A limited access to the internet

I would blog more if I could blog from anywhere. It seems like 140 characters is too short for a complex thought, but sometimes I have complex thoughts while I'm at work (sometimes). I think it feels weird to write a blog post on a piece of paper and then transcribe it to the internet later. It kind of loses the point of what most blogs are about: venting on the internet.

I don't think I'm alone on this, but I feel like the future isn't coming fast enough. There hasn't been a scientific development where our generation has been able to say "no fucking way!" Maybe we're spoilt, and when something comes up like a touch screen handheld media player that can access an entire world of information from satellites we only think "hey, neat" or "if I don't have that I will be unpopular." Sometimes, I'll admit, we can really sit down and be wowed by the world we live in, but for the most part, where the fuck is my reliable voice-to-text app that will let me remotely update my blog from my lunchtime musings? Or a printer that can withstand more than the movement of it's own printer head without breaking, for that matter.

Big Brother Needs To Get To Work

I'm sick of this shit, guys. People can trace my IP, copy my debit card, and find my name, address, and phone number all without any trouble. The police have me on record for my heinous exiting my old high school after lunch break. The system has a credit history on me a mile long (that's the system, not just the bank). I have folders in different medical facilities that contain my medical history and information. But despite all this, Alberta Education doesn't have my grades.

I've got an Alberta Education number! I've taken my tests and I was assured that they were taken to our provincial capital for review. I attended a university inside the province. On top of that, I sent all of my information to Mount Royal the first time I applied! So here is my question:
Why is it so goddamn hard for post-secondary institutions to just look up all my information their goddamn selves?

My argument can be broken down into three simple arguments:

1. My information exists somewhere. Just link it all to my Alberta Education number. I can get all my transcripts sent anywhere I want from that anyway (it just costs me money)
2. Everyone else has me on file in some way. Safeway keeps track of how many bags of corn chips I eat per week, and the government can't keep track of sum of my educational achievement expressed simply as single page of grades?
3. a) How can an accredited institution such as MRU or UofC not be trusted with access to view my grades, and b) even if they can't be trusted, what malicious acts could they commit with knowing numbers of things that I did once? What? Are they going to feloniously report my aptitude?
4. (Bonus argument) They don't even accept a transcript that I give them! They need to get the information directly from my previous post-secondary institution- correction: They need to get me to get them the information directly from my previous post-secondary institution.

In conclusion, I'm sick of educational institutions that clearly recognize each other who refuse to communicate with each other independently. It's as if they make all the hoop jumping mandatory to prove that you're devoted to going to school. As if the application fees aren't enough to prove we're serious, we've also done post-secondary before and aren't shitheads fresh out of high school, but we're still harassed the most.

Thanks for making my continued education easier, Alberta. I'll be sure to try to find work in BC.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

God's Playbook

So, I've been thinking about God and what a total bastard He is. I mean this in the most endearing way possible, because, quite frankly, He's good at what he does. He especially likes to fuck with me when it comes to the ladies. If they're not married or leaving me for someone else or disappearing completely or giving me the bait and switch or just completely reluctant, there is always something else God will think of to make my life miserable.

However, He hasn't directly played the lesbian angle. This really surprises me. Perhaps it is entirely too much of a roadblock for me. If a girl is a lesbian then there is no reason whatsoever that we should be together, so the problem is solved before it starts.

But what I really have here is a challenge for God. Yes, you heard me. I challenge you, God.

Send to me one gorgeous bisexual girl to which I will connect on a multitude of levels, wait for me to fall for her, then pull the rug out (to fit with your style, far after it is way too late to go back; probably after a number of occasions of one or more levels of intimacy) and have her ex-girlfriend move back from LA and have the girl (who is now so emotionally open with me that she is comfortable talking to me about something like this) tell me that she wants her girlfriend back. You'll put me in a tough spot and even if I do try and sabotage things, have the ex-girlfriend want the girl back too, so there is nothing I can do. Then put me in the spot of the supportive best friend of a girl I am emotionally intimate with and her equally attractive girlfriend. Now, remember, the key to the success of this plan is that the girls must be completely monogamous. No threesomes. Unless you have a really good followup for that one. I'll let you play around with that one.

