The Noble Diner

In a dump of a diner, with unswept floors and paint peeling walls, sits a man with no hopes, no dreams and empty pockets. He carefully nurses a single cup of coffee, painfully realizing that every sip he chokes down is another gulp closer to returning to his voided life. Scattered across the table are couch-residing nickels, barely adding up to a tip for the middle-aged waitress with aged cheeks and saddened wrinkles. He's in no rush to finish, as the rain trickles down the window viewing an isolated world. He takes a sip of his coffee, let's the heat warm his cold soul, and spits it back into the mug so he can lengthen his stay.

They won't be waiting for him to return, sleeping peacefully in their beds, warm with dreams of pleasant gardens. They won't anxiously fear for tomorrow because their innocent ignorance blinds them from that turmoil. And she won't be waiting for him either. She'll reach out in her sleep and feel the heat of his body still radiating off the sheets, and she'll smile at her subconscious security.

But the man, sitting alone at his table, eyes fixated on the nothingness of looking down, he knows the truth. He heard the words in that office, felt the weight of that box full of picture frames and paper clips, saw the door close behind him. The man read the words of all those letters and understood the meaning behind their evictions. And though he struggled to grasp the concept of zero when spoken by the woman at the bank, he inevitably learned of its emptiness.

"If only I...if only they could be spared. I'd give anything to stop them from worrying," the man thought to himself.

Across the window stepped a man, dark as could be. He was dressed importantly, as if his business meeting ran late in to the night. His suit, undamped by the pounding raindrops, was pressed precisely, not a flaw on his immaculate black suit. A red, silk tie was the only color his outfit required. The door swung open effortlessly and he sauntered across the stained tiles on the floor, tipped his hat to the waitress and approached the man.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked as he sat down on the opposite side of the booth without waiting for a response. "Heck of a storm, ain't it?"

"Sure is," the man spoke with peculiar curiosity. He pulled his coffee close to his chest, guarding his only possession. "Do we know each other?"

"On a night like tonight, in a place like this, does it matter?"

For the life of the man, he couldn't decipher his words enough to find flaw. "Guess not. Can I help you?"

"Depends. Sure does look like you could use help though."

"How so?"

"A man, sitting alone in a Hell-hole like this in the dead of night. In a place like this, a person's either hiding from God, or from himself." The man in the suit took off his hat, and placed it on the table beside the mug of coffee. Not a drop of rain fell from his outfit as he crossed his hands together on top of the table. "So which is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Which is it? You hiding from God, or yourself."

"I ain't hiding from no one. Just can't sleep is all."

"The mind likes to wander," the man in the suit started, "especially as it unrests on the pillow. Wanders off to crazy places, fiddling with thoughts that don't do you no good. It plays tricks on you sometimes. Makes you think of things you don't have no reason to be thinking of."

The man in the suits' eyes pierced through the man on the other side of the booth, looking beyond any message his eyes could portray. He read the man's face and figured the price of his debt, balancing the man's desperation against his morality. A smirk raised the end of his lip before quickly vanishing again.

"Well which is it for you," said the man. "You hiding from God or yourself?"

"I don't," started the man in the suit, "need to hide from anyone, my friend. Right now I am here with you, and when I leave, no one will find me again until I want them to."

"Friend?" said the man. "We're not friends, I've never met you before."

"Oh, but we are friends. You only don't know it yet."

"What makes you think I'd want to be friends with you?"

"Because friends help each other. Friends know exactly what the other person needs. And friends are willing to give that other person exactly what they need for the sake of their friendship." The man in the suit leaned in closer across the table and turned his powerful voice in to a whisper. "And for you, my friend, I'm willing to help."

"How can you help me? You don't know anything about me."

"But I know about them. I know about them sleeping while you're here, hiding from yourself. I know about them being at peace with the world as you sit here and figure out how you can bare to give them the news. I know you fear the Sun rising and the day come anew, because you know the struggle they will bear because of you, will be unbearable."

The man sat in silence, fighting back tears. His face became red hot and a choking cough in his throat throbbed. He began to shiver and sweat at the very thought of his own failures. He thought of their faces, their beautiful, smiling faces, and how he was no longer able to protect them. To shelter them. They depended on him, and he knew he let them down.

"They relied on you," started the man in the suit. "They trusted you. You were supposed to take care of them. But instead you are here. Wasting your own life trying to figure out a plan. But you want to hear the truth? There is none. They will wake up tomorrow and you won't have a plan."

"But if only I could buy some time. I could stall."

"There is no more time. Your time is over."

The man no longer tried to fight back the tears, and they fell from his cheek on to the table. His nose began to water as his shoulders gently convulsed up and down.

"I know," said the man. "I let them down. They don't deserve this. They didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one that failed. They don't deserve to hold the weight of my failures."

"But I can protect them," said the man in the suit. "I can promise you they will never feel worry. They will never have to fear being without. I can offer them the safety and security you couldn't provide."

"You can? And what would you want in return?"

"You know what I want, friend. You knew what I wanted the moment I walked through that door. You knew what I wanted the moment you prayed for my help."

"And you promise me they will be OK?"

"You have my word."

The man in the suit stood up from the table and extended his hand toward the other side of the booth. For the first time he looked gentle, sympathetic. The man took his hand as they began walking out of the diner and on the road to eternity.

"Please just do me a favor," said the man.

"Name it."

"Allow them to forget about me. Make it so they don't even remember me. I don't want them to be sad another day in their lives."

"The final noble act of the damned. Consider it done."

Wow it's been a while

So I guess it's been quite some time since my last post. It's boggling to realize how much time has passed and how much change has occurred. Some good, some bad. Some happy, some painful. But I guess that's life; right when you think you've got it all figured out, have it all mapped out and planned, life swoops in and blows down everything you've built. Because in life, we don't make house out of brick, but rather sticks and straw. Everything in life is temporary. The good, the bad, the happy and the sad, it's all momentary and it's all changing with every tick of the clock.

So what does it all mean? What am I talking about? Ultimately, and honestly, I guess it really doesn't matter. My words can just be an analogy to anyone's life.

What have I learned? I wish I could say something smart, or clever, or insightful. I wish I learned something deep about my life, but I didn't. Or at least nothing I didn't already know. The entire world I envisioned, the entire life I believed would accompany me throughout my days, decided to turn upside down and inside out. In a heartbeat. A broken one at that.

So yea, what else is new? Same old story; boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy loses girl. It's the theme of every other movie, book and story ever told. It happens to us all at some point. The details are insignificant. And the memories? Maybe not insignificant, but simply thoughts. Because a memory is something to look back upon. Something deserving of remembrance. But these aren't, and not because they no longer hold value, but because these thoughts, aren't memorable in the sense that they deserve to be remembered anymore. The weight they carry is so loaded with whys and whatifs and butonlys.

But that's not what this is about, I've rambled myself into a dark corner. This isn't about the past, because it's gone. And this isn't about the future, because you never actually experience it. It's about the right now. The this moment. The split second that it takes to type out each individual l-e-t-t-e-r. That's really all that has any importance. Sure we can plan, and look back, but neither one is tangible. And therefore don't actually exist. If, like a Looney Toons character, I was hit on the head by a falling Acme anvil, and suffered from amnesia, what once was wouldn't exist at all. And what was hoped for wouldn't even be remembered. All I'd be concerned with was, "which way did he go? Which way did he go?"

