All my regulars will know that I'm a strong proponent of preparation when it comes to the impending zombie apocalypse. This seems natural to me, but I know that there are those of you out there who scoff at me. They will be devoured. It's a shame, but that's how the whole survival-of-the-fittest thing works.
Anyway, it seems that the The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead would be a shoe in for me. To be honest, it was a mixed bag. It's not that it's written poorly. It's just, well, kind of long.
Basically, the book takes the premise that zombies have existed for thousands of years, caused by a virus that kills it's host, and then takes over the entire nervous system, leaving a dead, but mobile, individual that goes about eating people. Then, it tells you how to kill them, evade them, etc.
The writing itself is well done. Not once does Brooks (son of one my personal heros, Mel Brooks) break character. The entire thing reads like a paranoid, cold war era preparation guide. The fact that it's based on something false is never eluded to in the least. He covers everything that could be considered: weapons (in which he totally vindicated my opinion that an ax wins over a chainsaw), environment, and long term planning in the event of a world wide outbreak.
The thing is, its detail is what does it in. What I really want to see is one of those old school filmstrips where the sound is funny talking about all of it. You know the ones. The announce guy would come on and say something like, "Uh oh. Looks like little Billy has a zombie outbreak in the neighborhood.", and then goes on to tell little Billy how to help his family protect themselves. I think that's what the book was going for, but got lost in the sometimes excessive thought that went into it.
Don't get me wrong - the detail is impressive. It's just a lot to read frankly. When he starts covering historical outbreaks in the last third or so of the book, it picks up, but the preceding text gets to be too much.
On the bright side, this book led to his more serious, and much better World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, which I can whole heartedly recommend. Unless you're a big fan of zombie movies and games, which obviously I am, I can't really recommend this one for reading. At the same time, if I saw it in a bargain bin, I would pick it up to keep around as a conversation piece. So go read World War Z, a much more accessible and frankly better written book, and leave this one to the fans.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Brother, Can You Spare a Mortgage
We're going to get back to a regular schedule around here now that things have settled down a bit at home, and it's going to start by breaking one of my own ruled. That's right, today we're going to talk about politics. Consider this your chance to flee.
Waiting...waiting...writing in gerunds...
Okay, now that the cowards are gone, let's discuss the housing market, because I'm a little confused about a some things. First, are we or are we not a capitalist society? Shouldn't that mean that people invest money into things that they hope will pay off in the future? If it does, great. If not, they lose out, dress their wounds, and move on, wiser.
Apparently this isn't the case anymore. Now, if you win, terrific. Good for you. And if you lose? Why, the government will sweep in and start writing relief checks, funded in large by those of us who are struggling to pay our own $&^#ing bills right now.
I know, I know - a large part of this bill goes to saving people's homes. But as I understand it, a lot of these are the people who are in trouble because they thought they could get a variable rate or balloon mortgage and use it to buy a house way out of their price range. I keep hearing about how the lending industry mislead people, but you know what, I wanted to buy a house too, and didn't because I can read. I would hope that the claims of American ignorance are hyperbole at least to the extent that poeple are not signing legal documents without taking the time to read them.
What's even more bothersome though is that part of the problem was that the government felt the need to interfere in the first place. So some time ago, the government decided that it had to rally against lenders not giving out mortgages to the poor. Now, I don't want to seem unsympathetic to people who have real problems, but again, focus for a moment on where we started this talk. A captalist society is being regulated because banks will not give out loans to people who probably won't be able to repay them. So, the elected officials get to say how they helped the poor afford houses (an excellent talking point during an election), and then a decade or two later the elected officials get to reprimand the lending industry for screwing up the economy and point out how they voted to provide relief in this time of need (another excellent talking point).
I guess what's bothering me is the nagging thought that if the government had just stayed the &$%# out of the lending industry's business in the first place, then the market would have regulated itself and we wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we would be equally screwed, just through different forces. Maybe this entire posting is just one big troll to see if anyone will actually get mad enough to write a comment (doubt it, but I can never tell these days).
The only thing that I'm sure about is this - I definitely get the feeling that the government is overly involved in our lives. I'm starting to wonder if maybe they should worry about things like national security and standard public services (police, fire, libraries, etc.), and not so much about babysitting everything we do to try and protect us from ourselves. I would say that this opinion sounds too close to being Republican for my comfort, but as far as I can tell the GOP is just as quick to cut checks and butt into our lives as the Dems, so the line between them is beyond blurry these days.
On the bright side, complaining about big government is sure to up my readership as I get added to watch lists. Sweet.
Waiting...waiting...writing in gerunds...
Okay, now that the cowards are gone, let's discuss the housing market, because I'm a little confused about a some things. First, are we or are we not a capitalist society? Shouldn't that mean that people invest money into things that they hope will pay off in the future? If it does, great. If not, they lose out, dress their wounds, and move on, wiser.
Apparently this isn't the case anymore. Now, if you win, terrific. Good for you. And if you lose? Why, the government will sweep in and start writing relief checks, funded in large by those of us who are struggling to pay our own $&^#ing bills right now.
I know, I know - a large part of this bill goes to saving people's homes. But as I understand it, a lot of these are the people who are in trouble because they thought they could get a variable rate or balloon mortgage and use it to buy a house way out of their price range. I keep hearing about how the lending industry mislead people, but you know what, I wanted to buy a house too, and didn't because I can read. I would hope that the claims of American ignorance are hyperbole at least to the extent that poeple are not signing legal documents without taking the time to read them.
