not buy X-Men, but now probably will. I would not even consider Wet, though now I will shop around for it. And I wouldn't have bought these demos if they hadn't been free, either.

This is why I love you, Playstation. I love you in the worst way. You make me want to spend money on things you've shown me I will enjoy, and I thank you for it. I see the marketing plan and I don't fall victim to it, I support it.



Thank you to those of you who made me buy one.

Desensitized

I've come to the conclusion that people are twats and desensitization is a good thing. This is not to be confused with bastardification.

Let me give you an example. We eat me, or at least a lot of us do. That meat comes from a living, breathing, and yes, thinking and feeling animal. It wants to live and hurts when it is killed. This is a fact of life. It's the food chain. We kill things and we eat them. Being humane isn't about not doing what we're designed to do because something gets hurt. Being humane is about being respectful for the life that ended to keep yours going. Look at most wild animals. A dog will shake the bejesus out of its prey to break its neck. A cat will go for the jugular to bleed it out as fast as possible. Given the tools that they have, this is a very good way to do it. It is the humane way to do it.

So understanding that animals are killed, bled out, cut into pieces and shipped to your grocer is something that I think is positive quality. Being able to see it and watch it and understand its necessity (for what portion of the process is entirely necessary. I do understand that a degree of slaughtering animals is a cost/time analysis) makes us better people because it keeps us from being ignorant. Enjoying it is another story. That's being a bastard.

That being said, if watching that sort of thing turns you off meat all together, then you're appropriately sensitive. What bothers me is the people who are bothered by killing animals but are comfortable eating them. It's the cold truth about the world that allows us to demand to make it better. If you disagree with killing animals but want to eat them then I urge you to tell someone how to kill animals without it being uncomfortable for you. The fact is, you can't do it. And if you say, "oh, just wait for them to die on their own" be prepared for less meat to cost way more. Animals that die on their own die in one of 4 ways, in order of likelihood:

1. killed by another animal
2. get sick and die
3. die in an accident,
4. or die of old age.

The maximum yield of meat from these events is thus

1. none (another animal ate it)
2. none (it's diseased. Unless you want to eat "we think we cooked what killed it out of it" beef)
3. variable (depends when you find it)
4. about half of what it could be (ever notice how old people are a lot skinnier than younger people?)

So stop whining about how we have to kill animals while you're busy grilling up another delicious steak. It's the circle of life.

If you don't like the meat debate, how about the encouraged desensitization we go through constantly? What about war? You can't watch an animal be killed for food but you can support the slaughter of a nation of people who aren't even necessarily fighting a cause, but are defending their country? How about our desensitization toward our fellow man? We hear about countless violent crimes every day and all we do is lock our doors. If you gave a shit about "humanity" you'd do something to stop it. If you cared about every life you wouldn't only be looking out for yourself. Start a neighbourhood watch. Investigate the crime. Make sure these criminals are put away. Feed the hungry. House the homeless. Hell, start small and give those cold bastards waiting for the bus a lift in your toasty 8 seater SUV.

Oh, I forgot you're doing your part by having a "fuel efficient" SUV. You're a real humanitarian.

Finishing Early

Finishing Early is the cure for everything. Bad knee? Finish work early. Got dumped? Finish work early. Bullet wound? Finish early.

No matter what's going wrong, finishing things early always makes me feel great. It just fills me with so much energy. Maybe it's that I'm getting things done, maybe it's that I have more time off than I thought. Whatever it is, it feels good.

Be Married

I just finished catching up with one of the few people I met last year at school. When I first met her I thought to myself "now here is a very attractive, smart, cheerful, bright, all around positive woman my age and she's sitting down next to me and talking to me. This can't be happening."

I soon found out in that semester that she was engaged to be married this past summer. After that, I had no problems talking to her. There really wasn't anything for me to be nervous about. There wasn't anything on the line.

I tried to work myself up to talk to this other girl in the same class. Well, the day I was going to ask her if she wanted to do something was the day she stopped coming to class. I emailed her and asked her what was up and suggested that we get together. She said we should and we back and forth'd a bit, and then I never heard from her again.

This is the case of so many single girls. Hook up with a single girl, get rejected. Talk to a single girl, she leaves the class. Friend of a friend, potential lesbian. Primed for a blind date, mysterious disappearance. Try and sit next to a girl in class, she moves to the other side of the room.