God has thrown everything else at me, and this would be the ultimate miserable, torturous situation. If it doesn't happen, logically I can conclude that lesbians are not in God's Playbook.

That's my challenge to you, God.


P.S. We both know who would be a perfect candidate. The history only compounds things. Well, there would be two great candidates, but I don't know if you have lesbification powers.

Life's Too Long or Do Venetians Dream Of Idaho?

A lot of people claim that life is too short to not do things. Ten Places You Have To See Before You Die. Fifteen Things You Have To Do Before You Die. Thirty-Seven Flavours To Taste Before You Die. Eight Types Of Yoga To Eternal Peace (That You Have To Do Before You Die).
Okay, I understand that the modern world has a lot to offer. But what I don't understand is why you have to do it all. Is your life worth less by not doing all these things? Were 18th century Europeans at a loss for never seeing the tremendous flatness of Saskatchewan? Were 15th century Chinese not living life to their maximum potential by not visiting Tokyo? Were 20th century citizens of the world not living their lives to the maximum potential because they had not circumnavigated the globe? Will people of the 21st century be scoffed at while telling their tales of not going to the moon? Where does it end? Why can't we live where we live and be happy with that?

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for exploring, but why do you need to see the things that you think you need to see because people tell you that you need to see the things that they've seen? That's not exploring. That's following orders. That's being obligated to "not waste you short life." It's bullshit.

What doubles this bullshit is the idea that a family will restrict your ability to experience this "exploration" which people claim is synonymous to life. Since when did watching the transformation of the cultures and topographies through the window of a tour bus become a greater marvel than nurturing a child of your own blood from infant to self reliant human being? Since when did studying the details in the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel become more spectacular than watching your own child laugh and live and learn and love. Since when is seeing the Colosseum from a different perspective than the postcards more spectacular than seeing a child's development from the perspective of a mother or father?

My traditional argument is that not having children is selfish. You were a child once. Your parents spent uncountable hours and sums of money raising you. They poured themselves, their hearts and their minds, their very souls into you, and you refuse to pay it forward? How can you refuse to love a child the way that you were loved as a child? But that's not what I'm arguing here.

What I'm arguing is that having children is self-fulfilling and people don't seem to get that. People seem to think that when they're 50, they can still be the spirit of the twenty-something they used to be. They believe that the adventures can never die as long as you don't move beyond your "ideal" age. This Peter Pan notion that we can exist in one state forever is absurd. We change. That is a fact that has been proved by the dozens of photo albums of your past. Go ahead and look. Remember how you used to do your hair? Remember what you used to think was fashionable? Remember your ex? Remember how that seemed like such a good idea?

Yeah, but I'm older now. It's different.

It's not fucking different. You will grow older. You will change. You will never ever be the same. This is the rule of growth. You grow up, you grow old, you grow out. And life is simply too long to have your game plan be "stay 27 forever." You will see the world and you will perform Dhalsimian yoga. You will have a million stories that fall upon deaf ears because your middle aged friends are more concerned about their child's first end-of-year dance and your middle aged friends that pretend they'll be 27 forever are off experiencing the unique flavours of Turkmenistan. Maybe that's the life for you. I'll never understand how someone could be so excited about seeing new things, but never venture into experiencing a crucial aspect of life that is entirely foreign until you commit to it. I think people that feel they need to see the world are as much afraid to take the step from life to death as they are to take the step from child to parent.

It's time to come to terms with life.

Fatherhood, The New Cycle, and Unbalanced Skills

I'm not going to make a very good dad.

Sure, I'll be great when my kids are growing up, but as soon as girls enter their heads, I'm hosed. You see, I have fallen out of the old cycle and into the new cycle of gender relationships. In the old cycle, the women wanted to get married and have children and men wanted to rich and successful. The man that every girl wanted was the one that shared the girls' interests which, at the time, involved family. The rule still applies today, only girls want different things. Maybe they caught on that men were being raised to be loving, caring, and sensitive and didn't want to let things be easy for them. So, as a collective, women decided that the important things in their lives would be having a career (nothing wrong with that) and not having a family (something wrong with that).