What's even more bothersome though is that part of the problem was that the government felt the need to interfere in the first place. So some time ago, the government decided that it had to rally against lenders not giving out mortgages to the poor. Now, I don't want to seem unsympathetic to people who have real problems, but again, focus for a moment on where we started this talk. A captalist society is being regulated because banks will not give out loans to people who probably won't be able to repay them. So, the elected officials get to say how they helped the poor afford houses (an excellent talking point during an election), and then a decade or two later the elected officials get to reprimand the lending industry for screwing up the economy and point out how they voted to provide relief in this time of need (another excellent talking point).
I guess what's bothering me is the nagging thought that if the government had just stayed the &$%# out of the lending industry's business in the first place, then the market would have regulated itself and we wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we would be equally screwed, just through different forces. Maybe this entire posting is just one big troll to see if anyone will actually get mad enough to write a comment (doubt it, but I can never tell these days).
The only thing that I'm sure about is this - I definitely get the feeling that the government is overly involved in our lives. I'm starting to wonder if maybe they should worry about things like national security and standard public services (police, fire, libraries, etc.), and not so much about babysitting everything we do to try and protect us from ourselves. I would say that this opinion sounds too close to being Republican for my comfort, but as far as I can tell the GOP is just as quick to cut checks and butt into our lives as the Dems, so the line between them is beyond blurry these days.
On the bright side, complaining about big government is sure to up my readership as I get added to watch lists. Sweet.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Same Old Saturday Night
You've probably noticed that I didn't update as often as usual last week (like you have nothing better to do that sit around and click Refresh to see if I've posted). Well, Saturday was the Princess's sixth birthday, and between that and other activities going on last week, this fell off the radar a little. Sorry about that.
Having the weekend party is always trying. I hit Friday afternoon and I'm thinking, "Boy am I glad it's the weekend", which is foolish. If I had been thinking, I would have seen the walk out my building for what it was - me sitting on the bull, waiting for someone to open the chute. 24 hours of near chaos followed while we tried to detail clean, decorate, and yes, shamefully buy presents for our lovely daughter. (Did I mention that we've got kind of a lot going on?)
Anyway, she loved her party, tested her new bedtime against a Hanna Montana concert on tv (but forgot what time we had said was her new bedtime, allowing me to retract a previously hasty extension and replace it with a more sensible 8:30), and generally had a good day. Unfortunately, the Moose was making rather merry with the cake and whatnot as well, which resulted in repeated vomiting Saturday night. Not cool. So, it was kind of a late night for everyone I guess.
As if there wasn't enough weirdness in our own lot, a couple of houses down, someone was throwing a big party (ours was limited to family). This is all well and good, but the party in question was apparently a theme party, so while dealing with our own shindig, I periodically looked out the window to spy pirates of all things. It's kind of hard to describe the sense of the surreal that comes from seeing numerous pirates climbing out of SUVs and meandering down the street.
So there you have it. Another weekend that ended with me coming up on Sunday afternoon and thinking to myself, "Boy am I glad I go back to work tomorrow". Well, not really, but I could use a day of bed rest. Oh well, at least everyone had a good time amidst the pink pony party hats, pirate gatherings, and random projectile vomiting.
I just wish for once we could do something different.
Having the weekend party is always trying. I hit Friday afternoon and I'm thinking, "Boy am I glad it's the weekend", which is foolish. If I had been thinking, I would have seen the walk out my building for what it was - me sitting on the bull, waiting for someone to open the chute. 24 hours of near chaos followed while we tried to detail clean, decorate, and yes, shamefully buy presents for our lovely daughter. (Did I mention that we've got kind of a lot going on?)
Anyway, she loved her party, tested her new bedtime against a Hanna Montana concert on tv (but forgot what time we had said was her new bedtime, allowing me to retract a previously hasty extension and replace it with a more sensible 8:30), and generally had a good day. Unfortunately, the Moose was making rather merry with the cake and whatnot as well, which resulted in repeated vomiting Saturday night. Not cool. So, it was kind of a late night for everyone I guess.
As if there wasn't enough weirdness in our own lot, a couple of houses down, someone was throwing a big party (ours was limited to family). This is all well and good, but the party in question was apparently a theme party, so while dealing with our own shindig, I periodically looked out the window to spy pirates of all things. It's kind of hard to describe the sense of the surreal that comes from seeing numerous pirates climbing out of SUVs and meandering down the street.
So there you have it. Another weekend that ended with me coming up on Sunday afternoon and thinking to myself, "Boy am I glad I go back to work tomorrow". Well, not really, but I could use a day of bed rest. Oh well, at least everyone had a good time amidst the pink pony party hats, pirate gatherings, and random projectile vomiting.
I just wish for once we could do something different.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Okay, Go Ahead and Ask
Having stood up on my soapbox and ranted against Bravo's questionable judgment in reality programs, I was going to be contented and move along from the topic with nothing more to say. Naturally, something came along to prevent this. Apparently, we are starting to question the wisdom of the "don't ask, don't tell" policy of gays in the military now, and this of course leads to people saying things that I pretty much have to comment on.
Obviously we're all familiar with the policy, introduced in 1993, that said we would allow homosexuals to serve in the military so long as they didn't talk about being gay. I don't understand this policy for a lot of reasons. First, as far as I'm concerned, if you want to risk your life to protect you're country, go for it. I'm not sure where you're sexual orientation will affect your performance as a soldier (although I do recall some comedian pointing out the whole "I can't shoot him - he's adorable" conundrum). More so for me though, there is a wonderful feeling of being oppressive while pretending that we accept it, a feeling that's pervasive in a lot of the country, where we're saying, "Oh, it's okay to be gay, we'd just prefer if you didn't talk about it".