My conclusion is thus: Fuck single girls. One of the most fun times I've ever had in my life is stealing a girl from her boyfriend. Yeah, that ended poorly, and the type of girl that'll leave her boyfriend for me is the type of girl that'll leave me for her new boyfriend, but shit, that wasn't so bad, was it? So maybe the plan should be to subvert boyfriend "authority" and steal a girl who is already taken.

For all the talk I do about not wanting to do marketing because I don't like the idea of a competitive market, I sure do like winning. I like being better than someone else. And watching a social dynamic shift in my favour is the highest form of entertainment I have ever experienced.

Maybe I am enough of a bastard for marketing.

Don't Elect Me, I'm a Fascist

So, I'm reading this article and I can't help getting mad. The summary of the article is that a child rapist wasn't executed because he didn't have a good enough vein to give him the lethal injection.

1. It's fucking poison! Who the fuck cares where it goes? Ice the motherfucker so everyone can go home.
2. Is that the only "humane" way to kill a man? Gas his cell and cut him up while he's asleep! Give him CO poisoning, "accidentally" burn his cell block, pay another prisoner to shank him if you don't want the blood to be on your hands.
3. Why the hell should we be treating child rapists humanely? Feed that fucker to the dogs! Have him fight tigers for our amusement! Give the tigers lasers.
4. It's fucking poison! I know this was point 1, but I thought it was such a good point I should mention it twice.

Seriously. If we're worried about hurting criminals' feelings, they're going to take advantage of us. In fact, they are taking advantage of us. We need to fight back by being cruel to the most heinous of our criminals. Come on, if we're putting people down, we might as well make it an unfavourable way to go. If I wanted to die, I could just go rape some kids and get a few years in a Federal Country Club before they put me to sleep forever (not before feeding me the best meal of my life).

Am I the only one who thinks we need to chain these guys together and have them break rocks for no reason for 18 hours a day? I want their lives to be miserable and meaningless. I want them to pray for death, and when it comes I want them to regret that prayer.

I mean, while we're killing people...

And I'm all for killing people.

This Isn't The Life

How do vagrants do it? How do they live without having anything? How can they go from place to place without settling? How can they talk to everyone and yet know no one? I couldn't do it. I can't do it. Without a stable base, I can't even talk to new people. I move between the lives in these halls, careful not to intersect (or perhaps unable to).

I guess I'm tired of getting to know someone one semester, dropping them on Facebook, and then never hearing from them again. Not that I make any effort myself to stay in touch; what is there to stay in touch about? How's life? How's school? How's being married? They're all superficial things. It makes me wonder how sending letters used to work. What do you ask people? What do you tell them? Can you ever really get into the issues? Maybe discussions that would take us minutes took people months. It's a scary thought.

Maybe that's why we all like getting mail. Not bills, or flyers, or emails, but real honest mail, handwritten and addressed to you. It seems to mean more, though I don't know what I would ever write. Maybe nowadays mail is reserved for the things we have to say but have a hard time bringing up or talking about at all.

I guess the problem with letters now is that you only get one shot, and you'll most likely be getting a digital response soon after.

Mankind: A Million Years of Luck and Survival by Fisher Price

So, my younger brother is having a baby. We've been doing renovations and decking out the house with stuff and places for the baby. While I was at the grocery store my mom pointed out how gigantic the baby stuff section is. It covers 80% of the wall, two aisles thick.

My first thought here was, "how the fuck did mankind ever survive without all this crap?" What did we do before $30 baby pillows and $40 baby outfits and $60 baby toys and $300 baby boxes?

$300?! For a baby box?

For those of you who are unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, break it down a minute.

It's a box. A box that you put your baby in. You slept in one, I slept in one. I think they call them cribs, but I'm pretty sure that's what gangstas call houses. And they seem to cost just as much. It's like a scale version of a house with equally scaled cost, only you don't get a yard or bathrooms or outlets because your baby isn't an equally scaled version of a person.

My point is that for $300 I'm going to make my own fucking baby crate! I don't remember the one I grew up in and neither do you. And if you do, you certainly didn't care that it was $300.

