Well, "she finally gone an' done it." That's right, after years of crafting, my wife has finally made a post on her blog about her hatred of one of my favorite hobbies. In her recent post she compared Airsoft to an adulterous woman with whom I just can't leave. And what happened when she posted this? Some anonymous pro-airsofter responded. He came to my defense. Now I have no idea if this person was being sarcastic or not, but it was funny to say the least. My wife called me and was really upset about it. To her credit she asked me to read her controversial post before she published it and I agreed. She asked me if it made me feel stupid because she was concerned that I would. I told her that stupid wasn't the right word. More like foolish. I don't know which is worse though; stupid is used so much, I think it's lost it's initial shock value. But foolish is different. Foolish is a word that cuts a man down to the core. It forces him to re-evaluate his entire life based on the judeo-christian values he grew up with. There's a song that goes, "the foolish man built his house upon the sand..." Well I won't recite the entire song, but needless to say everything the foolish man loves gets washed away in a terrible flood.
Foolish men are worse than stupid. They make dangerous bad choices that destroy the lives of other people, usually the one's they love the most. I think that's why I told her to publish it. Maybe I'll stop being so foolish and join the real military! YEAH!!
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Robots
I was driving in the Dollar Honda, and listening to public radio when I heard the most entertaining discussion I have ever heard on the radio. It was about the history and future of robotics in this country. I was listening intently as the guest recounted the history of robotics and then dove right into the subject of artificial intelligence and his work in that field. He spoke of the wondrous work he had been doing with teaching robots how to think and even write!
I was hoping and hoping and then it happened. A crazed engineer called in and began ranting about how he "lost his job to robots on three separate occasions. We need to be careful how far we take this" The guest responded in a cool manner,
"are you suggesting that we limit our research on robotics?" he sounded suspiciously like the robot on 2001 A Space Odyssey.
The caller's voice got louder, "I'm just saying that we need to be careful!"
"What do you mean, what are you really saying?" the guest asked.
I could tell what the caller was thinking and I knew he didn't want to come out and say it. The guest knew too. There was a long awkward silence. The air was tense and for that moment everyone listening knew what was about to transpire. It was beautiful. The host of the show, decided it was time, and asked the question that was demanding to be asked: "What are you afraid of caller?"
I could hear the frustration in the callers voice as he was forced to answer the question. He had already prefaced his comments by citing his degrees in engineering and his life's work in the field of robotics and science in an effort to legitimize his comments and put himself on equal ground with the guest expert. I could hear the pain in his voice as he slowly gave in and replied:
"What if the robots gain that consciousness you're working so hard to give them and turn on us?"
I had to pull over.
He had said the very thing, I am sure the whole world was waiting to hear. Actual scientists, the people actually involved in building robots are worried about the robots taking over. The caller was flustered. It was like he didn't want the world to know that this secret fear existed in the robotics community and now he had let the cat out of the bag. Meanwhile the show's guest was beginning to appear more and more like an evil mad scientist who wanted the robots to take over and put him into power over the entire world.
The caller kept saying, "we need to be careful, we need to be careful." But his doomsday rhetoric was ignored by the guest. I was laughing out loud at this point. Everyone knows that robots can't and won't take over the world. This fear has been present since the idea of robots first came about. I know this will never happen. I laughed myself silly at the debate ignited by this caller's fears.
But for some reason, I will never buy a Roomba. You see, if what this guy said is true, then I don't want to be accosted by my vacuum cleaner in the middle of the night, those things are wily little suckers.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Super Chocolate
As I write this the effects of a piece of chocolate I ate approximately four hours ago are beginning to wear off. A friend of mine from work gave me this special little nugget of cocoa from her purse and told me that it was a special kind of chocolate from the Amazon. Now any time I hear the words "chocolate" and "Amazon," you've got my attention. So as soon as she handed it to me I inserted the dark nugget into my mouth and began chewing. I didn't wait for her to explain the instructions (yes, apparently all chocolate that comes from the Amazon comes with instructions, kind of like medicine).
So as I was chewing this this thing she begins to tell me how I'm supposed to suck on the nugget instead of chewing it. She did not see that I was already chewing the thing up at that moment but upon hearing this I became a little concerned. I slowed down my rate of chew so I could hear what she was saying.
"This chocolate is rich in anti-oxidants and can curb your appetite in between meals," she said. I carefully swallowed the remaining bits. "If you rest it on your tongue and suck on it, the chocolate will coat the lining of your stomach and help curb your appetite but you're not supposed to eat it all at once," she went on.
"This is really good chocolate," I said.
"You already ate it?" she seemed concerned.
"Yeah, wow, I feel kind of funny." I was concerned.
"You're not supposed to chew it up and eat it!" She seemed equally concerned.
At that moment I had an experience similar to the one I had with the chips at the office (search blog for entry about chips in office. It's worth it I promise). Only this was a little different. The room became much brighter. Everything was more detailed than I had ever noticed before. The image my eyes were seeing would skip or jump every few seconds. My brain started working faster. I've never done drugs before but I think this is the closest I've ever come to experiencing the effects of one.
I confessed to my friend that I had indeed consumed the chocolate incorrectly. I told her what I was experiencing and she seemed surprised. I was okay driving home. I was very okay. But now things are wearing off. I miss high definition experience that lasted a whole four hours. I have decided that this chocolate is going to be great during graveyard shifts. And now that I have experienced this I no longer want an HD TV. I just want more Amazon Mega Chocolate. All I have to do is chomp one up and then I get to experience HD Life. But as with the chips I have to be careful. The law of diminishing returns is always waiting to rear its ugly head in my life. So this month it will be Amazon Chocolate. Next month, exotic potato chips. The month after that, I'll be spending my time at J-Dogs. And so the circle of addictive foods will continue. I need to find a link to my deale- I mean friend's chocolate website (if she has one) so my faithful readers can experience high definition life too. She sells the stuff you know, and I fully endorse it.
So as I was chewing this this thing she begins to tell me how I'm supposed to suck on the nugget instead of chewing it. She did not see that I was already chewing the thing up at that moment but upon hearing this I became a little concerned. I slowed down my rate of chew so I could hear what she was saying.
"This chocolate is rich in anti-oxidants and can curb your appetite in between meals," she said. I carefully swallowed the remaining bits. "If you rest it on your tongue and suck on it, the chocolate will coat the lining of your stomach and help curb your appetite but you're not supposed to eat it all at once," she went on.
"This is really good chocolate," I said.
"You already ate it?" she seemed concerned.
"Yeah, wow, I feel kind of funny." I was concerned.
"You're not supposed to chew it up and eat it!" She seemed equally concerned.
At that moment I had an experience similar to the one I had with the chips at the office (search blog for entry about chips in office. It's worth it I promise). Only this was a little different. The room became much brighter. Everything was more detailed than I had ever noticed before. The image my eyes were seeing would skip or jump every few seconds. My brain started working faster. I've never done drugs before but I think this is the closest I've ever come to experiencing the effects of one.
I confessed to my friend that I had indeed consumed the chocolate incorrectly. I told her what I was experiencing and she seemed surprised. I was okay driving home. I was very okay. But now things are wearing off. I miss high definition experience that lasted a whole four hours. I have decided that this chocolate is going to be great during graveyard shifts. And now that I have experienced this I no longer want an HD TV. I just want more Amazon Mega Chocolate. All I have to do is chomp one up and then I get to experience HD Life. But as with the chips I have to be careful. The law of diminishing returns is always waiting to rear its ugly head in my life. So this month it will be Amazon Chocolate. Next month, exotic potato chips. The month after that, I'll be spending my time at J-Dogs. And so the circle of addictive foods will continue. I need to find a link to my deale- I mean friend's chocolate website (if she has one) so my faithful readers can experience high definition life too. She sells the stuff you know, and I fully endorse it.
Friday, March 9, 2007
The Bean
I thought we were done. I thought the embarrassment was over. Just when you thought they had thought of everything to strengthen and shape your abs, out comes this: The bean. The bean is an inflatable blob shaped like a kidney bean. To exercise your abs on this thing, you have to rock back and forth on it using embarrassing pelvic thrusts up in the air. On the infomercial these thrusts are performed by sexy hard bodied men and woman who are just having the time of their lives. And of course, it's all done poolside.