It's that last part that always made the policy seem so stupid to me. You can serve so long as you don't talk about being gay. Keep in mind, all of the straight people around you will probably be talking about their relationships and loved ones back home, so it seems to me that basically, you would have to either avoid talking about yourself completely (and that's not going to foster distrust among your fellow soldiers) or else outright lie about yourself.
Anyway, people in the government are talking about removing it altogether and just letting gay people serve in the military. Seems to me like a fine move. Of course it will lead to some people being abused for their sexual preferences, at least until such abuse is treated with the appropriate retributions, but that's the joy of trying to grow out of our current state. I stand by my statement that when my kids are adults (or, more pessimistically, my grandkids), they'll probably look back on this period the way I look back on the segregation that was going on seventy years ago.
Anyway, in response to this proposal (and the primary reason I couldn't just let this go), Elaine Donnely, president of the Center for Military Readiness said that the repeal "would impose new, unneeded burdens of sexual tension on men and women serving in high-pressure working conditions, far from home, that are unlike any occupation in the civilian world". Keeping in mind that in 1992 we finally allowed women to serve in active combat (another bizarre exclusion to my mind, but that's a different topic), is she suggesting that allowing gays be, well, gay while serving would somehow lead to more sexual tension than straight men and women serving together? So what, a straight man who has thus far been able to control himself while working with all of these women will suddenly find himself unable to ignore the new Private's abs in the shower because he knows the guy is gay? What the hell?
All I can figure is that the comment was made on the basis of the stereotypes I discussed before. She's concerned that once the gays are allowed to be themselves during active duty, the first thing they'll do is subtly alter their uniforms. Once past that sartorial challenge, they'll make small alterations to their bunk area. And if anyone can really work a buzz cut, it's going to be them. This will naturally make themselves appear more attractive to everyone, including the heterosexuals serving. This leads to the real problem we're facing here, bringing us full circle and thus exposing the real solution to this issue.
People who are involved with decisions about gays in the military should no longer be allowed to watch Bravo.
Obviously we're all familiar with the policy, introduced in 1993, that said we would allow homosexuals to serve in the military so long as they didn't talk about being gay. I don't understand this policy for a lot of reasons. First, as far as I'm concerned, if you want to risk your life to protect you're country, go for it. I'm not sure where you're sexual orientation will affect your performance as a soldier (although I do recall some comedian pointing out the whole "I can't shoot him - he's adorable" conundrum). More so for me though, there is a wonderful feeling of being oppressive while pretending that we accept it, a feeling that's pervasive in a lot of the country, where we're saying, "Oh, it's okay to be gay, we'd just prefer if you didn't talk about it".
It's that last part that always made the policy seem so stupid to me. You can serve so long as you don't talk about being gay. Keep in mind, all of the straight people around you will probably be talking about their relationships and loved ones back home, so it seems to me that basically, you would have to either avoid talking about yourself completely (and that's not going to foster distrust among your fellow soldiers) or else outright lie about yourself.
Anyway, people in the government are talking about removing it altogether and just letting gay people serve in the military. Seems to me like a fine move. Of course it will lead to some people being abused for their sexual preferences, at least until such abuse is treated with the appropriate retributions, but that's the joy of trying to grow out of our current state. I stand by my statement that when my kids are adults (or, more pessimistically, my grandkids), they'll probably look back on this period the way I look back on the segregation that was going on seventy years ago.
Anyway, in response to this proposal (and the primary reason I couldn't just let this go), Elaine Donnely, president of the Center for Military Readiness said that the repeal "would impose new, unneeded burdens of sexual tension on men and women serving in high-pressure working conditions, far from home, that are unlike any occupation in the civilian world". Keeping in mind that in 1992 we finally allowed women to serve in active combat (another bizarre exclusion to my mind, but that's a different topic), is she suggesting that allowing gays be, well, gay while serving would somehow lead to more sexual tension than straight men and women serving together? So what, a straight man who has thus far been able to control himself while working with all of these women will suddenly find himself unable to ignore the new Private's abs in the shower because he knows the guy is gay? What the hell?
All I can figure is that the comment was made on the basis of the stereotypes I discussed before. She's concerned that once the gays are allowed to be themselves during active duty, the first thing they'll do is subtly alter their uniforms. Once past that sartorial challenge, they'll make small alterations to their bunk area. And if anyone can really work a buzz cut, it's going to be them. This will naturally make themselves appear more attractive to everyone, including the heterosexuals serving. This leads to the real problem we're facing here, bringing us full circle and thus exposing the real solution to this issue.
People who are involved with decisions about gays in the military should no longer be allowed to watch Bravo.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
It's Faaabulous!
I don't get to watch a lot of television (something I'm not exactly lamenting), but I've noticed a disturbing trend lately. I used to watch the Bravo channel because it featured Inside the Actor's Studio, which was interesting. I haven't seen Inside the Actor's Studio in a long time though despite the fact that Bravo is on frequently at my house. I believe the reason for this is that Bravo seems to have switched over to a new format. See, where they originally focused on the arts and theater, Bravo now seems to be the "gay people decorating #&$%" network.
Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with gay people. In fact, at first I was glad to see them being represented more prominently in media where they weren't the target of jokes or being used on a sitcom because lisping is funny.