I had a point...I think. But it's been lost. My point is now lost in the past, so I guess it really doesn't matter anymore. I could try and stabilize my words by coming up with a new point, but that would be so far into the future, it wouldn't matter and I'd never arrive at it. So I guess my point is whatever I'm saying in each and every sentence. And in this sentence my point has completely shifted.

Where am I going? That's the question I thought to write about. Not where I've been. A question necessitating significant pondering about the future. And we all now how I feel about that. But it helps I guess, as a frame of reference. As a direction to follow, and if you change your course midway, well then that's the road you follow. Robert Frost wrote about taking the road less travelled, but always wondered about his choice. I guess that's human nature, questioning every decision you make, wondering how things could have been. But not me. I don't wish I had done anything differently. I've never wished I took that right instead of the left. I've never regretted a single thing in my entire life. And not because everything has turned out peachy, no quite the opposite. And not because I've succeeded and had no mistakes, failures, or sorrows. But because every decision I have ever made, was made, at that exact moment, because it was exactly what I wanted to do. Sure, the emotions of any one moment could cloud the senses of your own morality at times, but isn't that life. The moment. A mistake in the moment isn't really a mistake until that moment passes. That mistake is you. You are the mistake. Because at that moment, you reasoned with yourself how and why your actions, or words, were exactly what you needed to do or say. People are inherently selfish, or at least self preservers of their own health, wealth, happiness and well being. So every action we make at any moment is out of our own good judgement.

Yet regret is a fickle monster, because even after my own reasoning, I still feel regret. Not because I made a mistake, but because doing exactly what I wanted at several important moments in my life has altered the road I was traveling. Maybe for the best, maybe not. Does it all happen for a reason? I doubt it. Can I change any of it all? Not a chance. Would I change it? Since wishes aren't real and fairy tales don't exist, I guess it doesn't really matter.

All that matters is right now. All that matters is what you're reading, which is the future to me. All that matters is what I'm writing, which is the past to you. All that matters is that what's done is done, not to be remembered and not to be forgotten. All that matters is that at this moment I don't know what my point was. And all that matters is that at this moment, you probably don't know what it was either.

The Day After 2012

December 22, 2012

Dear Diary,

It was horrible.  We all thought the day would be nothing special.  I saw people talking about it on the television.  I knew 2012 was supposed to be a time when everything would change.  I never thought they would be so right...

I remember the screams waking me up.  I thought it was late at night because I couldn't see the sun, but when I looked at my clock, it said 9 in the morning.  I thought of all the people that had to wake up that day and go to work.  I envied them because they didn't have to witness the horrors outside my window.  Without light from the sun, I could barely make out the sights, but the screams were piercing.  Children begged for their mothers and men shouted for help.  Car alarms were blaring and I could see different sections of my town were without power at all.  When I didn't see any rain or clouds in the sky, I wanted to know why the sun wasn't out.  I ran to my balcony and searched the sky, but all I saw was blackness.  And then the sky became green with a flash, and a long, slender beam of light struck the ground.  The beam flickered through the color spectrum and landed in one spot on my street.  Dogs weren't even barking at this point, and I think they knew it wouldn't help.

I threw on a bathrobe and ran downstairs, leaping three steps at a time.  I didn't bring a weapon, and looking back on that morning, I don't think it would have made a difference.  I slowly walked closer to the beam and when I was close enough to stick a finger through, I peered into the sky; it wasn't black anymore.  Lights were flashing and I could see an enormous metal object rotating.  The object seemed to get bigger and smaller at a moment's pace, I believe it must have been hovering.  I had never seen a sight like this in my life, but I knew what it was.  A UFO.

And then the beam was gone.  Disappeared as quickly as it arrived, but even quicker were the millions of flashing lights that seemed to be growing, melting into each other.  They started off small and distant, and became larger and condensed.  Before I could pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, the lights formed a shape.  It wasn't human, but close.  The thing's eyes were huge, and if it had pupils I'm sure it would have been staring at me.  And I stood there, froze there actually, and slowly prepared for death.  The thing leaned towards me and put its head inches away from mine.  It felt like it was looking through me, into my spirit and soul.  I didn't know if it would eat me, shoot me, push me or what it was capable of.  And then it leaned back, raised its hand, and extended a closed fist towards me.  Silence.  The thing didn't open its mouth, only opened its eyes wider, and a wrinkle above its eyes ascended, and looked like an eyebrow.  Silence.  The things fist hovered near my body and it stared at me.  Not knowing what to do, I tapped my fist against the thing's, and it stuck out its tongue and ran off into the distant as fast as the wind.  

I began walking back to my apartment when I felt wetness hit my shoulder.  Then something light that felt like hail.  I looked up and colored particles were falling from the sky, followed by a cold, dark object, not quite liquid, not quite solid.  I put my hand out and caught what I thought was rain and hail.  I was mistaken.  Within seconds I had handfuls of chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.  Shortly after, puppy dogs and kittens began falling gingerly to the ground.  They weren't falling from the clouds, but from the UFO.  And then the beam returned, only it wasn't one, but hundreds, thousands.  Everywhere I looked was another green beam.  Soon there were thousands of little big-eyed things walking around, carrying sacks on their backs.

They walked down the street, reached into their sacks and pulled personal objects out for each person they came across.  The people in suits were thrown rolls of hundred dollar bills.  The mother's pushing carriages were thrown little Asian manicurists and a strapping male masseur.  The children were thrown candy.  The bums were thrown booze.  The old people were thrown organs and body parts to replace theirs that failed.  The black people were thrown reparations.  The white people were thrown clothes from the Gap.

I'm so happy the aliens came in 2012.  They're fun.  I can't wait until the next end of the world prophecy comes true!

17 Weeks Again

“17 Again” is a movie about a man, fed up with working a job he hates, and living a life he can’t stand.  In an effort to recapture his past glories, he magically becomes a teenager again.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but hasn’t this movie been made somewhere between eight and thirty eight times already.  The movie “Big,” with Tom Hanks, and “13 Going on 30,” with Jennifer Gardner, were the exact same plot.  It is already widely accepted that Hollywood has completely run out of original ideas, but the writers and producers aren’t even trying to give it a new angle.  Here’s what the next inevitable remake should be:

 

 

Paul, distressed and depressed, sits alone at a Chinese restaurant.  The rain beats on the glass window behind him and the thunder rattles the pane.  His cell phone rings and the name “Mommy” appears on the phone’s screen.

Paul

Hi, Mom.  Yes I will be home soon.  I’m just eating dinner with some friends…What do you mean what friends?  I have friends….No, you’re wrong they only beat me up because that’s our thing.  You know, they beat me up, I pretend to bleed, it’s all fun….Yes I know I’m 45….No I don’t think that’s too old to be bullied.  Mommy, I’ll talk to you when I get home.

Paul hangs up the phone.  He speaks to himself.

Paul

I’m sick of being old.  I want to be a kid again.  I want to not have to worry about work, and money and bills anymore.  I wish I could just go back.

The waiter walks up to the table and places a tray holding the bill and a fortune cookie.

Waiter

Thank you, Sir.  Here is your fortune.  I hope it brings you happiness and sunshine.

Paul

Yea, sure.  Thanks.

Paul grabs the fortune and unwraps it before holding it between both his hands in prayer.  He brings his praying hands holding the cookie up to his face and closes his eyes.  He thinks to himself.