I think a lot of people scoff at the cheapness of that plan, as if it were unthinkable that someone would put a baby in a non-professionally handcrafted wooden cage. Perhaps the precision engineering yields to the child superior growth and mental ability. Perhaps its finely tuned aesthetic design that has been passed down for generations soothes the child into a more restful state. Perhaps they imbue the very materials with ancient magicks in the factory which can never be replicated. Or perhaps it's just an overpriced box that you keep your kid in until you have to throw it out because your kid needs a bed in a few years.

Time Makes Fools Of Us All

I wish I had some evidence to back this up, but I couldn't risk it.

We all know what happens to eggs when they get old. They go off. Well, what happens when you let an egg go off for an eighth of a century?

That's right, twelve and a half years.

Okay, that's an estimate because truthfully, I don't know how old it was. How did it not stink horrifically and decay over the years? A protective layer of decorative glue and tissue papers; the kind that would be applied by a young child at Easter.

Yep, that was me, from an Easter many years past. I discovered it while going through old things recently. So what happened to it? The inside rattled, as if it contained a ball. The yolk, but with nothing left surrounding it.

But what the hell was I going to do with that? So I threw it away; and some more junk too. One item hit the egg and cracked it.

Oh Christ, the smell.

So I tied off the trash and chucked it. But what I did see was a charred black ball splitting to expose the chalky yellow yoke that once was.

Part of me wants to redo the experiment.

An Old Man's Proverb

The other day an elderly gentleman gave me some words of wisdom that I found simply fantastic. He said to me, "I learned a long time ago that the only one who can ruin your day is you."

I think this is brilliant. Never let life get you down. Things are always going to suck, but you have to enjoy what you've got. I know I've ruined a few days my getting mad at something or upset about something or being depressed about something that isn't happening. After the fact (though I may blog about it) it's really nothing worth mentioning or thinking twice about. In the end, I'd be better of to be cool and have myself a good day.

But on the other side of that, as I have also discovered more recently, no one can make your day like someone else. It's really hard to do something yourself that makes you specifically happy. Maybe it's a modesty thing, but when you make yourself dinner, you don't care. But when someone makes you dinner, you appreciate it. Little things that others do do so much to make my day. I'm sure that door swings both ways.

Keep it swingin', readers.

People I Hate

1. Money droppers. Fuck you. You can hand me your money, or you can place it on the counter, but don't fucking throw it at me. I should start throwing change back.
2. In-your-facers. You have a question, not something to prove. Your toes shouldn't touch mine when we are talking. It's not like you have a secret or we're trying not to wake the baby. We can talk at arm's length.
3. "Where's the _____?" Just the opposite of the above. Shut the fuck up. If you haven't looked, try having a glance at our handy aisle signs. If you are still unsure, kindly approach an employee and ask. Notice how that did not include "yell from the other side of the store."
4. Retards and the Pompous. First, don't tell me what shit is, what shit isn't, or what shit is supposed to be. It is what it fucking is. Don't come into my store and ask, "Hey, bro, where the cold beer at?" because we don't fucking have any. We've never had any. In the who knows how many decades this store has been open, we have never had cold beer. Are you fucking new to this? If so, politely ask if we have cold beer, and I will politely tell you we don't, never have, and never will so long as we live. Secondly, don't assume like wine is common knowledge or that you're so much fucking better for drinking it. When I say, "no, I don't really drink wine" don't keep asking me how they fucking taste. They taste like grape juice that's gone bad! It's a fucking retail job. It's like the people who expect cashiers to know the posted price of every product in a giant store. What, do you think I go home every night and try a new bottle of wine so I can have a professional opinion on it? It's like asking a cashier at the grocery store if the fish is any good, and when they say "yes" you ask if the chicken is better! You should know which you like better! These people clearly make me the maddest.
5. That fucking foreign bitch from today.