Okay so you've got the bean and you happen to belong to the Bean's target market: You're a 300 pound male or female who stays up, watching TV until 3AM. Like all the others, this device cannot possibly support your weight, just like that inflatable couch you thought was such a good idea at the time. I can see it now, you mount the bean and after a few awkward upward pelvic thrusts, your shirt has ridden up past your belly and you are sweating like a pig. The Bean not only insults people's intelligence but, like all the other machines out there, has devised a way to trap you on it. Shortly after you begin your workout, you inevitably become glued to the "super strong poly-vinyl surface." Removing yourself from the Bean will prove more painful than the actual attempted workout as it rips your flesh from your back.
I can't stand this stuff. First it's the machine that seduces you into working out on it because it looks like a lounge chair. This is easily and appeal to the target's laziness. "We know all about you Mr. Smith, you got fat because you sat in your chair for all those years eating pork Rhine's and peanut butter. But this chair is different! This chair will make you fit again! It's so easy just have a seat." They you get trapped and can't get out.
The Bean is an appeal to the target's stomach. "We know you Mr. Smith, we empathize with your plight. You got the way you are by eating too many beans. Well use this bean and thrust your way to a perfect stomach. Instead of eating the beans that made you fat, you can ride a bean and get the opposite effect. Honestly, so if I eat too many hot dogs from J-Dogs, I'll just develop a hot dog shaped work out system. But I don't know if it's the hot dog or the special sauce that actually puts the weight on. If it's the sauce, I don't know how I'll ever be able to afford an Olympic sized swimming pool filled with sauce.
The Great Mistake
A few years ago I made a mistake. I decided to trade in our N64 and all our games for a Game Boy Advance SP. I didn't realize this was a mistake until much later when my wife revealed to me the fact that she missed playing Mario Kart with me. Now my wife detests all forms of electronic simulation. She can't stand video games in any format, and hates what they do to men my age. You know, playing seemingly mindless games for hours on end with my "idiot friends," neglecting familial responsibilities, etc. So for her to say, "I miss playing Mario Kart together. It was the only video game I ever liked and will ever play," was a big deal.
My mission was clear. Within fifteen minutes I had a console, controllers, and Mario Kart on hold for me. I brought it home, put the kids to bed, and my wife and I rekindled a fire we had been too long without. It was amazing how something so simple could be so great. I just thought you should know, that it's never too late to correct a big mistake. Tonight I made things right again, and for the record once again,
"I'm a Luigi, I'm a number one."
My mission was clear. Within fifteen minutes I had a console, controllers, and Mario Kart on hold for me. I brought it home, put the kids to bed, and my wife and I rekindled a fire we had been too long without. It was amazing how something so simple could be so great. I just thought you should know, that it's never too late to correct a big mistake. Tonight I made things right again, and for the record once again,
"I'm a Luigi, I'm a number one."
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Cold Pop Corn
I love popcorn. Every time I go to a movie I have to get a bag of $5.00 popcorn. It's gotten to the point where it's no longer a habit but more of a compulsion. I tried to resist it the other night but just as I got up to the counter to buy my wife a drink, they unleashed a fresh batch of authentic movie theatre popcorn. It was too much. I bought a bag and revelled in the buttery freshness.
I have to eat popcorn when I watch a movie at home too. But home popcorn is different than movie theatre popcorn. No matter how much they may claim that it tastes just like movie theatre popcorn, it never does and never will. I have accepted that though and come up with my own solution.
Whenever I pop popcorn I immediately take it out of the microwave, open the bag, and then place it in the fridge. That's right people. The fridge. After ten minutes, the popcorn has cooled and is starting to get stale. This takes it as close as I can get to movie theatre quality. I don't know why I like it cold I just do. Jamie has seen me do this and thinks it is completely weird. She's right about this. It is completely weird. But I do weird things (See AI07 Confession for example).
I have to eat popcorn when I watch a movie at home too. But home popcorn is different than movie theatre popcorn. No matter how much they may claim that it tastes just like movie theatre popcorn, it never does and never will. I have accepted that though and come up with my own solution.
Whenever I pop popcorn I immediately take it out of the microwave, open the bag, and then place it in the fridge. That's right people. The fridge. After ten minutes, the popcorn has cooled and is starting to get stale. This takes it as close as I can get to movie theatre quality. I don't know why I like it cold I just do. Jamie has seen me do this and thinks it is completely weird. She's right about this. It is completely weird. But I do weird things (See AI07 Confession for example).
Death Trap
What's wrong with this picture? I'll tell you what's wrong. The woman seated ever so comfortably in this chair of physical torture weighs much too little. In fact you may even notice how wide this piece of machinery is. I bet you could at least fit a 350 pound man on this thing. But will you ever see one? NO! Because even though, this wonderful invention is advertised to fat slobs who stay up until 3:00AM every night, watching TV; there is no way one would ever be able to conduct the very motion the ab lounger creators intended for them to do. These people can't even bend over and touch their toes let alone strap themselves into a raised lawn chair and do a series of rigorous crunches. I mean, honestly people. They couldn't even maneuver themselves into the thing without risking serious injury.
Now it is not my intention to make fun of fat people. On the contrary the people who made this thing are the ones making fun of fat people. They're the ones telling all of us that we too can have a perfectly sculpted body and amazing hand, eye, torso coordination. I have a hard enough time patting my head and rubbing my belly at the same time, let alone strapping into the beach chair and touching my toes while sideways. And I'm not fat! Can you imagine an obese person doing this? I can and that's the other thing that bothers me about this. The fact that I can imagine it and it never ends well. In my dreams the dude always ends up on the floor tangled in between the cnc aircraft grade aluminum poles and nylon cover. It's just inhumane. If you're going to build an exercise machine, don't tease us. Build one that's easy enough for all of us to do without risking serious injury or embarrassment.
I think that's why they make these things so portable too. So after you pull your groin for the seventh time, you can quietly admit defeat, pack it up and hide it under your bed never to be seen again. Who wants to be reminded of the hernia they got from trying to touch their toes while tied down to a lawn chair? Not I.
AI07 Confession
It's time for confession. I fantasize about being the winning contestant of American Idol. Yeah, I just said that. I usually do this in the shower. See the shower is the most important place in my home. The shower is where I get my inspiration. I think it's the process of the water penetrating my thick hair that lubricates my brain and causes a mass explosion of creativity. I do my best thinking in the shower. I right all my best songs in the shower. I come up with the best come backs to past insults in the shower, I once spent two hours in a shower and when I emerged, I had a completed screenplay in my hands. The shower is my special place. It also happens to be the place where I act out my American Idol fantasies. This can be dangerous though. I have to make sure I don't get too into my number while in the shower. I've injured myself during power vocals. You know how it is, you're hitting that part of the song where you spread your legs out as if you're about to go into a windmill (if you were playing the guitar) and you outstretch your mic hand and tilt your head up. Then you really belt it out. The only problem is when conducting this maneuver in the shower, you risk slippage and therefore serious injury. I don't know how many times I've pulled something before slamming down on the tub floor, taking the shower curtain with me.
When I'm not working on my audition skills I usually just fold my arms, face the water, and lean up against the wall. This is my meditation stance. I like to turn the hot water up for this one as it helps me relax even more. I get the most out of my brain during this time in the shower. All my deep thoughts derive from this. Fortunately for me, I don't have to pay the water bill.
When I'm not working on my audition skills I usually just fold my arms, face the water, and lean up against the wall. This is my meditation stance. I like to turn the hot water up for this one as it helps me relax even more. I get the most out of my brain during this time in the shower. All my deep thoughts derive from this. Fortunately for me, I don't have to pay the water bill.
Don't Touch The Hotness!
We took a call from a young woman who demanded Paramedics to treat extensive burns she had just received. When asked how she burned herself she painfully exclaimed in a thick Indian accent,
"I touched the hotness!"
An officer was sent along with Paramedics. The officer arrived on the scene first and found the patient in her apartment. The patient demanded to know where the paramedics where. Our officer looked at her and said something to the effect of, "where are you burned?"
At that point the woman's eyes welled up with tears and she raised her index finger in the air. It took a second for the officer to realize that the woman had only been burned on her index finger. Apparently this injury was traumatic enough for her to warrant calling 911 and having the paramedics come screaming into her complex, lights and sirens blazing. But hey, what can you expect when you touch the hotness?