As I continue to see this stuff though, it seems they're getting a little overboard with it. First, the competition shows such as Shear Genius or Project Runway seem to revel in finding not just gay people, but flaming gay men who invariable seem to stay in the competition through the bitter end, often winning. Then you've got random shows about people overhauling houses and redecorating and guess what, once again they seems to almost always a gay couple who are redoing their kitchen or landscaping. I don't think I need to speak to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
I guess what bothers me is that every one of these shows revolves around the same thing: decorating. So where I originally thought to myself, "Wow, it's nice to see the homosexual aspect of our population being included in popular culture. Maybe we're finally moving away from the prejudice that has been so prevalent up until now.", now I see it for what it really is, the continuation of a well established stereotype.
Well done, Bravo. Effeminate gay men like to do hair, design clothes and accessorize their living spaces. Thanks for clearing that up for me. I'm thinking maybe I've seen enough for a while. Hopefully, you'll come up with something interesting to replace these shows when public interest wanes.
Next season on Bravo - African Americans preparing fried chicken, Mexicans gardening and white people who can't dance. Watch what happens indeed.
Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with gay people. In fact, at first I was glad to see them being represented more prominently in media where they weren't the target of jokes or being used on a sitcom because lisping is funny.
As I continue to see this stuff though, it seems they're getting a little overboard with it. First, the competition shows such as Shear Genius or Project Runway seem to revel in finding not just gay people, but flaming gay men who invariable seem to stay in the competition through the bitter end, often winning. Then you've got random shows about people overhauling houses and redecorating and guess what, once again they seems to almost always a gay couple who are redoing their kitchen or landscaping. I don't think I need to speak to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
I guess what bothers me is that every one of these shows revolves around the same thing: decorating. So where I originally thought to myself, "Wow, it's nice to see the homosexual aspect of our population being included in popular culture. Maybe we're finally moving away from the prejudice that has been so prevalent up until now.", now I see it for what it really is, the continuation of a well established stereotype.
Well done, Bravo. Effeminate gay men like to do hair, design clothes and accessorize their living spaces. Thanks for clearing that up for me. I'm thinking maybe I've seen enough for a while. Hopefully, you'll come up with something interesting to replace these shows when public interest wanes.
Next season on Bravo - African Americans preparing fried chicken, Mexicans gardening and white people who can't dance. Watch what happens indeed.
Friday, July 18, 2008
I Really Hope Kevin Smith Doesn't Read This
As some of you know, about a year ago, we moved from the suburbs of one college town to the suburbs of a bigger college town. Now, obviously I'm biased, but it seems to me that, in any area, you get certain archetypes of people. There's one of these archetypes that I don't understand, and I associate with college towns, but that might be a mistake. Feel free to correct me.
We were exploring the town soon after moving, and not surprisingly, exploring just meant checking out the Meijer that was closer to town than the one we usually shop at (for those not familiar, a Meijer is a huge grocery/department store that I'm kind of a junkie for - it's like a classier Super Wal Mart with less tank tops and Nascar hats). Upon entering, I couldn't help but notice this guy. He was maybe six and a half feet tall. He had long hair dyed some shade of dark (yes, that was the color - dark). His facial hair was cut in ann odd combination of goatee and mustache. So far, pretty standard for a college town. Here's the thing though.
He was really fat, and he wore a trench coat.
That right there is what I don't get. Why is it that younger, fat guys who want to look bad ass always go for the trench coat? Do they think it hides that their fat? Does the flowing nature of the coat make them feel like their wearing a cape, and they can pretend that they're Batman instead of Butterball? What the hell?
I ask these questions as a reformed fat guy in a trench coat. Yes, at one point during high school, when I was at my, shall we say "heftiest" (which is a polite was of saying orca fat), I donned not one but two different trench coats, and I haven't the foggiest idea why. Maybe I needed something that looked tough to try and cover the reality that was my dough boy appearance. Maybe I was using it as a hiding place, trying to avoid what I really was. Maybe I just saw Dick Tracy one too many times. I have no good explanation. One thing is for certain - I'm glad that I have no photo evidence of this period of my life, because I'm sure that, rather than making me look cool or mysterious, the trench coat just made me look like a giant, evil tent. The haunted carnival, personified.
Now, I know there are those of you who are saying to yourselves, "Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe they're just dudes who like trench coats that happen to be fat.". Maybe, and I'm sure that accounts for a subset of them. I know I would wear a trench coat today despite no longer being the bucket of tubby I once was. But there is a correlation here, I'm sure of it. I've just seen too many of these people for there not to be. I just can't figure out what it is.
It probably has to do with the extra pockets. You can hide a lot of snack foods in those pockets.
We were exploring the town soon after moving, and not surprisingly, exploring just meant checking out the Meijer that was closer to town than the one we usually shop at (for those not familiar, a Meijer is a huge grocery/department store that I'm kind of a junkie for - it's like a classier Super Wal Mart with less tank tops and Nascar hats). Upon entering, I couldn't help but notice this guy. He was maybe six and a half feet tall. He had long hair dyed some shade of dark (yes, that was the color - dark). His facial hair was cut in ann odd combination of goatee and mustache. So far, pretty standard for a college town. Here's the thing though.
He was really fat, and he wore a trench coat.
That right there is what I don't get. Why is it that younger, fat guys who want to look bad ass always go for the trench coat? Do they think it hides that their fat? Does the flowing nature of the coat make them feel like their wearing a cape, and they can pretend that they're Batman instead of Butterball? What the hell?