Paul (Voiceover)

I wish this fortune could make all my struggle go away.

Paul crumbles up the cookie and takes out the fortune paper.  He reads it aloud.

Paul

Those doomed by their future are only living in their past.

Paul crumples the fortune and throws it on the table.

Paul

Great, another disappointment.  Stupid fortune cookie.

The scene fades.  The next scene begins with Paul opening his eyes.  He looks around the room and there are pleasant shades of blue covering his walls.  He can barely make out the décor of his bedroom as his eyes can’t see past wooden strips that surround him.  He looks toward the ceiling and sees stars, moons and spaceships hanging from strings and circling above his head.  The door opens.

Mommy

Hi, baby.  Did you sleep well?

Paul opens his mouth to answer, but spit flies out instead.  He rolls over to face his Mommy, but doesn’t have the strength to succeed.

Paul (Voiceover)

What’s going on?  Why can’t I speak?  Why can’t I get out of bed?

Mommy

Aw, baby.  Let me clean you up.

The Mommy picks up Paul and wipes his mouth clean.  She cradles him in her arms and moves across the room to sit in a rocking chair.  Paul again opens his mouth to speak, but cries come out instead.

Mommy

I think someone’s hungry.  Here let’s have some breakfast.

The Mommy unbuttons her flannel nightgown and pulls out her bosom. 

Mommy

Here, baby.  Have some breakfast while Mommy wakes up.

The Mommy pushes Paul’s face into her chest.  Paul resists with all this might, but is no match.

Paul (Voiceover)

No, oh my God!  Why does she have that out?  Why is she pushing me towards it?  Stop, Mommy.  I don’t want to touch that, you’re my Mommy.

The Mommy finally wins the battle of strengths with Paul and forces his mouth onto her bosom.  He bites her.

Paul (Voiceover)

Stop it!  I’m not putting my mouth on that.  Why are you doing this?  Mommy, please leave me alone, I need to get to work.

Mommy

Ouch!  You bit Mommy.  Fine, I guess you’re not hungry yet.  But I bet I know a little boy that needs a changing.

Paul (Voiceover)

What are you talking about?  A change of what?  Put me down!

The Mommy stands up from the rocking chair and carries Paul over to a long, clean table.  She puts him down.  He tries to stand up again, but can’t even roll over.  She grabs his feet and begins taking off his footsie pajamas. 

Paul (Voiceover)

Why am I wearing footsie pajamas?  What happened to my adult Superman PJs?  Mommy did you change my clothes last night?

Paul tries to speak again, but this time spits up discolored liquid onto his chest and mouth.

Paul

Why can’t I speak?  What is happening to me?

Mommy

Aw, someone seems a little sick this morning.  I’ll give you a bath right after I get this stinky diaper off you, baby.  Look at these cute little feet.  I just want to eat the up.

The Mommy put his bare feet in her mouth. 

Paul (Voiceover)

That’s weird, why does my entire foot fit in her mouth?

Mommy

And look at your little pee-pee.  I don’t care what your father said before he left, I’m glad we never got it cut.  It’s so much cuter this way.

Paul (Voiceover)

What?  Cute?  Little?  I know I’m no basketball player, but I’m slightly under average at worst.

Paul lifted his head up just enough to look at his waist.  His eyes open wide and he tries to gasp, but only coughs a dainty cough.

Paul (Voiceover)

Oh my God!  It’s so small.  Smaller than usual.  Am I?  No, I can’t be.  Am I an infant?

Yada, yada, yada, the movie continues and goes on in this fashion.  Things happen, laughs are had, eventually he learns a lesson and the credits roll.

I think it’s much funnier to have the middle aged person become a baby than a teenager.  Teenagers are awkward and goofy, but a baby would need to do all sorts of gross things like breastfeed, be changed, and soil themselves.  What if that baby had the mind of an adult, but wasn’t able to accomplish or verbalize anything beyond the infant stage?  Now that’s comedy gold.  Imagine the possibilities.  Trying to hit on the babysitter but throwing up on himself instead.  Trying to climb out if his crib and equating it to being trapped in prison.  He could even play a tiny, plastic harmonica.  I think this movie needs to be made before someone else writes the next installment of this repeated script.  Hollywood, call me, I’ll be waiting…

Let's Try Something Different

It has recently occurred to me that I have not been using this Random Blog to its fullest potential.  Plainly speaking, it’s not random enough.  Sure I ramble on, and on….and on, about some random topic of the day or another, but I need to take its randomness to the next level.  Here’s step 1:

Newspapers Will Begin Charging Readers

AKA:  "The Best Sites in Life Are Free"

The internet should be free (which is different than saying the internet is for porn).  And the entire country believes this, well at least my generation.  We grew up with the internet; IMing each other in class, downloading music and movies for free, having a seemingly endless supply of information literally at our fingertips.  We've been spoiled perhaps.  But we've also been cultured.  While our parents were raised by their television, we have been raised by Google, Facebook, MySpace, YouTube, and Napster.  It took humans thousands of years to enter the industrial revolution, and from there it took another century and a half to build the first car.  And then things began to speed up.  The radio came about, along with the telephone, then airplanes, television soon followed, and now I can learn about every one of these events in half a day by searching the web.  I can learn how to build my own television, or even a bomb from household products.  I can read news across the world and even listen to editorials from Iran about America's War on Terrorism.  And it's all free to obtain.

In a recent NY Times article (online mind you), many media outlets and publishers are debating whether news should still be free online.  With recent economic hardships devastating many industries, advertising sales are not as high as previously predicted when newspapers believed they could give away content for free and charge for advertising.  Nowadays, however, the idea has shifted away from "free-to-all," and moved towards "pay-to-read."  

The problem resides in the cultural and generational gap that exists between the CEOs and other decision-makers that remember a time when nothing was free.  And when a person more insightful and eloquent than myself stated, "the best things in life are free," I'm not sure he/she had considered the internet (but if they had that would be even more impressive).  Maybe my generation is greedy, or needs instant gratification, or refuses to admit that the world doesn't owe them something, but it's all a product of our times.  We had MTV showing us who to listen to and dress like, cell phones giving us instant access to everyone, AIM keeping us connected to people without ever opening our mouths, televisions offering us thousands of options, and the internet giving us everything we couldn't find, get or learn at home.  

If the newspapers believe charging for their content will work beyond the short-term, than newspapers are doomed to fail.  No one will agree to pay to obtain information we can watch on CNN, or read on a blog, or even listen to on the radio.  The old business model is dead, and those in charge need to begin to think of new ways to make money.  The internet is going anywhere, and the more the media tries to fight it, the quicker they will cease to exist.  How many people in the world get their news from a professional blogger not associated with a newspaper?  Does the AP have a monopoly on current events?  

Overlooking the fact that most media outlets have become biased, on one side of the spectrum or the other, and most news programs have adopted a "Top 40," mentality to the news (they find a handful of interesting, scary or popular stories, and replay them all day long), if newspapers try to charge for their content, it will just be pirated anyhow.  I can't tell you how many times a "friend" of mine illegally downloaded DVD-quality movies before they were released in theaters.  Or how many complete albums leak online before hitting the shelves.  What will happen is one person in the world will pay for the content and then just distribute throughout the internet.  