Paramedics arrived and she demanded transport to the ER. They were eventually able to get her to calm down by offering to apply liberal amounts of burn cream (usually reserved for the char broiled) on her injured finger.
There is something to be said though, for touching the hotness. Sometimes we aren't thinking clearly and we touch the hotness. The burn surprises us so much we need copious amounts of TLC to regain our composure. I remember the last time I touched the hotness, man it was crazy. But that's another story for another time.
"I touched the hotness!"
An officer was sent along with Paramedics. The officer arrived on the scene first and found the patient in her apartment. The patient demanded to know where the paramedics where. Our officer looked at her and said something to the effect of, "where are you burned?"
At that point the woman's eyes welled up with tears and she raised her index finger in the air. It took a second for the officer to realize that the woman had only been burned on her index finger. Apparently this injury was traumatic enough for her to warrant calling 911 and having the paramedics come screaming into her complex, lights and sirens blazing. But hey, what can you expect when you touch the hotness?
Paramedics arrived and she demanded transport to the ER. They were eventually able to get her to calm down by offering to apply liberal amounts of burn cream (usually reserved for the char broiled) on her injured finger.
There is something to be said though, for touching the hotness. Sometimes we aren't thinking clearly and we touch the hotness. The burn surprises us so much we need copious amounts of TLC to regain our composure. I remember the last time I touched the hotness, man it was crazy. But that's another story for another time.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Womens Jeans
Back in the eighties jeans were tighter. I don't dispute this. Some of them even tapered at the ankles. In the nineties the tapering effect really took off and was evidenced in almost every kind of pants. But in the eighties jeans were tighter. Now often times, in my opinion, music and fashion heavily influence each other. They speak to each other like the volatile lovers they are. Sometimes they fight and some times they make sweet love creating "the next big thing." Punk rock was big in the eighties too. And what did rockers wear in the eighties when they were rebelling against the spandex clad corporate rockers (no offense Van Halen, you know I would never say anything to hurt you!)? They wore jeans. And jeans tended to be tighter in the eighties.
Now every decade likes to go retro to some degree. This trend in fashion tends to mathematically calculate that whatever was fashionable 20 years prior will be called upon to influence the current fashion climate. So the eighties are back. You've probably noticed it yourself. But, as is the case with every current decade, the influence is often exaggerated. And so I give you: skin tight jeans on men.
Yes, in the eighties jeans were a little tighter. But today young men everywhere are starving themselves like the women of the eighties did and still do just so they can fit their pubescent bodies into a pair of Victoria Secret brand women's jeans. Does anyone else find this disgusting? This is the most dangerous fashion trend in five years. And it's causing the emasculation of our teenage youth en masse. This has to stop. But rock bands everywhere have adopted the trend and are perpetuating it with full force. Their videos depict them in tighter and tighter denim, kicking and power strumming with wide legged abandon. Kids see this and begin to "rock out" (rocking out is the action of moving one's head up and down, sometimes violently, while jumping or rocking back and forth whilst sitting. Often times rocking out includes raising one or both hands in the air in symbolic gestures implying devil worship or resisting the man). This action of "rocking out" subconsciously reinforces the image of the band in the rockee's mind. Once reinforced in the mind of the child, the slightest amount of music from that band or even their genre can trigger a flashback so powerful the child will do anything to emulate the band. Is it any wonder why women's clothing stores have replaced Michael Bolten with The White Stripes? They know that teenage males everywhere are now willing to do what a decade ago was unthinkable. They arrive in these stores loud and proud of their desire for thin women's jeans. They come in groups ready to spend their hard earned lawn mowing money on this overt form of emasculation. But what of the cost to the women in our society?
We've known for years that women tend to compete and compare themselves to one another. Advertisers have been shamelessly exploiting this fact since advertising began. It's cruel and horrible but it's real. Once women compared themselves to the latest touched up celebrity when trying on jeans but now they have to compete with the indomitable metabolism of teenage males. Women go to try on jeans and see a teenage male in the size 2 they long to be able to fit in. It's the ultimate slap in the face. Today's corporate rock industry has caught onto the once fresh punk revival and has created legions of bands who all dress this way. Corporate rock and the fashion world have joined forces to control women even more through the perpetuation of this abominable trend. It's killing two birds with one stone really. The fashion industry successfully emasculates teenage boys making them much more likely to become metro sexual fashion consumers or homosexuals. The corporate rock industry uses the extreme peer pressure created by this fashion trend to sell many more sales. All kids have to do is see a new rocker in tight women's jeans and suddenly that "artist" now has the street cred needed to own their hearts. The fashion industry wins again because once again they've been able to wear down the collective female psyche and demoralize them even more into submission or banishment. It's just awful. But do you know who the real loser is in all this? The skate board industry.
The skateboard industry has traditionally reflected the values of rebellion against what's fashionable or trendy. But now the current generation of kids largely skateboard or at least want to look like they do due to corporate rock's adoption of skater fashion and subsequent infusing of women's jeans. Suddenly every kid on a skate board is wearing women's jeans. This is bad for skating. These jeans are so tight it's almost impossible to move let alone land a pop shovit. The godfathers of modern skating are perplexed. And there's nothing they can do short of starting a public service campaign instructing kids that tight women's jeans are uncool.
What can be done to stop this insidious fashion blunder? It has to start at the grass roots level. Talk to your kids about the importance of gender. Men should never wear women's clothing. Teach them about music and the evils of corporate rock. Corporate rock would have you and your children believe that it's gone but it's not. Corporate rock is bigger and more powerful than it ever has been. Listen to the radio and you'll see. The music's all the same. It's all the same!!!
In closing, I'm mad at fashion. Why did they do this to us? Why are they doing it to our children? I'm mad at the music industry. Why are they jumping on this? Why do they continue to mass produce bad music? Why are they destroying rock?! You probably already know the answer to these questions. Money. Women's jeans have always been more expensive than men's jeans. And true rock has always sold more records. The music industry has discovered a way to mass produce rebellion and market it to our unsuspecting youth while at the same time watering it down from its true rockness, thus polluting the joy that is rock. And how have they done this? With skinny women's jeans. It's a vicious cycle and I hope you'll join me in educating our youth about this horrible crime.
Now every decade likes to go retro to some degree. This trend in fashion tends to mathematically calculate that whatever was fashionable 20 years prior will be called upon to influence the current fashion climate. So the eighties are back. You've probably noticed it yourself. But, as is the case with every current decade, the influence is often exaggerated. And so I give you: skin tight jeans on men.
Yes, in the eighties jeans were a little tighter. But today young men everywhere are starving themselves like the women of the eighties did and still do just so they can fit their pubescent bodies into a pair of Victoria Secret brand women's jeans. Does anyone else find this disgusting? This is the most dangerous fashion trend in five years. And it's causing the emasculation of our teenage youth en masse. This has to stop. But rock bands everywhere have adopted the trend and are perpetuating it with full force. Their videos depict them in tighter and tighter denim, kicking and power strumming with wide legged abandon. Kids see this and begin to "rock out" (rocking out is the action of moving one's head up and down, sometimes violently, while jumping or rocking back and forth whilst sitting. Often times rocking out includes raising one or both hands in the air in symbolic gestures implying devil worship or resisting the man). This action of "rocking out" subconsciously reinforces the image of the band in the rockee's mind. Once reinforced in the mind of the child, the slightest amount of music from that band or even their genre can trigger a flashback so powerful the child will do anything to emulate the band. Is it any wonder why women's clothing stores have replaced Michael Bolten with The White Stripes? They know that teenage males everywhere are now willing to do what a decade ago was unthinkable. They arrive in these stores loud and proud of their desire for thin women's jeans. They come in groups ready to spend their hard earned lawn mowing money on this overt form of emasculation. But what of the cost to the women in our society?