I ask these questions as a reformed fat guy in a trench coat. Yes, at one point during high school, when I was at my, shall we say "heftiest" (which is a polite was of saying orca fat), I donned not one but two different trench coats, and I haven't the foggiest idea why. Maybe I needed something that looked tough to try and cover the reality that was my dough boy appearance. Maybe I was using it as a hiding place, trying to avoid what I really was. Maybe I just saw Dick Tracy one too many times. I have no good explanation. One thing is for certain - I'm glad that I have no photo evidence of this period of my life, because I'm sure that, rather than making me look cool or mysterious, the trench coat just made me look like a giant, evil tent. The haunted carnival, personified.
Now, I know there are those of you who are saying to yourselves, "Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe they're just dudes who like trench coats that happen to be fat.". Maybe, and I'm sure that accounts for a subset of them. I know I would wear a trench coat today despite no longer being the bucket of tubby I once was. But there is a correlation here, I'm sure of it. I've just seen too many of these people for there not to be. I just can't figure out what it is.
It probably has to do with the extra pockets. You can hide a lot of snack foods in those pockets.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Just Trust Me On This One
Okay, I try to avoid three things here on Dangerously Low On Grog. First, I try not to put a lot of links to other forms of entertainment, as I try to make this a form of entertainment. I also try to avoid looking like a rabid fanboy. You know, those people who have a person, place or thing that they are wholeheartedly dedicated to and will follow blindly, no matter how bad everyone else seems to think it is.
Having said that, something has occurred on the internet that demands your attention. Something wonderful. See, there was this writers strike a few months ago, and none of the writers were allowed to write anything for television or movies for a while as a result. Naturally, a lot of these writers tried to figure out where else they could do their work. This led to Joss Whedon getting together with his friends and family, and they self financed a little three part musical, Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog.
Now I know I said that I try to avoid the rabid fanboy vibe here, but I can't. Joss Whedon stepped up to fill the gap that us geeks felt inside of us. No longer can we turn to George Lucas, who took our childhood heroes and tarnished them forever. No longer can we rely on decent Star Trek, which, let's be honest, officially jumped the shark with the passing of James Tiberius Kirk. But Joss came along with Buffy, with Firefly, and gave us something we needed...geek media with actual quality. So for me, this goes beyond highly recommending something that's entertaining (and it is). I want a show of support, and what better way to give that support than to send all four of my regular readers to this site. (I know - my numbers are way up these days. Woot!)
So, while I am a fanboy, I'm not rabid. I didn't even watch Firely until it had been canceled (something I regret, but now I own the dvds as well as the film Serenity, which you should all own too). I've only watched the entire series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer like four times (not counting the musical episode, Once More With Feeling, which I've seen a shameful number of times and own the soundtrack to), and I've watched maybe half a season of Angel. I haven't even purchased the run of X-men comics he wrote, mostly because I didn't realize that they are now available as trade paperbacks which is the only way I read comics and I would love, love, love to get my hands on. (How are my hints? Too heavy handed? I can never tell.)
Anyway, his new show Dollhouse isn't due until January, 2009, so some of us were looking for a fix, and this was it. So there. Go watch now. It's musical. It's funny. It has Nathan Fillion and Neil Patrick Harris. It has one semi-racy joke, so maybe watch it when you get home if you blush easily. And then go rent Buffy. And Firefly. And write letters to Universal Pictures demanding sequels to Serenity.
What's that? The third thing I try to avoid here on DLOG? Oh, I just figured that as a loyal reader, you knew that one.
Furries. &$%#ing freaks.
Having said that, something has occurred on the internet that demands your attention. Something wonderful. See, there was this writers strike a few months ago, and none of the writers were allowed to write anything for television or movies for a while as a result. Naturally, a lot of these writers tried to figure out where else they could do their work. This led to Joss Whedon getting together with his friends and family, and they self financed a little three part musical, Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog.
Now I know I said that I try to avoid the rabid fanboy vibe here, but I can't. Joss Whedon stepped up to fill the gap that us geeks felt inside of us. No longer can we turn to George Lucas, who took our childhood heroes and tarnished them forever. No longer can we rely on decent Star Trek, which, let's be honest, officially jumped the shark with the passing of James Tiberius Kirk. But Joss came along with Buffy, with Firefly, and gave us something we needed...geek media with actual quality. So for me, this goes beyond highly recommending something that's entertaining (and it is). I want a show of support, and what better way to give that support than to send all four of my regular readers to this site. (I know - my numbers are way up these days. Woot!)
So, while I am a fanboy, I'm not rabid. I didn't even watch Firely until it had been canceled (something I regret, but now I own the dvds as well as the film Serenity, which you should all own too). I've only watched the entire series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer like four times (not counting the musical episode, Once More With Feeling, which I've seen a shameful number of times and own the soundtrack to), and I've watched maybe half a season of Angel. I haven't even purchased the run of X-men comics he wrote, mostly because I didn't realize that they are now available as trade paperbacks which is the only way I read comics and I would love, love, love to get my hands on. (How are my hints? Too heavy handed? I can never tell.)
Anyway, his new show Dollhouse isn't due until January, 2009, so some of us were looking for a fix, and this was it. So there. Go watch now. It's musical. It's funny. It has Nathan Fillion and Neil Patrick Harris. It has one semi-racy joke, so maybe watch it when you get home if you blush easily. And then go rent Buffy. And Firefly. And write letters to Universal Pictures demanding sequels to Serenity.
What's that? The third thing I try to avoid here on DLOG? Oh, I just figured that as a loyal reader, you knew that one.