Foreigner (from another country, not the band): Ackskuse, Ihk'm lüking fohr jus, hkelp in wit it chippe botil... wïne. Und eeehhh...
Me (while at the till finishing running someone through): I'm sorry, what was that?
Foreigner: "Hkelp!" You dohn't no vat hkelp iss?!
My brain: Fuck you! You don't know what "get ze fuck out" iss? Schnell!
Me: ....
Foreigner: Chippe botil wïne.
Me: How much are you looking to spend?
Foreigner: Chippist botil.
Me: The Rossini. Right (fucking) here.
Foreigner: People (motions with hands) drink it?
Me: People mostly use it for cooking-
Foreigner: Cookink! What people drink? Vat else?
Me: We have Barefoot, red and white, $8.39.
Foreigner: Vat?
Me: Barefoot. $8.39. Aisle 4.
Foreigner: Where?!
Me: Aisle 4.
Foreigner: Vat?
Me: 4. Aisle 4.
(I go to help another customer at the till)
Foreigner: Vat khind?
Me: Barefoot. Aisle 4. Red and white.

I mean, jesus fucking christ, woman. You yell at me for not hearing you mumble behind my back and you can't comprehend one fucking word that comes out of my mouth! What's worse, she walks her cart down aisle 3 and makes a 15 minute phonecall! The icing? She didn't buy the fucking Barefoot after 45 minutes of shopping.

I don't know who you are, where you came from, or where you're going, but I hope you go die in a fire.

The Term "X-Factor"

Stop using it. You sound like a douche.

Blag to the Basics

With an hour break to eat between Philosophy and Physics (why are the Ph- classes always either dreadfully boring or exceptionally awesome?) I should be conducting more consistent blogging. It's not really the hour break that's doing this, but the hour break with no one around.

That's been the anticipated biggest problem with going back to school; I am now on average 4 years older than everyone else. That's an entire presidency. Although I am an adult and 4 years doesn't seem like that much time, these kids are 19... Four years ago they were 15. When I started sleeping with girls, they started liking girls. How fucked up is that? Not that I'm interested in people who started liking girls, but think about the first girl you liked. Now think about the first girl you slept with. Now think about them at the same time. If this is arousing, I would kindly ask you to no longer be associated with me (that, or shit, dude, you were one academically focused little motherfucker).

But I can still get past that. What I can't get past is that all these girls here are in High School 2: I Can Do Who I Want, Mom! I thought Lethbridge was bad for being high school all over again, but we all seemed to grow up in our time there.

I feel like an amateur anthropologist in this food court, observing these ex-children/pre-adults (protodults, if you will). But I can't form any conclusions other than that I don't fit in at all. To boil it down, we have nothing in common. I'm not in a program, I don't know how long I'll be here, we come from many different places and live in many different areas and do many different things. That's what I miss about Lethbridge. People lived on the West Side. We were all in there for the long run. We ate at the same places, we drank at the same bars, we hung around on campus for hours on end because we had nothing better to do. I saw someone I knew every day at school down there. I've seen people here that I've seen before. So far, no one that I've talked to (save for Zack, who I came specifically to have lunch with) I have seen again. And I don't think I'll ever build those relationships with people here like I did in Lethbridge. Maybe it's who they are, maybe it's who I am, maybe it's just who they aren't.

Marketing Mishap

I think the guys at Koodo needed to stick to one marketing plan. That, or they have a very precise list of questions they feel the need to answer at the end of their radio commercials.
Perhaps it went a little something like this:

Customer: So, gentlefolk of telecommunications, why should I purchase your particular cellular telephone service?
Koodo: Say "no" to big billification!
Customer: Ah! What with the clever made up words and all. I understand. Thank you, obnoxious teenage girl brigade. But since I am in the market to acquire telecommuncative means I have no way to contact your services. Is there an alternate course?
Koodo: koodomobile.com
Customer: The internets! The "dot com" tipped me off. Though there still remains one fundamental question: By what moniker should I herald thee so that others shall follow in my path?
Koodo: Koooooooooooooodo.
Customer: Thank you Mrs. Motorola Man. Tell him I said, "Hello, Moto," too, and a good kooooooooodo to you as well.

Seriously, that's way too many catchphrases crammed into the end of one commercial. And when I say one commercial, I mean all of their commercials. Maybe I just need to stop listening to the radios, but I fucking hate those commercials.

Inglorious Basterds: An Apt Title

Yes, they were bastards. And no, they were not glorious.

Yet somehow I was surprised by the complete lack of Basterds in this film. I knew they were Inglorious. I knew it was Tarantino. But somehow I was convinced that there would be a lot more from the characters.