We've known for years that women tend to compete and compare themselves to one another. Advertisers have been shamelessly exploiting this fact since advertising began. It's cruel and horrible but it's real. Once women compared themselves to the latest touched up celebrity when trying on jeans but now they have to compete with the indomitable metabolism of teenage males. Women go to try on jeans and see a teenage male in the size 2 they long to be able to fit in. It's the ultimate slap in the face. Today's corporate rock industry has caught onto the once fresh punk revival and has created legions of bands who all dress this way. Corporate rock and the fashion world have joined forces to control women even more through the perpetuation of this abominable trend. It's killing two birds with one stone really. The fashion industry successfully emasculates teenage boys making them much more likely to become metro sexual fashion consumers or homosexuals. The corporate rock industry uses the extreme peer pressure created by this fashion trend to sell many more sales. All kids have to do is see a new rocker in tight women's jeans and suddenly that "artist" now has the street cred needed to own their hearts. The fashion industry wins again because once again they've been able to wear down the collective female psyche and demoralize them even more into submission or banishment. It's just awful. But do you know who the real loser is in all this? The skate board industry.
The skateboard industry has traditionally reflected the values of rebellion against what's fashionable or trendy. But now the current generation of kids largely skateboard or at least want to look like they do due to corporate rock's adoption of skater fashion and subsequent infusing of women's jeans. Suddenly every kid on a skate board is wearing women's jeans. This is bad for skating. These jeans are so tight it's almost impossible to move let alone land a pop shovit. The godfathers of modern skating are perplexed. And there's nothing they can do short of starting a public service campaign instructing kids that tight women's jeans are uncool.
What can be done to stop this insidious fashion blunder? It has to start at the grass roots level. Talk to your kids about the importance of gender. Men should never wear women's clothing. Teach them about music and the evils of corporate rock. Corporate rock would have you and your children believe that it's gone but it's not. Corporate rock is bigger and more powerful than it ever has been. Listen to the radio and you'll see. The music's all the same. It's all the same!!!
In closing, I'm mad at fashion. Why did they do this to us? Why are they doing it to our children? I'm mad at the music industry. Why are they jumping on this? Why do they continue to mass produce bad music? Why are they destroying rock?! You probably already know the answer to these questions. Money. Women's jeans have always been more expensive than men's jeans. And true rock has always sold more records. The music industry has discovered a way to mass produce rebellion and market it to our unsuspecting youth while at the same time watering it down from its true rockness, thus polluting the joy that is rock. And how have they done this? With skinny women's jeans. It's a vicious cycle and I hope you'll join me in educating our youth about this horrible crime.
Mystery Chips
The other night I came into work and found a gigantic bag of potato chips. This bag was stuffed full of potato chips. This wasn't like an ordinary bag of potato chips, you know, full of air. This was a bag with weight and substance to it. The bag was out on the counter, seemingly in the open but I had to be sure. I started casually asking people in the office if they knew who the owner of the large bag of chips was. No one knew and then someone said what I had been waiting for,
"Well they're out in the open, so I guess they're probably for everyone to eat."
Yes! I had been officially absolved of any guilt or responsibility and could freely indulge my curiosity. Surely a bag this full of chips had to mean something. I had been analyzing the situation all night. A bag of chips that big could denote its origin being from a bulk discount center like Sam's Club or Costco. But this bag showed evidence of having hardly any air stored in it before it was open. To me this could only mean one thing: The manufacturer had total and complete confidence in his product. The manufacturer knew that these chips were so delicious that it would be a crime to fill the bag only halfway with the actual product. I walked up to the bag in question and hefted it. Its weight was very satisfactory indeed. I peered inside the open bag and examined the tears at the top. It was clear that whoever had opened this bag of chips had done so with reckless abandon. Surely everything was adding up. These had to be the best chips in the world. Why else would someone tear into the bag with such violence of action? I looked deeper into the bag, this time to examine the actual contents. I was impressed that the structural integrity of the majority of the chips was not only intact but appeared to be quite solid. This could only mean one thing: Kettle cooked chips. I quickly looked at the outside of the bag. I was right. These were of a homemade quality and durability that only a factory steeped in tradition could produce. I reached inside the bag and removed a chip. Its aroma danced around my nostrils implying the tapestry of intricate taste and delight I was surely in for. I placed the chip on my tongue and it began.
The room went white and air began to thin. I looked up and saw the universe before my eyes. Stars were streaking past me at incredible speeds until only thin stream of light were visible all around me. A vortex of light appeared in the distance directly in front of me and I knew that I was approaching something beautiful. I struggled to remember how to breathe. I felt my body relax amidst the dazzling display of space and time. Suddenly it was over just as fast as it had begun. I looked around. Know one had noticed my reaction to the chip. I had never tasted anything like it before and I was sure I would never taste anything like it again. I slowly regained my breathe. My body was shaking from the excitement of the experience. I slowly walked back to my desk momentarily forgetting about the bag of delight on the counter. My coworker caught sight of me and asked,
"So how are the chips?"
"Eh, okay I guess," I lied. "I've had better," I said selfishly.
The bag is still in the office. Others have tried these chips and I can tell by the changed looks on their faces. We who have eaten them can identify each other. Soon the bag of chips will be gone. I never found out from whence they came or to whom they belonged. I don't even know if I can find them again. I hesitate to look for them in any store. I do so because should I find them and partake again, I may not return from the cosmic journey they will undoubtedly create.
"Well they're out in the open, so I guess they're probably for everyone to eat."
Yes! I had been officially absolved of any guilt or responsibility and could freely indulge my curiosity. Surely a bag this full of chips had to mean something. I had been analyzing the situation all night. A bag of chips that big could denote its origin being from a bulk discount center like Sam's Club or Costco. But this bag showed evidence of having hardly any air stored in it before it was open. To me this could only mean one thing: The manufacturer had total and complete confidence in his product. The manufacturer knew that these chips were so delicious that it would be a crime to fill the bag only halfway with the actual product. I walked up to the bag in question and hefted it. Its weight was very satisfactory indeed. I peered inside the open bag and examined the tears at the top. It was clear that whoever had opened this bag of chips had done so with reckless abandon. Surely everything was adding up. These had to be the best chips in the world. Why else would someone tear into the bag with such violence of action? I looked deeper into the bag, this time to examine the actual contents. I was impressed that the structural integrity of the majority of the chips was not only intact but appeared to be quite solid. This could only mean one thing: Kettle cooked chips. I quickly looked at the outside of the bag. I was right. These were of a homemade quality and durability that only a factory steeped in tradition could produce. I reached inside the bag and removed a chip. Its aroma danced around my nostrils implying the tapestry of intricate taste and delight I was surely in for. I placed the chip on my tongue and it began.
The room went white and air began to thin. I looked up and saw the universe before my eyes. Stars were streaking past me at incredible speeds until only thin stream of light were visible all around me. A vortex of light appeared in the distance directly in front of me and I knew that I was approaching something beautiful. I struggled to remember how to breathe. I felt my body relax amidst the dazzling display of space and time. Suddenly it was over just as fast as it had begun. I looked around. Know one had noticed my reaction to the chip. I had never tasted anything like it before and I was sure I would never taste anything like it again. I slowly regained my breathe. My body was shaking from the excitement of the experience. I slowly walked back to my desk momentarily forgetting about the bag of delight on the counter. My coworker caught sight of me and asked,
"So how are the chips?"
"Eh, okay I guess," I lied. "I've had better," I said selfishly.
The bag is still in the office. Others have tried these chips and I can tell by the changed looks on their faces. We who have eaten them can identify each other. Soon the bag of chips will be gone. I never found out from whence they came or to whom they belonged. I don't even know if I can find them again. I hesitate to look for them in any store. I do so because should I find them and partake again, I may not return from the cosmic journey they will undoubtedly create.
Friday, February 16, 2007
My Daily Schedule
I work graveyard shifts. I work from 11:00 at night to 7:00 in the morning Sunday night to Friday morning. I need 7 to 8 hours of sleep every day as most human beings in my age group require. My typical schedule starting Sunday night goes like this:
Sunday night I try to sleep three hours before I go in for work. This allows me just enough rest to stay awake and alert until I get home in the morning.
At work, I work and I stay awake. Then I get off work at around 7 to 7:15 in the morning and I drive home. I get home between 7:15 and 7:30 in the morning. I walk in, take my boots off, go into my bedroom, take off my clothes and crawl into bed. By then it's between 7:20 and 7:35 in the morning). At around this time or a little later, say around 8:00 in the morning, my daughter comes in and wakes me up if I have fallen asleep, with, "The sun is up, it's time to get up Daddy." At that point she crawls into bed with my wife and I and wants "to snuggle with Mommy." Once she's in the bed, she will usually begin telling me about the night's dreams she had. At around 8:30 to 8:45 AM I drift off to sleep.