Furries. &$%#ing freaks.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I Call Her "The Moose Whisperer"
Last night, we're eating our dinner when the Princess announces that her fork is missing. Having never lost a utensil mid meal that I can recall, I was fascinated. She then found it, in her lap, and announced that she knew what had happened. "The air conditioning blew it off my bowl." My lovely wife and I exchanged a glance, and one of us asked how it did that.
"Hello. It's air."
I have no idea what that means, but I so envy the Princess for her convictions. She says things like that as if it were common sense. These days I feel like I don't really know anything anymore, and here she comes at nearly six, and she has all the answers. I was at least seventeen or eighteen before I knew everything. So precocious, that one.
And it's not just air conditioning either. At one point I started a file of her "Really Good Ideas", as she puts it. It includes such gems as "Never lick the table", "No eating things you can't eat" and "Don't play on the rocks or you will fall down and break your head open". Clearly sage advice on all counts. Oh, and don't ask for details on the table thing. It has to do with where the cat sits, and is not a dinner conversation.
Another area where she seems to excel is figuring out what her little brother wants. This morning the Moose wouldn't eat his Honey Nut Cheerios, which is in and of itself an outrageous statement. It's like someone saying that I wouldn't drink my beer. Preposterous. Anyway, he's fussing and whining, and any attempts to pry the pacifier out of his mouth that I might get a more detailed response led to further fussing. I was clearly getting frustrated when the Princess piped in, "He's just mad because we're not having pancakes". How she came to this conclusion I have no idea, but he stopped fussing long enough to look at me and, muffled by the aforementioned pacifier, say, "Pancakes". And then he started eating. I guess she just hears things differently from me.
To me, everything he says sounds like, "I want mommy to change this diaper".
"Hello. It's air."
I have no idea what that means, but I so envy the Princess for her convictions. She says things like that as if it were common sense. These days I feel like I don't really know anything anymore, and here she comes at nearly six, and she has all the answers. I was at least seventeen or eighteen before I knew everything. So precocious, that one.
And it's not just air conditioning either. At one point I started a file of her "Really Good Ideas", as she puts it. It includes such gems as "Never lick the table", "No eating things you can't eat" and "Don't play on the rocks or you will fall down and break your head open". Clearly sage advice on all counts. Oh, and don't ask for details on the table thing. It has to do with where the cat sits, and is not a dinner conversation.
Another area where she seems to excel is figuring out what her little brother wants. This morning the Moose wouldn't eat his Honey Nut Cheerios, which is in and of itself an outrageous statement. It's like someone saying that I wouldn't drink my beer. Preposterous. Anyway, he's fussing and whining, and any attempts to pry the pacifier out of his mouth that I might get a more detailed response led to further fussing. I was clearly getting frustrated when the Princess piped in, "He's just mad because we're not having pancakes". How she came to this conclusion I have no idea, but he stopped fussing long enough to look at me and, muffled by the aforementioned pacifier, say, "Pancakes". And then he started eating. I guess she just hears things differently from me.
To me, everything he says sounds like, "I want mommy to change this diaper".
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I Know for Whom the Grass Quacks
This last December, we became homeowners for the first time. This meant that I had to start learning those skills that homeowners require, such as learning how to avoid yard work. Thus far I have been found to be pretty adept at this, but when my lovely wife, who has taken interest in our plant friends outside and thus been doing the yard work I've been trying so hard to avoid, came home with a note from the doctor saying she couldn't be out in the sun, I knew I had been bested. As a result, I found myself outside last weekend attempting to remove the latest scourge from our yard; the dread quack grass.
For those unfamiliar with quack grass, it is like crab grass's meaner big brother. According to my wife's research, it spreads faster that internet videos of heiresses in night vision (or the heiresses themselves, for that matter). Judging from our yard, this would appear to be an accurate assessment.
The problem is that in order to kill this stuff, you have to kill all of the grass around it as well. She tried to take a targeted swipe at it first, which led to patches of my lawn which is now brown and dead. Well, not entirely dead. There's still some quack grass growing there.
I took a more vicious approach myself. Given that I already have to dig up these portions of the lawn and reseed them, I took to carpet bombing. It didn't help that I was working as the sun set, so the darker it got, the more everything that moved looked like quack grass. I'm almost afraid of seeing the actual results. I'm thinkng half of my yard is going to be brown by Saturday. At least I think the quack grass will be dead.
This lead me to notice something: my neighborhood is quiet. I don't mean as in "a nice, quiet neighborhood" quiet. I mean as in dead silent quiet sometimes. It's weird. The reason I bring this up is, well, while I was out trying to establish my dominance over the grass situation, I had a familiar rumbling in my gut, and as Bob is my witness, I was afraid to unleash the spider that barks for fear of being the only sound in a three block radius. All could think of was the open windows. As a direct result of this unearthly quiet, I had to finish the job of decimating my lawn while trying to ignore a belly ache and hoping that no one overhead the inevitable squeaking as I occasionally gave up the battle.
Now that it has actually cause me physical suffering, all I can say is that the quack grass better be dead. The only plan I have left is to kill it with fire. I wonder what the home owner's association has to say about slash and burn gardening.
On the bright side, I might still get to invest in that flamethrower. Groovy.
For those unfamiliar with quack grass, it is like crab grass's meaner big brother. According to my wife's research, it spreads faster that internet videos of heiresses in night vision (or the heiresses themselves, for that matter). Judging from our yard, this would appear to be an accurate assessment.