I guess I'm finally realizing that Quentin Tarantino is a party platter. He's the variety pack; the summer sampler. His films are simultaneously extended movie trailers and at the same time the antithesis of movie trailers. You get a lot of little bits that make you want more, but it's all stitched together with prolonged dialogue.

That being said, it is a film that's worth taking another look at. Another five looks at, even. Pulp Fiction left us wanting more Jules Winnfeild, more Vincent Vega, more Butch Coolidge, but we satiated that need through repeated viewings. We grew to appreciate these characters based solely on what was given us and we learned that more is not necessarily better. (see Death Proof and the same fucking actors playing the same fucking parts just with different fucking names so they could kill them all a-fucking-gain!) With more Butch comes the cost of less Vince. More Vince means less Jules. More Jules, less Butch. It's a vicious cycle, but somehow we get The Wolf and Macelus Wallace rolled in there too (Uma Thermon does nothing for me) while maintaining a balanced film that gets across the point that life is all sorts of fucked up.

Fast forward to the Basterds. Could we have had fewer extreme closeups for no reason? Yes. Could we have had more Basterds? Possibly. Could we have had less of everyone else? Well, that's up for debate. The opening scene takes for-goddamn-ever, and the first time, as Tarantino ironically enough explains to us in the lengthy beginning of Resvoir Dogs, hurts, like a virgin. But after that, you begin to warm up to it. You see where things are going and the anticipation for what you know is going to happen is what keeps you excited. Before you know what's going to happen, you have boredom and confusion. Some people like to figure movies out, like a crossword puzzle, where the more you pick up on, the closer you are to knowing how it all turns out in the end. Tarantino films are like solving someone else's crossword puzzle... from another table... while you're having coffee with someone. You really have to work to know what's going on. But after you know where everything goes, like say watching someone complete yesterday's crossword puzzle, you being to see the amusement in watching the traps and folleys and struggles of the crossword puzzler. After knowing understanding why Tarantino does the things he does, the film becomes much more interesting to watch.

Would I pay another $12.50 to see this movie again? Well, I didn't pay for it tonight, but the point is I wouldn't pay by the viewing anymore. Maybe when it's in the 2 for 20 bin at HMV I'll pick it up and have another look. I might just grow to like those Basterds a lot more.

Muscular Discrimination

One thing I never claim to be is a biologist. So it is of little wonder that I'm confused about how the human body works.

Why is it that some muscles are meant to be worked and some muscles are meant to be left alone? I thought that muscles were muscles and when you worked them they got stronger. I mean, way back when people put their backs into it.
(pause for laughter)
And back then, these people were referred to as "strong backs." But it seems these days your back will only get worse and working your back will lead to "bad back." But none of your other muscles do that. You don't have people at the gym telling you not to lift that with your arms. Hell, people tell you to lift with your legs and then preach about how you're not supposed to strain your knees! How the hell do you lift with your legs and not your knees?

So if anyone is, or knows of, a biologist, please explain to me why my back isn't meant to be used, but all my other muscles need to go to the gym and work for no reason whatsoever!

The Faster and The Führer(ious)

Am I the only one who thinks this would be the best film in the franchise?

It's late

Colin James from the 80s looks like Tobey Maguire and Michael J Fox rolled into one.

I don't think it's a bad thing.

You're drunk

Get of your fucking high-horse and admit it.

Is it just me, or does anyone else notice when people (drunk people) will give you that "oh, I'm not drunk" bullshit? I mean, come on. You've been drinking; you're drunk.

Of course there's a scale to it, but once you're "tipsy" or whatever word you want to use, you're in drunk-town, pal. You've crossed the city limits and you're either on the party bus in or the sleep train out. So why can't you just admit it?

I admit it all the goddamn time! I'll have a few drinks and if you ask me I will straight up tell you "yeah, I'm a little drunk," because I don't understand why you would think that you could, or want to, hide the fact that you've been drinking!

Dear Those People,

Shut the fuck up.

One word.

Broga.


*not this

I forgot how fucked up everything is out here...

Have things always been so complicated? Has the world always been this way? Maybe we were just too young to understand, or maybe we were too distracted to see it, but the world sucks. But not in a Captain Planet/starving kids in Africa/social injustice/ongoing communist threat/McDonald's deficiency in undeveloped nations kind of way. The world sucks on a personal level.

Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I'm starting to wonder if all the good things in life just make us ignore the bad things. Have a pint and forget about work. Eat and forget about the one that got away. Fuck and forget the disease. Are these the things that make life enjoyable, or are these the distractions?

I suppose a lot of things are inevitable. Maybe forgetting what you cannot change is as good as abolishing it as long as there is nothing you can do about it. Maybe distractions are productive.

We can't be purely hedonistic, but we can't dwell on everything. Where do we draw the line?

Independence

I think the word is lost on many people. We think of Independence Day, both the film and the actual day, we think of freedom, we think of liberty... but none of these things actually have to do with independence.

Let's take a look at the word: In-, the prefix that negates the following: -dependence, as in being dependent. Those are pretty awful definitions, but you can see my point. Independence is not about telling people to fuck off because you can do what you please. Independence Day is about fighting off tyranny and oppression or some shit like that. For Americans, this is about beating the bad guys and standing up for what's right. For people who know the meaning of the word "independence" it is about no longer being dependent on another party to help you function.

To this respect, there is no Independence Day. It is a false holiday. America gained its sovereignty, but it is largely dependent on even more of the world than when it started as a colony. So the next time you think about blowing something up to symbolize your nation's "independence" ask yourself just what part of China those fireworks came from.

The One

You know, the idea that there is just one perfect person out there for you, while romantic on the surface, is a just a sign of one's inability to commit.

Commitment isn't being with the perfect person; that's just logic. Commitment is being with someone who is imperfect and there always being a possibility of someone out there being more. Commitment is making a choice and standing by it. After all, what happens when you meet that perfect person the day after your wedding? What happens when you meet them twenty years later and you have kids with someone else?

If you believe in "the one," then you either have to cut and run, or live the rest of your life in the misery of knowing that you'll never be with "the one."

Personally, I just want a good one.

The Oracle at Wendy's

So, I went to Wendy's for dinner tonight. The girl at the till was cute, efficient, and very friendly. That in and of itself made the visit memorable.

I sat down in one of the lonesome corners of the restaurant to eat. From across the restaurant I heard a voice say, "I know him. I know him."

I was amused and wondered if perhaps I was known by someone in the dining area. I didn't know anyone, but maybe someone knew me. Perhaps, I thought, someone knew me without ever meeting me before. Perhaps someone was telepathic.

I always liked the idea of someone being telepathic. The idea that someone can know you inside and out and you have no control over it is both scary and refreshing. Secrets are like life in that sense. Sure, you should protect them, but you can't stop a telepath any more than you can stop the Grim Reaper. So why not think your thoughts? Why not communicate via your brain. It's not like it's embarrassing, because either no one is telepathic and you're just thinking, or someone is telepathic and you're communicating with them.

So I thought to myself,'What if he knew my name? Maybe he could be telepathic. Maybe that's how he knows me. Give me a signal if you know me. Give me a message that you understand. Give me some sort of sign.'

Nothing. We all continued to eat.

My mind moved on. I was texting around and having some laughs. And in the middle of a text, I hear a child nearby say 'goodbye.' It was the voice who knew me. Right there at the edge of my table was this 6-year old child who walked across the restaurant away from his family to say goodbye to me and no one else. I smiled and said goodbye to him too. He said to me, "My friend is in black car," in the way that children tell you the important things in their life, like "I'm real good at soccer," or "I have a Batman;" they have the calmest enthusiasm ever. I didn't understand, so I asked him where his friend was again.

"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"He's in black car."

That's when his slightly older sister came to collect him. The boy refused to leave, his tiny hands locked onto the edge of the table. He just looked at me. As brief as the moment had been the moment ended when his mother called from the aisle that it was time to stop bothering the nice man.

"Bye."

I know it sounds ominoius and eerie, but it didn't sound like that at the time. He was just talking in the wonderfully happy, matter-of-fact kind of way that young children do. But why me? Why from all the way across the room? I never even acknowledged him when he said he knew me.

I don't know who is in the black car, but that's the sign.

How did you manage to do that?

Love is like getting your head stuck in the back of a chair. It's always easier to get into it than out of it. You also never know exactly how it happened.