I am woken up any time between 12:30 and 1:30 PM. On a good day, this equals 5 to 6 hours of good sleep. On a bad day it equals 4 to 5 hours. If I get to sleep those 3 hours before the next shift starts that adds up to a total of 7 total hours on a bad day and 8 to 9 total hours on a good day.
Now I would say that I have more bad days than good days as far as sleep goes. I would say that my average is around 5 to 6 total sleep hours per day. But you have to take into consideration something I call "The Man Factor." When a man complains about something in his life he tends to exaggerate either he makes something out to be too great or too little depending on the circumstances and which description will benefit his side of an argument or garner him the most sympathy. So taking into account "The Man Factor," in my self reporting, I would say that I probably average 7 hours of sleep per day. That's one hour short of what we need but it's very doable. Now in all honesty I do have certifiable bad days. Days when I am woken up at 12:15 after falling asleep only 5 hours before. And sometimes the way I get woken up is just bad. Who needs to wake up to absolute stress after only 5 hours of sleep. There have even been days when I've had to get up with only 3 hours of sleep. Those are rare but I don't forget them.
Now I have two young kids and so this kind of thing is to be expected. I accept that. But let's keep moving here, there's still more of my day to cover.
So I get up at, on a good day, 1:30PM and go to the bathroom. I get myself together, take a shower, etc. So I'm ready for the rest of the day by around 2:15 PM. So let's see how much time do I have left in the day from this point? I have to go back to work at 11:00 PM. So on a good day I have 9 whole hours left in the day. Now if you're generous and allow me to sleep three hours before I go into work then I really only have about 5 hours. Now in how many of those hours are my kids up? They go to bed between 7:00 PM and 8:00 PM. So that gives me about 5 hours with them. Now once I get up my wife usually has some things that she needs to do and needs me available to watch one or both of the kids to make, those tasks easier to accomplish. My wife is a capable woman who can accomplish the items on her to do lists with both kids in tow if she needs to.
Now I also go to school part time. I have mountains of reading for one class and hours of lab time for another. The lab time gets cut down significantly because I have the software needed to finish my projects on my laptop. This way I can work whenever I have a chance. The reading unfortunately takes a huge hit. It is impossible to read my assignments at home with my family present. By now you've probably figured out that I don't have too much time to be with my family. If I were to go to the library for 2 to 3 hours to read each day and then spend another 2 to 3 hours each day working on my lab assignments, well you get the idea. No time at home with the family, which in my life is mandatory by choice.
Often at home I play with the kids to keep them entertained during the time I am awake. This gives my wife a welcome break at time and opportunities to to work on her packages or other things that she wants to do, or things that need to be done around the house.
I struggle with doing what I need to do during the time I have between shifts. I have been trying to run a business and it's just not working. I just do not have the time I need to do what needs to be done to get it off the ground the way I want to. It requires travel within the area and time with clients. Time I just don't have. I have to divide my time with cleaning up the little disasters that occur in one's life on a daily basis, school, spending time with my children, and wife. So that's my life right now. I spend most of my "Internet time" at night when it gets slow and even that is not that much. I always have a plan when I get home for what I need to do when I wake up and I never accomplish it. There's always something that comes up or gets in the way or takes greater precedence.
I need to start taking my own advice about success.
Sunday night I try to sleep three hours before I go in for work. This allows me just enough rest to stay awake and alert until I get home in the morning.
At work, I work and I stay awake. Then I get off work at around 7 to 7:15 in the morning and I drive home. I get home between 7:15 and 7:30 in the morning. I walk in, take my boots off, go into my bedroom, take off my clothes and crawl into bed. By then it's between 7:20 and 7:35 in the morning). At around this time or a little later, say around 8:00 in the morning, my daughter comes in and wakes me up if I have fallen asleep, with, "The sun is up, it's time to get up Daddy." At that point she crawls into bed with my wife and I and wants "to snuggle with Mommy." Once she's in the bed, she will usually begin telling me about the night's dreams she had. At around 8:30 to 8:45 AM I drift off to sleep.
I am woken up any time between 12:30 and 1:30 PM. On a good day, this equals 5 to 6 hours of good sleep. On a bad day it equals 4 to 5 hours. If I get to sleep those 3 hours before the next shift starts that adds up to a total of 7 total hours on a bad day and 8 to 9 total hours on a good day.
Now I would say that I have more bad days than good days as far as sleep goes. I would say that my average is around 5 to 6 total sleep hours per day. But you have to take into consideration something I call "The Man Factor." When a man complains about something in his life he tends to exaggerate either he makes something out to be too great or too little depending on the circumstances and which description will benefit his side of an argument or garner him the most sympathy. So taking into account "The Man Factor," in my self reporting, I would say that I probably average 7 hours of sleep per day. That's one hour short of what we need but it's very doable. Now in all honesty I do have certifiable bad days. Days when I am woken up at 12:15 after falling asleep only 5 hours before. And sometimes the way I get woken up is just bad. Who needs to wake up to absolute stress after only 5 hours of sleep. There have even been days when I've had to get up with only 3 hours of sleep. Those are rare but I don't forget them.
Now I have two young kids and so this kind of thing is to be expected. I accept that. But let's keep moving here, there's still more of my day to cover.
So I get up at, on a good day, 1:30PM and go to the bathroom. I get myself together, take a shower, etc. So I'm ready for the rest of the day by around 2:15 PM. So let's see how much time do I have left in the day from this point? I have to go back to work at 11:00 PM. So on a good day I have 9 whole hours left in the day. Now if you're generous and allow me to sleep three hours before I go into work then I really only have about 5 hours. Now in how many of those hours are my kids up? They go to bed between 7:00 PM and 8:00 PM. So that gives me about 5 hours with them. Now once I get up my wife usually has some things that she needs to do and needs me available to watch one or both of the kids to make, those tasks easier to accomplish. My wife is a capable woman who can accomplish the items on her to do lists with both kids in tow if she needs to.
Now I also go to school part time. I have mountains of reading for one class and hours of lab time for another. The lab time gets cut down significantly because I have the software needed to finish my projects on my laptop. This way I can work whenever I have a chance. The reading unfortunately takes a huge hit. It is impossible to read my assignments at home with my family present. By now you've probably figured out that I don't have too much time to be with my family. If I were to go to the library for 2 to 3 hours to read each day and then spend another 2 to 3 hours each day working on my lab assignments, well you get the idea. No time at home with the family, which in my life is mandatory by choice.
Often at home I play with the kids to keep them entertained during the time I am awake. This gives my wife a welcome break at time and opportunities to to work on her packages or other things that she wants to do, or things that need to be done around the house.
I struggle with doing what I need to do during the time I have between shifts. I have been trying to run a business and it's just not working. I just do not have the time I need to do what needs to be done to get it off the ground the way I want to. It requires travel within the area and time with clients. Time I just don't have. I have to divide my time with cleaning up the little disasters that occur in one's life on a daily basis, school, spending time with my children, and wife. So that's my life right now. I spend most of my "Internet time" at night when it gets slow and even that is not that much. I always have a plan when I get home for what I need to do when I wake up and I never accomplish it. There's always something that comes up or gets in the way or takes greater precedence.
I need to start taking my own advice about success.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
KFED
KFED,
I salute you. You have done what no person thought was possible. You have, in one fell swoop, completely remade your image, garnering the collective respect of everyone in both Hollywood and the music industry. Through your shameless use of self deprecating humor you have allowed people to like you and get away with it. Yes, you have masterfully created a brave new world where everyone is allowed to like you. We have been given permission by the powers that be to accept you. And just who are those social powers that be? They are the very people you wooed-Hollywood and music world. Soon that respect will mature and you will be able to take it to the social bank and cash it in for a few hits on the billboard charts. You'll be guest hosting on Love Lines, and making respectable appearances on MTV. You, my friend, are in for the year of your life. 2007 is officially the year of KFED. You have the catchy moniker, you have the Justin Timberlake look, you have taken the butt of every one's jokes and turned it on it's butt head. How did you do it? Did you have help from Nick Lachey? It doesn't matter dawg, this is your year. I look forward to actually hearing your music on the radio, seeing you appear at everything from movie premiers to awards shows. KFED07. It has kind of a presidential campaign slogan ring to it doesn't it? Hey, my man, don't think it can't happen even though 08 is really where it's at, you can use 07 to use your new found street cred to fund your exploratory committee. Oh wait, your not old enough to be president yet. But maybe you could host the MTV awards. Now that would be something KFED, that would be something.