The beauty of hackers is that they can't be stopped.  Once a wall or security measure has been taken to prevent them from doing one thing, they find a way to break through and do it anyhow.  Then they get stopped again and go back to the drawing board.  The battle never stops.  Anytime people have tried to sell the viewing rights to their site to people online, hackers come up with a way to give it away anyhow.  A simple Google search will give me hundreds of promotional codes for all sorts of free and discounted things.  There is even a website (no longer running - sad face ) that used to scour the internet for websites that made mistakes on coupons and sales (if a company prints something, even if it's a mistake - like 100% off instead of 10% - it is legally bound to honor the coupon).  I'm sure more sites like this exist.  The point is no one wants to pay for content online, and no one will.  

The internet is the greatest example of "freedom of the press," and "the freedom of information act," put together.  Computer programs in general are flimsy and can easily be rewritten, broken into and altered.  No matter what sort of security a company puts on a website, someone, or a group of someones, can break into it.  And in the long run, the company may pay more in preventing the hackers and for security than they will make in selling their content.  The issue is thinking outside-the-box, not using the old school business model in the new school and losing your audience, or readers, in the process.  

Man Crush, Meet Eminem

aka:  Did you hear Eminem was an illegal Canadian

Eminem just released his new song titled, "We Made You," and I am now in a glass case of emotion.  OK, so maybe my adoration for Marshall Mathers borders on the obsessed groupie, and if I was of the opposite gender, perhaps I would let him have his way with me.  But that is just simply called a "Man Crush."

Let me give a little background here before you begin judging me.  Eminem came out when I was at my impressionable stage in life.  A nerdy white kid growing up in suburbia, seeing an equally nerdy looking guy on MTV and giving "dap" to his homies, left an everlasting influence upon me.  Not to mention he was making fun of people that I hated just as much as he did (take that Moby - you yoga-loving, book reading, vegan - get a haircut!!).  

And to top it all off, he was actually talented.  But to anyone that doesn't like hip-hop, or think it's just a violent, ghetto formation of words and computerized beats, I'm sure he seems just like the vanilla in a hot fudge sundae dropped on the floor.  And even though he may be my favorite rapper, I don't think he's the greatest of all time (I miss you Biggie!! - but not as much as Puff Daddy's pockets do).  

But just take a look at his resume:

> 4 platinum selling CDs 

> multiple Grammy Awards

> An Oscar

> His own record label (Shady/Aftermath)

> A clothing line

Ok that last one isn't as impressive, it's much more sell-out than anything.  But I guess if someone offered me millions of dollars, after I spent a lifetime with basically nothing, I would probably take the money too.  But he's already being considered one of the best emcees of all time and has made people forget the original white rapper (what's his name?  with all the big pants and Johnny Bravo hair? You know, he stole that Queen song and then was almost killed by Suge Knight?  It's like White Heat?  Or Milky Cube?  I don't know I already forget).  

But anyhow, I'm excited because my boy Em is back.  I guess he never really left, only sat back in his swimming pool filled with hundred dollar bills and enjoyed a life of no worries.  I only hope he hasn't lost what made him great, or doesn't just try to repeat what made him great the first time, just for the sake of repeating it.  My greatest fear is that he will pull a Goldmember (Goldmember, as in Austin Powers 3: Goldmember; a movie in which all the same jokes from the first two movies were just repeated, occasionally verbatim, just for the sake of being uncreative and trying to recapture the comedy that worked the first time, and to a lesser degree, the second time).  "I love Goooooooold," no sir you don't, you love spewing up regurgitated comedy bits because you haven't been funny since Wayne's World - silly Canadian.

(Which reminds me - why do they call it Canada? - C - eh - N - eh - D - eh...........OK, so comedy's not really my thing either, oh well)

I think I'm rambling, I don't even remember my original point.  Something about man crushes?  I can't remember and I'm too lazy to scroll back up the page, so let me leave off on this note.  Hockey is like NASCAR for Canadian hicks!!  Take that Alex Trebek!!  

John Madden Quits Football

aka: "Football's Commentary Shall Forever be Changed - And More Intelligent"

The man who brought us the eight-legged turkey and perhaps the greatest game of all time, has decided to call it quits.  John Madden retired this week, and I know I'm not the only fan that will miss him.  How can any announcer witty enough to come up with phrases such as, "he's got moves on top of moves," and "the team that scores the most points usually wins the game," not be honored.  If you haven't seen Frank Caliendo's (a comic with no humor, just dead-on voices) impression of John Madden, it's pretty close to perfect.  Check it out here.

His ability to analyze and commentate a game is like watching a sex-ed teacher explain the birds and the bees to a room full of prostitutes; it lacked insight beyond the obvious.  And though Caliendo wrongly pointed out that Madden fixated on a single player, like Bret Favre, he wasn't far off.  I'm pretty sure I recall a game in which he described a team's punter as, "the greatest athlete in the world, both living and dead."  

But what is to be of John Madden's football game?  Will it change names?  Will he suddenly cease doing the enlightening commentary for the game?  Will the makers actually dare to hire an announcer that refuses to speak the obvious?  I love the game, the world loves the game.  It's one of the few games out there that has the gaul to release the same exact game every single year, only with a new number at the end of the title, and still sells out in a day.  It's like creating Pacman, a year later releasing Ms. Pacman, followed by Son of Pacman, Wrath of Pacman, Ghost Pacman, Blue Pacman and Oval Pacman every year afterwards.

Who can honestly say they don't love the movie "Little Giants?"  Can you?  If you can you're either lying to yourself or don't have a soul.  The movie is great.  And John Madden's cameo towards the end in which he blatantly informs the children that if they try hard enough, they can win the game.  Thanks Madden, as if they hadn't understood the plot of every single sports movie in history.  Real insightful.  And yet, it was great.  

His legacy will outlive him.  Like George Foreman and his sizzling grills (buy one here, they come in blue!!)  John Madden's money came from something besides his playing/coaching of the game that made him famous.  He's sure to have billions off the game franchise, which brings up the point: what the heck took him so long to retire.  His abilities faded long ago and I'm pretty sure if he could literally phone-in the announcing from his summer home in Maui, he would.  And he wouldn't even need to watch the game.  His phrases are so general and unhelpful, they will be able to sample his voice, enter his quotes into a robot, and have that robot randomly blurt out his sayings throughout a game.  

Here are some of his gems:

"If you see a defense team with dirt and mud on their backs they've 

had a bad day." (That's a bad day for anyone, except a professional mud wrestler of course)

"The fewer rules a coach has, the fewer rules there are for 

players to break." (Thanks, didn't realize one plus one equals two)

"When your arm gets hit, the ball is not going to go where you 

want it to. " (Brilliant, but you missed your calling as a physics teacher)

“Whenever you talk about a Mike Shananhan offense, you always 

talk about his offense." (Come on, he's just saying the same thing twice, minus an adjective)

“Here’s a guy who when he runs, he moves faster.” (OK, actually, I can't find anything wrong with this one.  Good job)

The list literally goes on and on.  Now you don't have to even know the difference between a touchdown and a hat trick to know he couldn't have made more obvious statements.  But he's an icon, bigger than the game itself.  And he will certainly be missed.  Rest in Reese's Pieces Madden!