We're a stupid lot

Regret is like a hangover. You wake up after what you feel was a wonderful night and you ache. You vow never to drink again, never to fall into the folly of what was once your ways. You never want to hurt like that ever again. But the opportunity arises once again to feel something wonderful and before you know it, it's the next morning and you feel regret once again.

Alive

Goodness gracious me. That was one drunk blog last night. I'm lucky to be alive.

A night out.

My brother got married today.

We drank, we laughed, we drank some more.



I want to work at the bank. We went down to the Met afterwards and I tried dancing, but I couldn't get into it. I don't want to dance with some stranger at a bar. What's the point. I looked out the window and saw the bank. I though to myself, "I want to drink me drink because it is Friday, but I want to got to work on Monday morning in my suit and tell people the way that I think the world should be run.

It's weird that the prelude to a marriage if fraught with me thinking that love is above all else in my life and that I wish that I could believe in something more. Yet after the marriage I went out and thought that there was something beyond love that I could want out of life; and that love and a career can occur at the same time... but not tonight.

Tonight, I was a man divided. Though I am always there for my brother, I may also always be caught up wondering about my own life. I wonder, though I don't envision a day like today being held in my honour, if we have a future. I wonder if I can let myself share this, and if you can share this with me. I wonder why tonight no other girl, not in all of their makeup, not in their fanciest dress, not with copious amounts of liquor, and not in the loverly mood of a wedding, I wonder why not one girl could compete with a simple phone call.


Not one.




But, alas, here's to the bride and groom. I hope that I will find my way as you did yours.

Beards: The Public Pubic Hair?

Okay, okay, I know you're all thinking "but you have a beard. And more importantly, I have a beard!"

This is largely true (some of you may not be able to grow beards). But let's look at the facts, shall we?

1. Beards and pubic hair both start growing at puberty.
2. Beard hair is unlike head hair, much like pubic hair is unlike head hair.
3. Both yield a very good scratch when you have an itch.
4. You can experiment with making fun designs in them.
5. Proper maintenance is important.

Now you're thinking "yeah, okay, maybe, I guess. But it still doesn't sound very good." And, if you're a woman, you- I'm sorry, first let me welcome you to the blog - if you're a woman you're possibly thinking "but I don't like beards."

Here's what the problem is. A man grows a beard at puberty and separates himself from the boys. A woman grows pubic hair at puberty and separates herself from the girls. By removing the hair of our puberty we only attempt to emulate our childhood. First off, how sick is that?! We all know that every man is some percentage of a paedophile. If you say you've never looked at an underaged girl you're lying or a woman. But what about the women that desire men to emulate prepubescent boys? If a woman said that she shaved her pubic hair because it was expected of her we would be outraged, right? Who is a man to expect a woman to shave to look like a prepubescent girl? Yet women have conjured up this social expectation that men should have to remove their beards. What's worse is that some men reinforce this idea!

Now, I'm not saying that I'm opposed to anyone's removal of any of their hair (other than entire eyebrows... I just don't get that) but no one, man or woman, should feel obligated to remove a natural part of their adulthood, nor should anyone be told that they need to, or even that they should.

Now, I know what you women are thinking. First of all, I'd like to thank you for reading this far. Not only am I excited to have your readership, but look forward to seeing some feedback in the comments.

But like I was saying, I know you women are thinking "but we put our faces on your face and it's itchy/scratchy/krusty etc. You don't put your f-"


Oh really?

Racism: It's Not Black and White

I try really really hard not to be racist. When you come into my store and stick a bottle of whiskey in your pants, I try really hard to believe you when you say you put it back while I was walking from the security camera to the liquor aisle. But when you ask "is it policy to search every black guy who comes in here?" I think "no, it's my policy to stop petty thieving fuckwits while I'm busy earning a living."

Oh, and when you get your two latino goons to come help suckerpunch a store clerk, I'm not judging you by the colour of your skin, but by your complete lack of character.