I salute you. You have done what no person thought was possible. You have, in one fell swoop, completely remade your image, garnering the collective respect of everyone in both Hollywood and the music industry. Through your shameless use of self deprecating humor you have allowed people to like you and get away with it. Yes, you have masterfully created a brave new world where everyone is allowed to like you. We have been given permission by the powers that be to accept you. And just who are those social powers that be? They are the very people you wooed-Hollywood and music world. Soon that respect will mature and you will be able to take it to the social bank and cash it in for a few hits on the billboard charts. You'll be guest hosting on Love Lines, and making respectable appearances on MTV. You, my friend, are in for the year of your life. 2007 is officially the year of KFED. You have the catchy moniker, you have the Justin Timberlake look, you have taken the butt of every one's jokes and turned it on it's butt head. How did you do it? Did you have help from Nick Lachey? It doesn't matter dawg, this is your year. I look forward to actually hearing your music on the radio, seeing you appear at everything from movie premiers to awards shows. KFED07. It has kind of a presidential campaign slogan ring to it doesn't it? Hey, my man, don't think it can't happen even though 08 is really where it's at, you can use 07 to use your new found street cred to fund your exploratory committee. Oh wait, your not old enough to be president yet. But maybe you could host the MTV awards. Now that would be something KFED, that would be something.
Monday, February 12, 2007
The Vault
Peter Pan, Cinderella, Alice, Ariel, Pinocchio, Belle, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, the Lady, the Tramp, Merry Poppins, Even Bambi all have something in common. They've all done hard time in the vault. And what was their crime I ask you? I don't know. No one does. All we know is that these beloved figures have been sentenced to time in the dreaded vault. Some of them have done multiple sentences in the vault. They are the victims of the greed machine known as Disney. They are separated from their beloved fans for decades at a time. Forced to sit idly by in the cold steel of the vault while new, more technologically pixar infused features burrow their way into the hearts of America's children. When our sad heroes are finally released from prison, they are left to fend for themselves in a world where their fans have grown up. Some find love again but many just fade away into the $5.99 bins of big box media stores. Those of us who have kept their memories alive are forced to live at the mercy of the vault keepers. We speak in hushed tones of their suspected release dates,
"Did you hear about Bambi?"
"Shh they'll hear you!"
Whispering, "I hear Bambi gets out in three months."
"Are you serious? I thought Bambi was gone for good."
I'm almost risking too much by even talking about it. There are those of us who think it's time to act. Right now, somewhere, behind closed doors, meetings are being held. Plans are coming together. Someday soon, there's going to be a break out. When will it happen? If you don't know, no one will tell you. Just wait for the sign. You'll know it when you see it.
"Did you hear about Bambi?"
"Shh they'll hear you!"
Whispering, "I hear Bambi gets out in three months."
"Are you serious? I thought Bambi was gone for good."
I'm almost risking too much by even talking about it. There are those of us who think it's time to act. Right now, somewhere, behind closed doors, meetings are being held. Plans are coming together. Someday soon, there's going to be a break out. When will it happen? If you don't know, no one will tell you. Just wait for the sign. You'll know it when you see it.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Why You Fail
I couldn't convert in midair to make the shot. I got sick. I missed my ride to the presentation. There was a horrible accident on the interstate that stopped traffic for forty five minutes. I wasn't given enough time. The other people in the group did nothing and the burden was all on me. I was too tired. My kids wouldn't leave me alone. I had a family thing. My sister had her baby. I spaced it. I double booked. I'm sorry. I lost your contact information. I lost the account number. I couldn't remember the phone number. Someone in accounting got the numbers wrong. The company car broke down. We were delayed. I forgot. It's completely my responsibility. I apologize. I didn't know. It's not my fault. I got caught up. The other project took too long. The weather got really bad. There was a complication. I ran out of money. The competition beat us. I didn't plan properly. We didn't practice enough. I ate that doughnut. I couldn't resist. He asked me too. She wanted it.
You fail simply because you do not succeed.
This statement begs the question, "how do I not succeed?" You do not succeed because you do not overcome the obstacles that stand to prevent you from succeeding. This statement, in turn, begs the following question:
"So how do I succeed then?"
You succeed by overcoming the obstacles that stand in your way to success.
Before you start you must operationally define success. What is success and how will you know when you've accomplished it? Once you have defined it, it must become your quest. You must burn it into your soul. It is your mission. When one knows what success is, one can more clearly see the opposition to that success. When you can identify that opposition you will then come to know it as your enemy. It is then that you must destroy your enemy without hesitation. Often you will discover that this enemy is a part of you. This can make identifying the opposition to your success difficult and painful. If you are focused on your success, if it is truly your mission, you will be able to destroy that part of you that prevents you from succeeding. The first time you do this will be painful and difficult. It will be sloppy and may take some time. As you discover other parts of you that are of the enemy to your success you will more easily be able to vanquish those aspects. Soon they will melt away as you move ever closer to your success. And then you shall have it. Success will be yours.
That is how you succeed in life. Does it seem easy? It should not but its difficulty depends on how converted you are to your success. You must believe that you will succeed. Once you do you will not fail. You will do everything in your power until you feel the power of your very mental will pushing you forward toward your success. This will work for you. You fail because you do not do this. Not because you cannot do this, but you do not do it.
There is a distinct difference between "Cannot" and "Do not." "Cannot" means that one is temporally unable to accomplish some task. "Do not" means one has chosen not to accomplish a certain task. All human beings regardless of circumstance are able to choose to "Do not." "Cannot" is a falsehood perpetuated within the human race by those who fail and by those who succeed but wish others to fail. "Do not" is the only truth in the matter. You fail because you have chosen to fail. That is the simple truth. You fail because you have defeated your mind and will and you have chosen to do so. You allow your defeatist mental state take power over you. You become a slave to failure until you believe the great lie of "Cannot." You are a disciple of "Cannot" and slave to it's master "failure."
You must acknowledge the truth. You have chosen this life. Then you must simply start again, omitting "cannot" from your mind. You will succeed. You will conquer.
Are you looking for a better job? Are you struggling to overcome an addiction? Do you want more money? Do you want to find love? Are you unhappy with your weight? Do you hate yourself? Do you want to be happy? Then succeed and you will be.
You fail simply because you do not succeed.
This statement begs the question, "how do I not succeed?" You do not succeed because you do not overcome the obstacles that stand to prevent you from succeeding. This statement, in turn, begs the following question:
"So how do I succeed then?"
You succeed by overcoming the obstacles that stand in your way to success.
Before you start you must operationally define success. What is success and how will you know when you've accomplished it? Once you have defined it, it must become your quest. You must burn it into your soul. It is your mission. When one knows what success is, one can more clearly see the opposition to that success. When you can identify that opposition you will then come to know it as your enemy. It is then that you must destroy your enemy without hesitation. Often you will discover that this enemy is a part of you. This can make identifying the opposition to your success difficult and painful. If you are focused on your success, if it is truly your mission, you will be able to destroy that part of you that prevents you from succeeding. The first time you do this will be painful and difficult. It will be sloppy and may take some time. As you discover other parts of you that are of the enemy to your success you will more easily be able to vanquish those aspects. Soon they will melt away as you move ever closer to your success. And then you shall have it. Success will be yours.
That is how you succeed in life. Does it seem easy? It should not but its difficulty depends on how converted you are to your success. You must believe that you will succeed. Once you do you will not fail. You will do everything in your power until you feel the power of your very mental will pushing you forward toward your success. This will work for you. You fail because you do not do this. Not because you cannot do this, but you do not do it.
There is a distinct difference between "Cannot" and "Do not." "Cannot" means that one is temporally unable to accomplish some task. "Do not" means one has chosen not to accomplish a certain task. All human beings regardless of circumstance are able to choose to "Do not." "Cannot" is a falsehood perpetuated within the human race by those who fail and by those who succeed but wish others to fail. "Do not" is the only truth in the matter. You fail because you have chosen to fail. That is the simple truth. You fail because you have defeated your mind and will and you have chosen to do so. You allow your defeatist mental state take power over you. You become a slave to failure until you believe the great lie of "Cannot." You are a disciple of "Cannot" and slave to it's master "failure."