Text Messages Will Be The End of Us All

aka:  "LOL JK"

Call me old school if you must, but I just don't get kids today.  And yes, I am fully aware I fit into that category still.  But I remember a time before cell phones.  Now that's certainly not like saying I remember a time before TV, or cars, or fire, but it's something.  When I was younger, I had to jot down all my friend's and family's names and numbers on a single piece of paper, fold it 8 times and slide it into my wallet.  If I ever lost that paper, I lost all my friends as well.  After calling people enough, I eventually memorized phone numbers, but now, I can't even tell you mine (I never call it, except when it's lost - fyi, never drop it in the toilet, no matter how many times you call, you won't find it, water limits sound wave capability).  But no one needs phone numbers, they just know the names the click on their phone and magically begin dialing.  The only reason for numbers on a cell phone nowadays is to text people anyhow.  And this scares more than North Korea, biological warfare and clowns combined.

We are losing our language.  English is spoken all over the world (yet most people I know here can't seem to master it), so like the black man tired of having his words spoken by nerdy white guys, we came up with a brand new language.  LOL, TTYL, FTW, CYL.  These are all just random letters, and most of them don't even use the right letter (it's "see ya later" not "c ya later" - also, shouldn't it be "LA?" "Laugh Aloud?").  But how far will this go.  In the book "1984," Big Brother had workers create an evolving language, and took out words that were deemed unsuitable, or negative towards the country.  Words' definitions were also changed repeatedly.  I am a believer that the beauty of language is that it changes, adapts, and becomes current, but most of these text phrases aren't even words.  How bout this: PWI - Parent Walked In.  Come on now, shouldn't it really be: SUSTAFNMMJCI - Shut Up, Stop Talking About Friday Night My Mom Just Came In.  

When I was younger I made up words too, especially around parents.  Certain activities were given different names.  We had fishing for one thing, and drinking Gatorade for another.  I don't need to specify any further, but the people that mattered knew what they meant.  And if my parents heard me say one of the words they wouldn't think twice.  But if I had been on the phone with a friend and said: DYGTAFTPWYPAG (Did You Get The Alcohol For Tonight's Party While Your Parents Are Gone), I'm pretty sure they would have wondered.  

The point I'm trying to make, is that kids need to be more creative, not just lazy.  Perhaps it all spurred from kids with a limited text plan and were unable to master the phone pad typing skill known as T9.  If that's the case, how about just waiting a few minutes until class was over and speaking to the other person.  I worry that our language will soon become nothing but letters, and we will forget what those letters even stand for.  

And occasionally those letters don't even stand for anything at all, just a one-time misspell that went awry.  Take the word "Pwn" for instance.  Some person one day, pressed "P" rather than "O" and suddenly a brand new word was created.  The problem is the word means exactly the same thing ("You got pwned" = "You got owned").  

But where and when does it stop?  I really hope it doesn't come to a mass extinction of all children for the benefit of all mankind and the English language, that would be a travesty.  I think the end has come when we begin teaching Abbreviated English and people begin getting their degrees in that.  But then when does it stop from there?  Does the U.S.A. simply become "Da U?"  Will people eventually "Pay they T 2 da IR on Ap 15th?"  I hope not.  I say spare the children and save our language.  It's the only we have...for now.

Somali Pirates Bring the the Terror Alert to oRRRRRange

aka: "What "Rrrrrr" They Thinking??

Where did this major pirate conflict come from?  How come America has been focusing its military efforts on terrorists and Al Qaeda  when there have been ships full of pirates patrolling our seas?  And more importantly, do they wear parrots and still make people walk the planks?

It's not that these pirates have suddenly showed up, they've always been.  As true and everlasting as love, taxes and Twinkies.  The only difference is we haven't heard about it. 

Bill O'Reilly, with all his wisdom, with the help of all his cronies, from the right to the left, don't report about these problems.  Mostly because they happen in an imaginary, far-off, fairy-tale land known as Africa.  (I don't mean to pick on O'Reilly, it's just so easy.  Besides it's not like he'll ever read this and bad mouth me on his show - pllleeeeaaassssseeee!!??!!!)

But similar to Vegas, what happens in Africa, stays in Africa.  I don't believe anyone would

argue that George Bush will go down as one of the worse presidents in our history.  His complete lack of concern with the American people (as evidenced in the above picture), was only overshadowed by his complete lack of concern for the rest of the world's people.  But one great thing that should always be an asterisk upon his record (a footnote - something to follow the eight-thousandth listed mistake and travesty of his administration) should be his aid to Africa.  Billions of dollars were sent to Africa to help with AIDS, vaccines and famine (probably would have been more if Enron or Exxon Mobil believed they could make money off helping the less fortunate).  But in general, to Americans, Africa is a distant land that doesn't really affect us.  A place with strange people, who speak differently, look different, have alien customs and traditions - sort of like Canada.

But pirates are real (unlike ninjas).  They have been traveling the seas and killing anyone in their way for hundreds, if not thousands of years.  But the days of peg-legged sea captains and dual-shot muskets are long gone.  In Somalia, the pirate profession is a booming industry.  In a land of crippling poverty, any opportunity for a quick buck is esteemed.  Take a look at this article from BBC News: "Living the High Life."  It details how the pirate life is one of intelligence and experience.  These abduction, hostage and ransom happenings are not simply dumb luck.  Ex-fishermen are hired to navigate the seas and run the ships.  Armed militia and trained soldiers, many of which with special-ops training, are brought along to use force, plan battles and kill anyone in their path.  And high-tech "geek-squad-types" are hired to hack government communications and satellites, GPS and shipping vessels.  These aren't just a bunch of gangsters randomly causing havoc in our waters.  Imagine the Crips, or their MBA, spending ten years in a Fortune 500 company, working their way up to CEO, owning and operating their own million dollar a year sales campaign, and then using their knowledge and connections to start selling crack rock.

But the point is this: what makes Americans believe they are smarter than the rest of the world?  North Korea just built and launched its very first long-range, guided missile.  

Al Qaeda was able to plan and succeed in attacking the World Trade Center; and they did it right under our noses.  Recent reports claim authorities had known what was going to happen and were even tracking the pilots for months and years prior to the attack.  Yet they still got away with it.  So who are we to think no one is capable of out-thinking the great American machine?  If we trained Osama Bin Laden, supplied him with weapons, and taught him how to be a special-ops soldier against the Russians, what's stopping him from using that information on us?  Or teaching others?   And he's not alone.  There is good money in treason, and using American's intelligence against itself.  You won't find an ad for them on craigslist, but they exist.  

So why are we not focusing on pirates.  Shouldn't they fit under the umbrella term of terrorists?  Aren't they just as much a threat to our security as Bin Laden?  The simple answer is yes, the long-winded answer is it'll never happen.  Not until they attack Wal-Mart, or Marlboro, or Exxon-Mobil, or any other billion dollar company with the power to actually influence our leaders.  The reason we don't focus on them, not now, not before and likely not in the future, is because we don't honestly care about American's safety.  It's all a guise; a sneaky way of building up false security.  I can't bring my toothpaste on a plane, but I can bring a gun into a subway.  I need to take off my shoes before I get through the airport, but there's no reason I couldn't detonate my car in a tunnel (and let me just footnote this point - No I do not plan on doing any of this stuff, just making a point - so Secret Service and the Pentagon, please don't send stealth helicopters to patrol my house and black, undercover SUVs to tail me on my way to the grocery store).