The whole experience got me thinking, though. Perhaps racism is part of healthy discrimination. On the outside, that looks bad, but it's important to understand what discrimination is. Discrimination is eating sealed candy at Halloween opposed to the free candied apples from the man on the street with the trenchcoat. Discrimination is sticking to the well lit streets than the dark alleys. Discrimination is hanging out with your friends in a crowd. Discrimination is voting one political candidate over another. Discrimination is the very foundation of our way of life. So, when you're punched in the gut for trying to stop a black guy from leaving with the bottle of whiskey stashed in his drawers, the hindsight reads that you should have been a little more discriminatory.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that racism is the only way in which we should discriminate. Far from it. One of my favourite customers is black. I love that guy! But he's an older, more respectable, and all around less suspicious guy. So upon judgement of his clothes, his age, his social standing, being black doesn't even factor into the equation. But when some teenage asshole comes in with pants off his ass and a hoodie two sizes too big, being black factors in. White assholes with big hoods and low pants are just trying to look cool when in truth they are just idiots; not to mention if they are stealing, they give up when you catch them.

I hate having to say that racial stereotypes are true, but they can be when combined with the right circumstances. Just the same, you can tell all the white kids who are bootlegging, drunk, on drugs, and/or trying to pass off fake IDs to some extend by virtue of their whiteness. I assume this because the only drunks, drug users, (obvious) bootleggers and (again, obvious) fake ID users are whiter than a 10 piece McNugget meal.

So, this is the part of the blog where I'd normally try and suggest ways to end racism or steer it in a more positive direction. But until the numbers balance out, I think racism is here to stay. I'm sure I'm discriminated against for the clothes I wear, the people I associate with, the car I drive, the things I pay for, and the blogs I write. But if I had a problem with it I could take actions to change the way people look at me.

My first change to deconstruct racism would be to not steal shit or punch store clerks.

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men,
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

I think we're all missing the point of this nursery rhyme.

If I were to give you the rhyme:

A man once lived in indecision,
His heart divided with great precision,
He finally succumbed,
The devil had won,
And it was all out of the king's jurisdiction.

you wouldn't think "Oh, well it's obviously about eggs. Devilled eggs, right?"

No, you'd see the collapse of a man that could not be saved by the king. No eggs. Now, obviously these two rhymes are similar, but not entirely the same. Mine is about the folly of bureaucratic law, whereas Humpty is about the ineptitude of so called power; not eggs.

Now, I have come across another version that reads:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
Threescore men and threescore more,
Cannot place Humpty Dumpty as he was before.

Now, this makes more sense as a riddle, only a riddle with "egg" as one of thousands of possible answers. Why not pie? In fact, it makes more sense to rest a pie on a wall to cool than to put an egg on a wall. And anyone who has ever dropped a pie would know that sixscore (I don't know if my -score math is correct on this) men couldn't fix a floor pie to look like a normal pie.

Though, I'll admit, after reading some other Mother Goose rhymes again, I can't say I've figured out what they're about either.

Fight or Flight

So when is the appropriate time to fight for someone you love? We often here the phrase "if you love her, let her go," though I often think that's "dude, she's such a bitch!" in disguise. That or "you're being such a bitch and I don't want to hear about it anymore."

But what about Love? There is always that mentality that we must fight for the things we love, especially when it comes to women. Why especially with women? Because women are confusing. Women want you to fuck off out of their lives as much as they want to still be friends. So when a girl tells you she likes you and thinks you're great and doesn't want to be in a relationship with you and goes and fucks around with another guy but still wants to be friends... where does that leave you? It's like hooking fingers together while you're at the park, arm's length apart, while she's making out with some other dude. Stay close, don't go away, but idle while I'm with someone else.

Maybe we're not supposed to be idle. Maybe this is one of those things where she doesn't want you to be idle and the other guy is a test of how much you love her. But by "proving your love" you either have to be a total asshole and try and break them up, or you have to careen down the road to the Friend Zone where you and your girl will be reunited in love... totally platonic love.

I think about 1% of the female population sees the problem with that. It's like selling your independent record label to Viacom so they can throw out everything you've ever produced and start over under the guise of an independent label. Sure, your label still exists, but with all of the soul and heart dissected from it. It'd be better to just let it die (or better yet, find other options and fight through the rough patches, but hey...).

There must be some sort of line that separates when you should fight and when you should let her go. It's probably the same line that separates persistence and creepiness. The movies always tell you that persistence pays off and that those who fight for their love will win their love back. But reality seems to always favour the other side. Persistence will get you peppersprayed and fighting will destroy everything you once had or leave you stranded in the Friend Zone.