You must acknowledge the truth. You have chosen this life. Then you must simply start again, omitting "cannot" from your mind. You will succeed. You will conquer.
Are you looking for a better job? Are you struggling to overcome an addiction? Do you want more money? Do you want to find love? Are you unhappy with your weight? Do you hate yourself? Do you want to be happy? Then succeed and you will be.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Learning German!
So I'm learning German now through blog spot. I had no idea that blog spot came with it's own German tutorial when you sign up to create a blog. It's really well thought out too. At random, when I log in to my user account, the page will appear entirely in German! This is great because it forces me to learn how to read German in order to do what I need to to do. Because everything is in a familiar location, I can guess what everything means. The only down side to this new language learning program is the spell checker. Whenever I'm in German mode almost everything I write is misspelled according to the German spell checker. No program is perfect I guess.
Friday, February 2, 2007
My First Wrinkle
The other night at work while taking a bathroom break I noticed my first wrinkle. It's one of those that goes from your nose to the corner of your mouth. Maybe it was the lighting but it looked pretty harsh. it was on my left side. I think they're called "frown lines." You never hear of a wrinkle caused by smiling though, do you? Nobody get's smiling wrinkles do they?
I'm aging. My wife thinks aging is depressing. And in a way it can be. But when we really think of it, we're not old at all. I mean we're in our late twenties for crying out loud. It just seems as if time is moving faster than it did when we were younger. This can be explained though. The introduction of children into one's life and hence concept of time and space, alters that concept forever. Children have the ability to slow down time to almost a standstill, or speed it up to the point where you're asking yourself, "how did we get here?" If children realized this they would rule the world, but because they're children and they don't, they miss out on that.
I'm okay with aging though. I like the fact that my hair is going grey. I like the fact that I'm getting wrinkles. I'm excited to move into that longer period of my life in which people will think of me as "distinguished looking." I don't like being in-between. I've never enjoyed any of the "in-between" moments of my life. They were always filled with awkwardness. Maybe that's why Jay-Z says, "thirty is the new 20." I'm almost there Jay-Z, I'm alomst there.
I'm aging. My wife thinks aging is depressing. And in a way it can be. But when we really think of it, we're not old at all. I mean we're in our late twenties for crying out loud. It just seems as if time is moving faster than it did when we were younger. This can be explained though. The introduction of children into one's life and hence concept of time and space, alters that concept forever. Children have the ability to slow down time to almost a standstill, or speed it up to the point where you're asking yourself, "how did we get here?" If children realized this they would rule the world, but because they're children and they don't, they miss out on that.
I'm okay with aging though. I like the fact that my hair is going grey. I like the fact that I'm getting wrinkles. I'm excited to move into that longer period of my life in which people will think of me as "distinguished looking." I don't like being in-between. I've never enjoyed any of the "in-between" moments of my life. They were always filled with awkwardness. Maybe that's why Jay-Z says, "thirty is the new 20." I'm almost there Jay-Z, I'm alomst there.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Why I Do The Things I Do
Something happens to a man when he gets married. I'm not sure how it happens but some men lose the ability to hold a meaningful conversation with a woman. It's not because the man doesn't like the woman any more, or isn't attracted to her. On the contrary, a man could be in the mad throws of passion an still have absolutely nothing to say. This is very problematic in marriage because the primary source of fuel for a woman's emotional diet is deep meaningful conversation. This becomes critical to women when they have children. They cannot survive without it after spending a day with the children "in captivity." Now I do not know if this theory applies to women who work full time outside of the home, but it seems to fit with women who work full time in the home. And if any men have had to stay at home with the kids then they will know that I speak the truth.
This disintegration of meaningful conversation within the man's head does not imply that he is having meaningful conversation in his own head which he has selfishly chosen to keep to himself. Far from it. I like to think of it, when I am thinking, as nirvana. The complete absence of thought. This explains why many women believe their husbands are thoughtless. They are. They have achieved nirvana. They are at peace with their lives thus far. They have married the woman of their dreams, they have beautiful children, a decent place to live, they are able to provide for their families, and have healthy engaging hobbies. The man isn't speaking because he is frustrated or upset. He isn't speaking because he simply has nothing to say. This idea is completely foreign to most women and usually proves to be the impetus of many arguments (usually caused by the woman) which resemble pre emptive marital strikes. The woman believes the man has knocked out communications in an attempt to undermine the woman's goals or needs. By cutting off the supply line of emotional content the man can starve the woman out during the siege. It simply does not work that way. We just don't have anything to say. This moment, however, can prove critical. Usually the woman thinks that something is wrong and then begins a series of mental leaps to conclusions about why the man is not communicating. This exposes her utmost insecurities which force her to engage a vicious defense mechanism in order to protect her ego. This is most commonly demonstrated in the form of a verbal passive aggressive attack on the man, which to him, appears completely unwarranted. At this point the man may engage or may continue his silence. The only difference between this new form of silence is that he is thinking and quickly taking offense to this seemingly unwarranted attack on his character, personality or grooming habits. He feels disrespected and thinks to himself, "well if you're going to treat me like that when I haven't done anything wrong, then I'm not talking." This, of course, only validates the woman's original fears and fuels her misguided fury. Soon both parties are upset but for completely different reasons. Eventually someone leaves to clear their head but the man will always find a way to return to his nirvana state. It's how men stay alive in this world. Later on things will be worked out and all will be forgiven and life will return to normal. At least until the woman forgets why the man isn't talking.
This disintegration of meaningful conversation within the man's head does not imply that he is having meaningful conversation in his own head which he has selfishly chosen to keep to himself. Far from it. I like to think of it, when I am thinking, as nirvana. The complete absence of thought. This explains why many women believe their husbands are thoughtless. They are. They have achieved nirvana. They are at peace with their lives thus far. They have married the woman of their dreams, they have beautiful children, a decent place to live, they are able to provide for their families, and have healthy engaging hobbies. The man isn't speaking because he is frustrated or upset. He isn't speaking because he simply has nothing to say. This idea is completely foreign to most women and usually proves to be the impetus of many arguments (usually caused by the woman) which resemble pre emptive marital strikes. The woman believes the man has knocked out communications in an attempt to undermine the woman's goals or needs. By cutting off the supply line of emotional content the man can starve the woman out during the siege. It simply does not work that way. We just don't have anything to say. This moment, however, can prove critical. Usually the woman thinks that something is wrong and then begins a series of mental leaps to conclusions about why the man is not communicating. This exposes her utmost insecurities which force her to engage a vicious defense mechanism in order to protect her ego. This is most commonly demonstrated in the form of a verbal passive aggressive attack on the man, which to him, appears completely unwarranted. At this point the man may engage or may continue his silence. The only difference between this new form of silence is that he is thinking and quickly taking offense to this seemingly unwarranted attack on his character, personality or grooming habits. He feels disrespected and thinks to himself, "well if you're going to treat me like that when I haven't done anything wrong, then I'm not talking." This, of course, only validates the woman's original fears and fuels her misguided fury. Soon both parties are upset but for completely different reasons. Eventually someone leaves to clear their head but the man will always find a way to return to his nirvana state. It's how men stay alive in this world. Later on things will be worked out and all will be forgiven and life will return to normal. At least until the woman forgets why the man isn't talking.
Monday, January 29, 2007
The One About The Missionary Who...
I got a request recently to tell the story about the Missionary who walked all the way to the MTC from Lehi, Utah.
It was 03:00h when a sea green Ford Probe pulls up to the front doors of the MTC. First of all, any time a sea green Ford Probe pulls up anywhere, you immediately need to be on your guard. There's just something abou the Probe that makes me feel uneasy. You never know what's going to come out of a Probe. Tonight was no different.