It's all just a facade.  Just a veil to keep you, the sheeple, under control.  The media doesn't care about reporting anymore, just making money.  The government surely doesn't have your best interests at heart, and it never has.  But as long as you don't switch the channel, or stop buying things, getting gas and paying your bills, your use as a civilian is complete.  The danger exists out there, but the only time you hear about it is when a naval office is held hostage.  We're not more safe now then we were September 10th, we only have less freedom and more people telling us we are safe.  

I compare it to paying a Bear Tax.  You pay the tax to protect you from bears in your neighborhood, but how many bears do you see in your neighborhood?  None?  Great, so the tax is working then!!

Insomnia, Freud and Space Monkeys

aka: The Ramblings of an Exhausted Little Boy

I can't sleep.  I can never sleep.  Maybe it's insomnia.  Maybe it's something worse.  Can you die from not sleeping enough?  I know if you sleep too much you die, or maybe it's if you sleep and don't wake up, I don't know, I'm not good with old wives' tales.  Which, by the way, is an absurd phrase, "old wives' tales?"  Who listens to old wives anyhow?  Certainly not their husbands.  (Why do men die first? Cause they want to).  But if an old wive tried to tell me a story, I'd be like, "hey, old wive, you can take your tale and shove it, or else....or else I'll turn on the Home Shopping Network and paralyze your behind!!"

So the moral of this story is I haven't slept.  Well I did sleep actually, if you count three hours as proper doze-time.  I tend to lay on my pillow and drift off, and suddenly I'm remembering people and events that I forgot I lived and met.  And these so-called "friends" and "memories," who never call or check in now and again by the way, decide to bombard me with their company.  I've had just about enough.  I forgot you, Mr. Memory, for a reason, don't bother me while I'm trying to sleep.  

I'm not a religious man, the product of being raised by God hating Jewish and Lutheran parents, while simultaneously having a Buddah tattooed to my back.  But if I was religious, I would pray to Lord Nyquil.  Whenever we seem to meet it must be good times, because I always tend to blackout, come to hours later, and for some reason, be on my stomach with no pants on.  I don't know how it happens, all I know is that I've noticed a different hitch in my step ever since...

But when I do dream it's incredible.  There are always elaborate sets, sword fights, dragons, flying spaceships piloted by three-eyed monkeys, and lots of running.  And after studying Freud for many minutes at Barnes & Noble one day, I can tell you my dreams probably have something to do with sex...or a fear of abandoment...or mind control from Moonmen, I'm not sure.  Besides Freud was all hopped up on that white nose candy anyhow to be taken seriously ("I've been trying to quit drugs.  I don't like coke....just the way it smells" - RIP Rodney).  

Sometimes I wonder if my dreams are prophecies.  Maybe I really will fight Luther Vandross to the death, surrounded by a burning lake of gasoline for the fate of mankind someday.  I can't say for sure it won't happen (I lost the fight by the way - sorry humanity).  But perhaps I can predict the future.  I have deja vu all the time.  Seriously.  At least twice a day.  I have deja vu all the time.  Seriously.  At least twice a day.

Or perhaps dreams are more simple than that.  Maybe they don't need to be as complicated as prophecies or a subconscious understanding and analysis of your ego and id competing for control of your medulla oblongata.  Maybe it's an easy solution.  Something like your pineal (not a dirty word I swear) gland breaking through the boundaries and limitations of the three dimensional and emotionally sensed universal paradigm of this world and seeking refuge in a greater, euphoric, enlightened realm of understanding.  Yea I think that makes more sense.  And easy to explain to the kids.  "Hey Johnny, is that your pineal gland acting up again, or are you just happy to see me?" 

But what do I know.  I didn't get enough sleep!!

Two Cents' Worth of Randomness

Two Cents' Worth of Randomness

Time to get geek

In today's age of facebook, twitter and the illegal downloading of movies before they've been released, it's hard to find anyone that's not at least a little bit geek nowadays.  I don't partake in the social networking sites as much as some of my peers, but I do five-finger discount music online and am addicted to fantasy sports.  But the best geek thing to happen in the past year was the release of "The Dark Knight."  The idea that a comic book, something previously designated to only the old school geeks, could become such a mainstream success is due in no small part to the vision of the director and brilliance of its writing and story telling.  

But, like an adolescent boy after his first sexual experience, the movie left me unfulfilled, jittery and wanting more.  I've recently taken it upon myself to do a little research on the subject and try to figure out what the next one will offer.  Chris Nolan, the writer and director of "The Dark Knight," stated his interest in returning the Batman series to its orgin.  So I read up on the beginning lore of Batman.  The most recent film is almost a complete, though updated for the time, version of the comic "The Long Halloween," which introduces Two-Face and has elements of the Joker's first appearance in Batman #1.  But I wanted more and began to think about the evolving story as a writer.  If I was continuing this story, where would I go with it?

The first and foremost fact to keep in mind is that Robin is an integral part to the story of Batman.  He has been with Batman from the very beginning.  Since Bruce Wayne, at the the end of "The Dark Knight," declares he will go into hiding and be "whatever Gotham needs me to be,"  it perfectly allows for the emergence of Robin, to pick up where Batman has left off.  However, this seems a bit misleading from the direction of the films.  The magic that this series has captured is putting a crime-fighting super hero in the reality of today.  The Joker, a comic character himself, was made real and gritty, and seemed possible in the real world.  He wasn't just an over-the-top cartoon like many of the villains in previous Batman films.  He was a terrorist trying to give Gotham a little anarchy and chaos.  The birth of such a villain seemed possible.  But Robin, on the other hand seems far-fetched.  A boy wearing spandex that works for Batman.  Seems a little too Michael Jackson for my liking.  But I guess if the audience can be made to believe someone like the Batman is possible, the Boy Wonder shouldn't be too far removed.  

The addition of Robin almost seems mandated.  With the films trying to recreate the origins of the Caped Crusader, and with Batman basically calling it quits, a new hero for the city appears necessary.  Harvey Dent is dead (?? maybe...) , and Gotham needs a new White Knight.  But what about the villains?  People all over the internet are calling for specific villains to appear in third film.  Tops on the list are the Riddler.  Rumored to be up for the role is Johnny Depp.  If anyone can make this over-the-top villain appear real, Depp would be the man.  Heck he made Hunter S. Thompson seem like he could be a real person.

But after much research, I have come to the conclusion that the Penguin is the best fit.  Looking at his origin and backstory, his character seems the most likely and fitting for the next installment.  Take a look at his biography (I'll wait...).  I'm not saying they should recreate Arnold Schwarzenegger's twin, Danny Devito's portrayal of the Penguin.  But ponder his history.  He is a short, plump gajillionaire, that owns a shady night club.  For the most part, he doesn't often fight Batman, or commit much crime first hand, he actually hires thugs and petty crooks to do it for him.  With the criminal mastermind and villainous leader, the Joker, being dead (in real life and for the most part in the story - he's in Arkham Asylum, come on, no one ever escapes from there....), and the Falconi crime family basically in shambles, a new gangster and kingpin for the crime in Gotham would be perfect.  Not to mention he owns a major corporation in Gotham that rivals Wayne Enterprises in stature and wealth.  It would be a great counterpoint to see the Batman fight the Penguin at night, and Bruce Wayne battle him in the boardroom during the day.  He could be a legitimate threat to the city without being a caricature.  Forget the flying umbrellas, he could just be a crime lord that gets the plebian crooks to commit the crimes for him.  