The problem is that in order to kill this stuff, you have to kill all of the grass around it as well. She tried to take a targeted swipe at it first, which led to patches of my lawn which is now brown and dead. Well, not entirely dead. There's still some quack grass growing there.
I took a more vicious approach myself. Given that I already have to dig up these portions of the lawn and reseed them, I took to carpet bombing. It didn't help that I was working as the sun set, so the darker it got, the more everything that moved looked like quack grass. I'm almost afraid of seeing the actual results. I'm thinkng half of my yard is going to be brown by Saturday. At least I think the quack grass will be dead.
This lead me to notice something: my neighborhood is quiet. I don't mean as in "a nice, quiet neighborhood" quiet. I mean as in dead silent quiet sometimes. It's weird. The reason I bring this up is, well, while I was out trying to establish my dominance over the grass situation, I had a familiar rumbling in my gut, and as Bob is my witness, I was afraid to unleash the spider that barks for fear of being the only sound in a three block radius. All could think of was the open windows. As a direct result of this unearthly quiet, I had to finish the job of decimating my lawn while trying to ignore a belly ache and hoping that no one overhead the inevitable squeaking as I occasionally gave up the battle.
Now that it has actually cause me physical suffering, all I can say is that the quack grass better be dead. The only plan I have left is to kill it with fire. I wonder what the home owner's association has to say about slash and burn gardening.
On the bright side, I might still get to invest in that flamethrower. Groovy.
Monday, July 14, 2008
My $.02: Book Review - Darwin's Radio
There are a few different breeds of science fiction. There are space journeys, there are far future visions, there are evil aliens. Mostly, they are just regular genres, only with "in space" or "in the future" pinned on to the end.
Then there are the books that are visions of the near future, books that look at current science and simply introduce a small "what if" statement onto something. When done correctly, these are often more interesting, and definitely more believable than the tales of space adventuring and whatnot.
This is where Darwin's Radio falls. The book is based on the premise that there are areas of our DNA that contain encodings from viruses long forgotten, and that under certain conditions, these encodings can become active and produce the viruses. Naturally, this occurs (because if it was just a book about a theory someone made up, you wouldn't read it), and the resultant virus appears to be causing miscarriages. As might be expected, there is widespread panic, the government becomes maybe too involved, and hilarity ensues. Okay, there's not so much hilarity, but you get the idea.
I've never read anything by Bear before, but his work is disturbingly good. There were things I didn't care for. He's a little heavy handed with the foreshadowing, and there's a hint of mysticism that I felt was a little out of place in a work that seemed so rooted in science. All of that aside, however, he has a skill for taking what might have been a standard sci-fi topic and introducing very real characters dealing with it. His ability to cover the politics as well as the emotional costs of such an epidemic is what really made this so engaging, and simultaneously what made it so disturbing.
I'm not going to go into details as I try to avoid spoilers around here, but I would recommend picking this one up. Apparently, it has spawned sequels, but I need something else in between. Not unlike Kiss Me, Judas, the idea of more both excites me and makes me a little weary. I need something light to cleanse the palate first.
Maybe I'll finally get around to that pamphlet, "Great Jewish Sports Figures".
Then there are the books that are visions of the near future, books that look at current science and simply introduce a small "what if" statement onto something. When done correctly, these are often more interesting, and definitely more believable than the tales of space adventuring and whatnot.
This is where Darwin's Radio falls. The book is based on the premise that there are areas of our DNA that contain encodings from viruses long forgotten, and that under certain conditions, these encodings can become active and produce the viruses. Naturally, this occurs (because if it was just a book about a theory someone made up, you wouldn't read it), and the resultant virus appears to be causing miscarriages. As might be expected, there is widespread panic, the government becomes maybe too involved, and hilarity ensues. Okay, there's not so much hilarity, but you get the idea.
I've never read anything by Bear before, but his work is disturbingly good. There were things I didn't care for. He's a little heavy handed with the foreshadowing, and there's a hint of mysticism that I felt was a little out of place in a work that seemed so rooted in science. All of that aside, however, he has a skill for taking what might have been a standard sci-fi topic and introducing very real characters dealing with it. His ability to cover the politics as well as the emotional costs of such an epidemic is what really made this so engaging, and simultaneously what made it so disturbing.
I'm not going to go into details as I try to avoid spoilers around here, but I would recommend picking this one up. Apparently, it has spawned sequels, but I need something else in between. Not unlike Kiss Me, Judas, the idea of more both excites me and makes me a little weary. I need something light to cleanse the palate first.
Maybe I'll finally get around to that pamphlet, "Great Jewish Sports Figures".
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Still Here. Mostly.
Just wanted to let you know that I haven't forgotten you. I just have
kind of a lot going right now.
kind of a lot going right now.
We will return to our regular updates soon.
Monday, July 7, 2008
I Definitely Side Wth Almond Joy On This One
I've discussed some of my candy based pet peeves before. Having settled out of court with the OLADF (Oompa Loompa Andi-Defamation League), you'd think that I would shy away from further discussion, but I will not be silenced so easily. Besides, as long as I leave those little freaks out of this, I think I'm clear.
So, let's talk some more about candy silliness, starting with slogans. Why is it that candy makers, or the marketers that guide them, insist on slapping a slogan on the outside of a candy wrapper that, to the adult who is most likely going to pay for said candy, begs for an inappropriate interpretation? As an example, this morning I hit up the office candy bucket, and the outside of my watermelon Now and Later actually has the words "Hard 'N Fruity". Hard and fruity? I dare you to Google that at work. Hell, I double dare you to do a image search on it. Go on. You know you want to. Sicko.