I walk to the window and see this middle aged couple helping this tall lanky kid out their car with his backpack. They looked really freaked out and as soon as he was at the front doors of the MTC they took off as fast as they had arrived. Their exhausted passenger didn't seem to notice. In fact he didn't seem to notice too much at all. He had this blank stare going on that told me the lights were on but not quite everybody was home. We buzzed him in and he starts talking about how he's reporting for his mission. Time for a brief explanation on how the MTC works:
Every Wednsday is "new missionary day," the day when all the new missionaries called to serve in their respective fields of labor, report to the MTC to check in and start their new lives as full time representatives of the LDS church. Now because we often recieve young men and women from other countries or other parts of the United States, many will report the day or night before due to flight schedules or other travel plans.
So at first, things did not seem too strange when he began by telling us that he was from New York and had arrived "early" to report in to the MTC. We looked him up on the computer and couldn't find the guy's name anywhere. So I immediately begin looking him over, noticing the far out gaze. Who was this guy? Why was he here if he wasn't on our system? Why had those people in the Probe dropped him off and then raced out of the MTC so fast? Why was this guy... covered in dirt? Covered in dirt. I don't know why I didn't notice it before but this poor guy's six foot frame was covered in dirt with patches of grass stuck to him. When I realized what I was seeing I asked him, "Are you okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well you've got dirt all over you. What happened?"
"I got tired."
"Uh, tired of what?"
"Walking."
I looked over to my partner who looked just as confused as I did. I continued, "What do you mean walking?"
"I've been walking for a long time."
"Are you on any medication we should know about?"
"Oh yeah!"
That question seemed to jarr him out of the stupified exhausted gaze he had been trapped in. He ran his fingers through his dirty flat top, shaking the grass out as he went. Eventually we figured out that he had flown to Lehi, Utah to stay with his sister before he was to report to the MTC the FOLLOWING WEEK. That's right folks, he was a week early. But he didn't know that. He was supposed to be on medication for depression and anxiety as well as a seperate medication for; what he called, and you have to believe me: SHORT TERM MEMORY LOSS.
So how in the world did he end up at the MTC a week early, all covered in dirt and grass?
Well, first we called his parents who acted like we had just found a long lost relative. It turned out he had stopped taking his medication while at his sisters house. According to our guest, his sister was supposed to help him remember to take his pills (remember the short term memory loss?) but she has 8 kids all within one to two years apart so, "things got a little crazy over there adn I had to get out." So our friend decided to leave and go to the MTC early in order to ease the burden on his sister. How did he do this? He walked. "And walked, and walked, and walked." Pretty soon his medicine wore off and he forgot what he was doing. But since he was dressed for the occasion and had a backpack on his shoulder and a Book of Mormon in his hand, he figured he was on his mission so he started tracting. He said, "I started knocking doors and talking to people asking them for directions."
"Did anyone help you out?"
"Well a lot of people told me where I could go."
"So you didn't have too much success?"
"Not really, but this one lady gave me dinner and then sent me back out."
So he walked from Lehi, forgot what he was doing and started tracting in Utah County without much ecclesiastical success but still managed to get a dinner appointment out of the whole ordeal. Classic.
When I asked him how he got all dirty he told us how he got really tired and decided to lay down.
"Where did you lay down?"
"On the grass next to the road."
"Which road?"
"It was big and the cars were going fast. I can't remember what it was called."
"I-15," I asked half jokingly.
"Yeah!"
I couldn't beleive it. He had layed down in the grass next to I-15 to catch some shut eye on his way to the MTC. He went on to tell us that he woke up hungry and started eating grass when the couple in the Probe found him. It's true you never know what to expect from a Ford Probe. Well once we got him cleaned up, and checked in to the MTC, and notified the local and state authorities of his whereabouts (yes, his family had filed a missing persons report), we gave him his room key and escorted him to his temporary residence. When we got there, he reached in his pocket to pull out his room key but it wasn't there. He had left it at the front desk.
We got his key for him and took poloroid pictures of the front desk, his residence hall, and his room number, and gave them to him. Then we took photos of ouselves to give to him in case he needed to find us but couldn't remember who we were. I don't know what happened to that guy, but I'm sure he's okay.
It was 03:00h when a sea green Ford Probe pulls up to the front doors of the MTC. First of all, any time a sea green Ford Probe pulls up anywhere, you immediately need to be on your guard. There's just something abou the Probe that makes me feel uneasy. You never know what's going to come out of a Probe. Tonight was no different.
I walk to the window and see this middle aged couple helping this tall lanky kid out their car with his backpack. They looked really freaked out and as soon as he was at the front doors of the MTC they took off as fast as they had arrived. Their exhausted passenger didn't seem to notice. In fact he didn't seem to notice too much at all. He had this blank stare going on that told me the lights were on but not quite everybody was home. We buzzed him in and he starts talking about how he's reporting for his mission. Time for a brief explanation on how the MTC works:
Every Wednsday is "new missionary day," the day when all the new missionaries called to serve in their respective fields of labor, report to the MTC to check in and start their new lives as full time representatives of the LDS church. Now because we often recieve young men and women from other countries or other parts of the United States, many will report the day or night before due to flight schedules or other travel plans.
So at first, things did not seem too strange when he began by telling us that he was from New York and had arrived "early" to report in to the MTC. We looked him up on the computer and couldn't find the guy's name anywhere. So I immediately begin looking him over, noticing the far out gaze. Who was this guy? Why was he here if he wasn't on our system? Why had those people in the Probe dropped him off and then raced out of the MTC so fast? Why was this guy... covered in dirt? Covered in dirt. I don't know why I didn't notice it before but this poor guy's six foot frame was covered in dirt with patches of grass stuck to him. When I realized what I was seeing I asked him, "Are you okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well you've got dirt all over you. What happened?"
"I got tired."
"Uh, tired of what?"
"Walking."
I looked over to my partner who looked just as confused as I did. I continued, "What do you mean walking?"
"I've been walking for a long time."
"Are you on any medication we should know about?"
"Oh yeah!"
That question seemed to jarr him out of the stupified exhausted gaze he had been trapped in. He ran his fingers through his dirty flat top, shaking the grass out as he went. Eventually we figured out that he had flown to Lehi, Utah to stay with his sister before he was to report to the MTC the FOLLOWING WEEK. That's right folks, he was a week early. But he didn't know that. He was supposed to be on medication for depression and anxiety as well as a seperate medication for; what he called, and you have to believe me: SHORT TERM MEMORY LOSS.
So how in the world did he end up at the MTC a week early, all covered in dirt and grass?
Well, first we called his parents who acted like we had just found a long lost relative. It turned out he had stopped taking his medication while at his sisters house. According to our guest, his sister was supposed to help him remember to take his pills (remember the short term memory loss?) but she has 8 kids all within one to two years apart so, "things got a little crazy over there adn I had to get out." So our friend decided to leave and go to the MTC early in order to ease the burden on his sister. How did he do this? He walked. "And walked, and walked, and walked." Pretty soon his medicine wore off and he forgot what he was doing. But since he was dressed for the occasion and had a backpack on his shoulder and a Book of Mormon in his hand, he figured he was on his mission so he started tracting. He said, "I started knocking doors and talking to people asking them for directions."
"Did anyone help you out?"
"Well a lot of people told me where I could go."
"So you didn't have too much success?"
"Not really, but this one lady gave me dinner and then sent me back out."
So he walked from Lehi, forgot what he was doing and started tracting in Utah County without much ecclesiastical success but still managed to get a dinner appointment out of the whole ordeal. Classic.
When I asked him how he got all dirty he told us how he got really tired and decided to lay down.
"Where did you lay down?"
"On the grass next to the road."
"Which road?"
"It was big and the cars were going fast. I can't remember what it was called."
"I-15," I asked half jokingly.
"Yeah!"
I couldn't beleive it. He had layed down in the grass next to I-15 to catch some shut eye on his way to the MTC. He went on to tell us that he woke up hungry and started eating grass when the couple in the Probe found him. It's true you never know what to expect from a Ford Probe. Well once we got him cleaned up, and checked in to the MTC, and notified the local and state authorities of his whereabouts (yes, his family had filed a missing persons report), we gave him his room key and escorted him to his temporary residence. When we got there, he reached in his pocket to pull out his room key but it wasn't there. He had left it at the front desk.
We got his key for him and took poloroid pictures of the front desk, his residence hall, and his room number, and gave them to him. Then we took photos of ouselves to give to him in case he needed to find us but couldn't remember who we were. I don't know what happened to that guy, but I'm sure he's okay.
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