Without a true hero in Gotham now that Batman is gone, the city needs someone to step up and take the lead.  The city needs someone to convince them his way is right and he has the best interests of Gotham at heart.  He needs to be charismatic and a great orator and seem like he has the interests of the common man at heart.  The next villain should obviously be Obama.  Just kidding, but the Penguin fits that description.  He is eloquent and persuasive.  He can make Gotham's citizens eat out of the palm of his hand and do whatever he wants behind closed doors.

Phew...I'm all geeked out, that was exhausting.  

So there's a boat, actually several, outside my window that don't seem to move.  They were there yesterday, they're there today and I can't remember a time when I couldn't see them.  When it's dark, I can see their lights shinning brightly through the night's horizon.  I want to buy a pet dolphin and teach it to take pictures and perform espionage near and around the boats.  I don't know why they are there, and I don't know when they will leave.  Which all leads me to a single conclusion, they must be secret, undercover, government operated, conspiracy laced vessels conspiring a conspiracy of the utmost importance on my hometown.  

I already know there is a nuclear missile silo located somewhere in my town.  I know this because a well-trusted and reliable source from third period spanish class told me so.  And why would he lie?  What would he have to gain?  So perhaps these ships are just protecting my island of a town from Russian submarines patrolling the waters waiting for the perfect time to strike.  

On one of my more curious mornings, I dared to glance across the ocean with my binoculars to catch a better glimpse at these undercover ships undoubtedly causing conspiracii (what's the plural of conspiracy?).  To my astonishment, I was able to make out the name painted along the side of the hull.  "John's Shipping."  Need I say more.  Could it be any more obvious that these ships are up to no good?  They might as well be called "Bin Laden Fishing" or worse, "Boat of Anti-American Propaganda and Other Miscellaneous Terrorist Loving Liberal Hogwash."  I can only guess they didn't have enough paint or ship to name it such.

2012 is only a few short years away.  Maybe these boats are hoping to predict a massive tsunami.  Perhaps the sun's gamma rays will eventually penetrate our diminished atmosphere after the magnetic fields surrounding and protecting our planet are lifted after the magnetic North Pole goes down under, and these boats will shoot an enormous fabric of adamantine into the sky to prevent these rays from killing us all instantly.  Or maybe, just maybe, these boats aren't even there.  Perhaps it is a mirage generated by the dual cooperation of the American government and the Bumble Bee tuna corporation to make us believe we can never swim in the ocean for fear of being abducted by the boats.  

Or maybe I'm just paranoid...

I just can't narrow it down to one...

Sitting down to write today was difficult. Sometimes there are days when I just can’t think of anything to flesh out, so I’m just going to use this empty internet-space to jot down a few things that are on my mind. Maybe I’ll come back one day and look at them and elaborate. But right now I can’t be bothered, I have much more important stuff to do like sleep at work:

I hate the Yankees. I also hate the Red Sox. Why? Not that the teams are bad or the players, but it’s the fans really. It’s those people that feel like baseball owes them something for their team winning. That no other team, ever, will be as good as them. The real issue is that many Yankee and Red Sox fans aren’t fans of baseball at all. They can’t talk to you about another player on another team that isn’t on the team they watch. If Joe Schmo pitches a perfect game for Nowheresville, Idaho, they will retort with, “Yea? Well Josh Beckett pitched 6 innings last night.” Or, “A-Rod is really in a slump, huh?” They are all front-runners that love the team they love because they love to root for winners. What happens the first year that Yankees don’t make the playoffs? The team decides to move, get a new stadium, and the fans proceed to destroy what is left of the building they claim to love. And OK, I know they were moving anyhow, but still, how many of those fans would have ripped seats out of the ground if they were expecting to sit there in the World Series. They love to love the winner, but will never love the loser. And Red Sox fans might even be worse. The day after the Red Sox won their first World Series in something like 8,000 years, there were hundreds of people wearing Red Sox hats, walking around, claiming to be their fan for life. Meanwhile, they couldn’t name more than 3 players. Being a Yankee or Red Sox fan is a fad. It’s the cool thing to do. It’s what everyone else is doing.

Person 1: “You watching the Red Sox V. Yankee game tonight?”
Person 2: “Of course. Me and a couple friends are going out to the bar and having some drinks while we play pool and shoot darts.”
Person 1: “Who do you think is going to win?”
Person 2: “I don’t know. Who’s pitching again? And What time is the game on?”

The fans don’t care about the game, only that they know saying they do makes them fit in. If you don’t care about baseball, don’t have a favorite team. Don’t put messages in your profile saying your excited about the championship game if you can’t name three teams they beat to get there. The same goes for hockey too. But then again, hockey shouldn’t even be a sport in the first place.

I hate blogs. What makes anyone think their thoughts are worth another person’s time to read? And most of them are about nothing (Except this one, which is filled with useful information of course). But are there people that sit around all day, looking up and reading random people’s blogs. Is anyone going to ever stumble across this one and think it’s worth a repeat visit? Not likely. The truth is blogs are all because people hope. They exist for the same reason people play the lotto. Because maybe, just maybe, Bill Gates is looking to hire a new blogger for Microsoft and is searching the internet for just the right writer to pay half a billion dollars to write for him. But basically they are silly. Why not just keep a diary and have it be personal.
The same goes for facebook and myspace. No one cares what pictures people post are who they met the day before. No one, besides the people that already know them, care what their favorite movies are or what quote has meaning. People are on facebook and myspace to be found. Our entire generation was born with the idea that they are important. That every single person deserves to be famous and on TV. And that’s why people are on social networks , have blogs, and post on youtube. It is instant fame. Or the chance for instant fame. We all think we have the born-given right to be someone important, and by putting our name and favorite food, daily ramblings or video commentary on politics, that someone will discover us and finally give us that chance we know we deserve. But what are the odds?

The weather is stupid. It just keeps changing. Why can’t it just make up its mind already and pick on temperature to stay with. All these changes are making me sick.

How come stamps cost so much? Why do I even need to mail things anymore anyhow. Sure I can do everything online these days, but some things require you to mail them back in. What if I want to not be part of the U.S. postal service mailing list anymore? What if I want to take my name off the radar? How could they make me pay taxes then?
I was recently registering to vote, and I was given a post card that I needed to fill out with some of my information. And after it was complete I noticed that I had to mail it in. I will repeat that in case you read over it: I had to mail in a letter to vote in the United States election. Don’t you think that the White House and the U.S. Postal Service could get together just this once and find a way to void the 43 cents I would need to vote??

Why does everything that tastes really good bad for you?? But seriously. How come cauliflower doesn’t taste like ice cream and broccolis isn’t the same flavor as pepperoni pizza? Why does soda rot your teeth but an apple a day keeps the doctor away? Why is crack rock so good, but deadly (OK that last part wasn’t serious….I’ve never done crack….honest)? But really, what in our brain decides that sugar and salt and fatty things are so delicious, but things filled with vitamins and minerals generally tastes like ash tray, or worse, filled ash tray?

Albert Einstein said it was impossible travel back in time. In order to do so, one would need to travel faster than the speed of light, and apparently that is impossible. But what it, in a billion, trillion, zillioin years, someone, somehow figures out how to break the speed of light and in turn, discovers how to travel through time. How do YOU know you NEVER read this before?