I'll explain that last pointed remark. You're you, yeah? You like you, don't you? You wouldn't be you if you didn't exist. You wouldn't exist without being born. You wouldn't be born if you didn't have parents. Your parents wouldn't have been born without their parents. In fact, 100% of the human population that has ever lived is a result of a very long tradition of having a family. Everything in the world exists as a direct result of having a family (for without family, there would be no you or me, and without us, who would there be to enjoy the world? Not to mention there would be a severe deficiency of electric guitars). In short, my argument is that you're awesome and I want to keep the awesome train rolling.

But back to the point. Women want different things. I, however, have been equipped for the old cycle. My skills and interests include cooking, doing dishes, sewing, fixing things, appreciating loved ones, building sand castles, having children and a family that I will love the way my family has loved me. These are things I like because these are the things my dad likes/does. The things I do not like and do not want to do: dancing, going to clubs, "seeing the world before I'm 25", being the right balance of asshole to keep a girl interested, living only for myself... I'll explain all of these:

1. Dancing. I rarely fall down. I run down steep rocky terrain for fun. I can navigate the iciest streets without losing my cool. If I had to choose between being able to command my feet to move in an attractive fashion to the sound of music or be able to trust my feet never to let me down (ba-dum tish), I would choose, and have chosen, the latter. I like listening to music, but it doesn't make me want to wave my arms in the air like I just don't care. I do care. I reserve grace for preventing personal injury, not for wooing girls (though, if I had known it would be such a big thing, I probably would have traded. Somehow girls can adore a klutz that can shake it on the dancefloor, but a man that you can trust will never let you fall in the icy streets isn't worth a second glance.)
2. Going to clubs. It's like drill camp for beginner dancers. Here's a beat. Dance. Do it. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. I don't know where the line is between doing the same move over and over again and acting like you're having a seizure is. Yeah, I know, no one cares how you look. But if you were to, say, trip up the stairs at school, no one would care. You'd still be embarrassed. Club logic fails. Also, you can't get to know someone at a club further than the observation of how she acts at a club.
3. Seeing the world before I'm 25. I'm 22. I have $600 to my name. So, first of all, I can't afford it, and would rather save for a house or a car than say, "I saw Thailand, too!" Not to mention the fact that there is so much to experience at home. What about love and making a place you call home? What happened to finding your place in the world? Why do we feel the need to travel to places with big spiders when you could vacation in Europe occasionally when you're 40? 40, when you can afford a nice meal, a decent hotel, maybe rent a car and see the world on your terms. Sure, you have to come back to your job and the real world, but look at it this way: you come back to a job and the real world. That's called security. I've never understood peoples' fear of security.
4. Asshole. I'll never get it. Sometimes I hate clichés, but when it comes to nice guys and women, they are all so very true.
5. Living for myself. I've never been good at this. Living for me is what I call surviving. Getting by. What's the point of being happy alone? You will die and your happiness will die with you. Your existence on Earth is a moot point unless you do something that benefits all of mankind. If you don't make it into a grade school history textbook, your contribution to society could have been made by any one else. This is sounding very bleak, but that's what I imagine life alone to be. Where's your mark? If you love, you leave your impression on the world with the person you love. If you have children, you live forever through your lineage. Your importance to the world grows exponentially as your children love and your children's children love. So it's not me that is important. It is the person I love that is important. She is worth going to work each day for. She is worth eating properly. She is worth exercise and everything else I "should do for me." If my life doesn't affect anyone, why should I take care of myself? I'm going to end up in the same place.

Where was I? Oh yes, skills. I have husband skills (not to be confused with husbandry, of which I know little). I don't have... uh, attract the ladies skills. It's like being a fully licensed scuba diving deep sea treasure hunter without knowing how to swim. Once I'm down there scubaing I'm okay. It's just getting there that's the problem.

And with absolutely no knowledge or advice in the "be a dick, learn to dance, see the world, don't have a family" department, I'm really not going to be able to equip my kids with the tools to attract girls. I really hope girls change in their 30s.

Maybe if all my children were girls I wouldn't have to worry about it.

I can't believe NBC told me this

Okay, the jist of this one is the folks down at Berkeley have made a data storage system that can hold 250 DVDs worth of information on a quarter sized device.

I'm going to make this short, because no one likes to read a lot: go Future 2!

I hate when technological advancement is "we made it 6% better!"