Jay-Z is for Lovers

I don’t get what all the kids are talking about anymore. I used to be hip. I use to be able to pick up any jive they be putting down, but now I feel old. I’m 22!! Music has gone steadily downhill through the years, or is it that I’m just now stuck in the ‘90s as that’s when I began listening to music. Am I THAT guy now that only listens to things they grew up with? Have I become what I have found as perfect fodder for old-people bashing throughout the years?

Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Rage Against the Machine. All great bands, but can they now be set aside with the likes of Zeppelin, The Beatles, Miles Davis and Sebastian Bach (the good one that pre-dated reality TV)? I turn on MTV and I’m struck with the beautiful faces of the Jonas Brothers. If they are currently being compared to the Beatles, is it that this generation’s taste has been deluded more than our drinking water or are my ears too filled with old-man hair to hear the music?

And who decided the Jonas Brothers would even be worthy of a second listen? They’re everywhere. On commercials, on the radio, on billboards, in my dreams. EVERYWHERE!!

But rap is a different story all together. Rap is timeless. Biggie and 2Pac are just as good now as they were before they faked their own deaths. OK so maybe rap has been watered down with all the Puffys, or Diddys or B. Shittys, and with 50 Cent selling his soul along with every item of clothing, cologne, soft drink, video game and adult diaper you can imagine. But 60 years from now, I’ll still be listening to my iPod, while my grandchildren listen to the audio/video chip implanted in their brains at birth, and rocking out to Wu-Tang. But will the Killer Bees be just another fad, like disco, sliced bread or computers?

Can you imagine your grandparents listening to rap?

I Hate Being Sick!!

I can’t for the life of me figure out when getting sick stopped being fun. There was a point in my life where being sick meant sleeping in late, missing school and having people bring me my food. In fact, I loved being sick so much that I often attempted to fake it every chance I had. But note from the wise, NEVER attempt to put the thermometer next to a lamp in hopes of raising the temperature. All you’ll get is one broken thermometer and one puddle of mercury on the floor. And that is why I will always miss my cat Sniffles. May he rest in mercury-free Heaven.

But somewhere along the timeline of life, being sick was more of a hassle than an enjoyment. Not only do I feel the weight of death upon my shoulders each and every time, but I am left with the toss-up between staying in bed, hacking up lung and sneezing out brain plus missing work (aka ~ money – missing work is not the problem, it’s missing my next meal), or going about my day and responsibilities while construction road work is being performed inside my head and sweat drips down my brow like scraps out of Rosie O’Donnell’s mouth at Thanksgiving. It’s just too much work being ill. Besides, there’s only so much Nyquil a person can take before they’re having flashbacks of shooting Charlie in ‘Nam. I WASN’T EVEN IN NAM!!

But the worst part about being sick for me is the fact that I can no longer be a hypochondriac. Every day I fill my time with wondering if that paper cut will turn gangrenous or if that hiccup is actually Polio. But when I’m sick all I can worry about is when I will die and how come it’s taking so long already. It doesn’t matter if it’s a cold, the flu or Scarlett Fever, every sniffle I get is a sign from Death. I lay in bed, not because I need rest, but because it would be easier to have my Death Bed and my Sleep Bed be in the same place.

I Don’t Even Like Lemonade

“When God hands you lemons, make lemonade,” is the dumbest quote ever created. It hardly takes into account all those allergic to citrus, or with diabetes. Not to mention those physically unable to make a sour puss. So hence (Yeah! Hence!!), the quote is really about how those lucky enough to be handed lemons in the first place need to then make sure they can actually make the lemonade. What if they have no hands God? What about those people??

And who gets handed lemons anyhow? I’ve been given socks as a present before and that’s bad enough. But lemons? That’s like asking for trouble. If you (or God for that matter) ever decided to hand me lemons, I’m going to hand them a helmet, because I’m certainly going to start throwing.

Life is sort of funny some times. And I say “sort of,” because it’s not really. Sure there’s irony. Like stubbing your toe on a jagged rock moments before falling over the side of a quarter-mile high cliff. But that’s just God telling you He thinks it’s funny when he proves that all your feeblest attempts at preparation are moot, and He’s going to prove it to you in an often humorous manner.

But God’s not all brimstone and Hell fire. He fills life with plenty of paper-cuts, bad hair cuts and name-calling. I guess when God, Jesus, Santa, Chuck Norris, St. Michael and that other guy were sitting around in the beginning of time, having a few laughs and tossing a few back, they decided to add pain to the shopping list of emotions. Physical and emotional. Not that one is worse than the other, it’s just that my health insurance doesn’t pay for hurt feelings.

But this posting shouldn’t be all about the negative. Life isn’t always rainy days and Armageddon. I mean, in reality, lemonade tastes pretty good when you add 3 cups of sugar. And even stubbing your toe isn’t so bad, as long as there was already a pesky hang nail that wouldn’t come loose. And even the apocalypse can have its upside, so long as you overcharge your credit card, steal money from some bookies, and spit on your boss the day before.

I don’t want to depress all my readers though (Anyone??). This isn’t being written in the dark as I nurse a bottle of Jack and listen to Taps under my blankie. It’s just being written from inside the confines of my place of employment. Hell hath no fury like a job hated.
And why is it that eight hours feels like a blink of the eye when you’re sleeping? But when you’re stuck within the 4x4 walls of a cubicle that same eight hours takes approximately the next 40 years of your life (or until you die, whichever comes first)?

Anyhow, the moral of the story is play the lotto…..OFTEN!!

So this is the first time I am ever sitting down to write a blog. Not that I usually write them while standing, but nevertheless, this is my first. And as a virgin entry I figured I would take this time to discuss my hatred for people. Well, most people. Not YOU of course, I like you. You are reading my blog, so that automatically makes you an enjoyable person. But those other people, the ones not reading my blog of course.

People generally stink. They are ignorant and dumb. Stupid and greedy. People drive slowly in the fast lane and refuse to say "thank you" when you hold the door for them. These are the same people that invented the nuclear bomb for Heaven's sake. People just suck (Not YOU though).

I'm not sure what it takes a person to do for me not to want to strangle them with my own shoe laces, but I doubt it would take much. If people, as a whole, decided to send me one dollar each, perhaps then my attitude would shift. But that will never happen, and I can appropriately blame it on the fact that people just suck.

But don't get me wrong. It's not ALL people that suck (as stated previously, YOU are one of the good ones). However, people are worthless. I cannot recall a single time that people did anything for me. Not one time have people baked me a pecan pie or saved me from the onslaught of a flaming school bus full of children. In general people just sit around, watch TV, go to work, eat at restaurants and pay their taxes. I mean how can any reasonable person put up with such atrocities. I suppose the fundamental reason people suck is that they just don't see the world the same way as I do. They don't think like me, act like me, talk like me. They don't make the same jokes or have the same interests. People are not me. Not that I'm some incredible person. Far from it. But I like me. Me is good. You is good. But it's the people that are not.

If I was walking along the beach tomorrow and stumbled across a magical genie lamp, and the genie came out and said, "Hoy! How goes there? I'm a genie, fool, and I got a wish for you, if you want," I'd go, "Heck yea!" and proceed to wish for all people to go away. Because with all people gone, that would only leave me and you. Making we. And we is good as well.

......And that is how I will save Christmas!