Now, I'm sure that to an innocent child, that's fine, but as an adult who tends to read way too much into the the things I...well, read, I'm not sure that I'm comfortable consuming something that declares itself hard and fruity (not that there's anything wrong with that if hard and fruity is your thing). Combine it with a handful of Skittles, and you have hard and fruity while you taste the rainbow. I'm pretty sure you can't eat them together without being in some kind of pride parade.
How about some of the misleading marketing that goes on with our candy? How about my favorite online moniker, "Fun Size"? We're all familiar with the miniature versions of our favorite candy bars. But seriously, fun size? That's fun size? Makes you wonder about a person who is convinced that an inch and a half is the actual size of fun. I'm guessing it's a man. A very sad, lonely man.
On a related note, I always feel bad for the miniature packages of Twix bars, simply because the very premise of the Twix bar is that there are two of them. The mini ones, however, are packaged singly. I pity them, knowing that somewhere out there is an identical bar, its partner in confectionery goodness, forever separated from it by a shiny wrapper. So I eat them. You know, to put them out of their misery. It makes me feel like I'm doing a good deed while getting my sugar fix.
Anyway, we'll end on a slogan that's not an outright lie so much as an indirection. "The milk chocolate melts in your mouth, not in your hand." Well, yes, I suppose that's true. Anyone who's ever made the mistake of taking a handful of M&Ms on a hot day knows perfectly well that the chocolate does not, in fact, melt in your hand. The $&#*ing candy coating melts in your hand. So yeah, kudos to you guys. My hands are chocolate free. Now I just have to get past looking like I recently bitch slapped Rainbow Brite, and I'm good.
Don't get me wrong. I don't expect anything to change. I'm sure that for the remainder of my days having to face the ridiculous things these people come up with in an effort to get my kid's attention onto the latest candy. I just wish we could put more effort into making these things more meaningful, like the Mounds/Almond Joy people did with "Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't."
Truer words were never spoken.
So, let's talk some more about candy silliness, starting with slogans. Why is it that candy makers, or the marketers that guide them, insist on slapping a slogan on the outside of a candy wrapper that, to the adult who is most likely going to pay for said candy, begs for an inappropriate interpretation? As an example, this morning I hit up the office candy bucket, and the outside of my watermelon Now and Later actually has the words "Hard 'N Fruity". Hard and fruity? I dare you to Google that at work. Hell, I double dare you to do a image search on it. Go on. You know you want to. Sicko.
Now, I'm sure that to an innocent child, that's fine, but as an adult who tends to read way too much into the the things I...well, read, I'm not sure that I'm comfortable consuming something that declares itself hard and fruity (not that there's anything wrong with that if hard and fruity is your thing). Combine it with a handful of Skittles, and you have hard and fruity while you taste the rainbow. I'm pretty sure you can't eat them together without being in some kind of pride parade.
How about some of the misleading marketing that goes on with our candy? How about my favorite online moniker, "Fun Size"? We're all familiar with the miniature versions of our favorite candy bars. But seriously, fun size? That's fun size? Makes you wonder about a person who is convinced that an inch and a half is the actual size of fun. I'm guessing it's a man. A very sad, lonely man.
On a related note, I always feel bad for the miniature packages of Twix bars, simply because the very premise of the Twix bar is that there are two of them. The mini ones, however, are packaged singly. I pity them, knowing that somewhere out there is an identical bar, its partner in confectionery goodness, forever separated from it by a shiny wrapper. So I eat them. You know, to put them out of their misery. It makes me feel like I'm doing a good deed while getting my sugar fix.
Anyway, we'll end on a slogan that's not an outright lie so much as an indirection. "The milk chocolate melts in your mouth, not in your hand." Well, yes, I suppose that's true. Anyone who's ever made the mistake of taking a handful of M&Ms on a hot day knows perfectly well that the chocolate does not, in fact, melt in your hand. The $&#*ing candy coating melts in your hand. So yeah, kudos to you guys. My hands are chocolate free. Now I just have to get past looking like I recently bitch slapped Rainbow Brite, and I'm good.
Don't get me wrong. I don't expect anything to change. I'm sure that for the remainder of my days having to face the ridiculous things these people come up with in an effort to get my kid's attention onto the latest candy. I just wish we could put more effort into making these things more meaningful, like the Mounds/Almond Joy people did with "Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't."
Truer words were never spoken.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Ooh, I Wonder If Lowe's Sells Flame Throwers
Today a tree that used to sit next to my garage is now laying in my yard thanks to a reasonably large thunderstorm that blew through last night. I have confirmed that my insurance company took as much interest in this topic as I take in Ann Coulter's opinions on pretty much anything, which is none. As such, I am presented with an interesting puzzle. Do I use this as an excuse to buy myself a chainsaw or an ax?
Obviously, if I were to buy a chainsaw, that would make the job faster, it would be easier on me, etc. However, that is short term thinking, and I'm a long term guy. So while a chainsaw would make this job faster, what about in the long run? So the question I really have to ask myself is this: when the zombie apocalypse comes, which would I rather have at my side?
Again, I think a lot of people would say chainsaw, but I'm not convinced. Sure, when surrounded by a legion of the undead, bent on devouring you and your family, a chainsaw would be nice to have around. You know, it would let you clear a path in short order. So sure, in situations where you're surrounded, you would want the chainsaw. Also, let's face it - anyone who has ever seriously considered this scenario (and you all should) has the image of Ashley J. Simpson in their minds, so naturally the chainsaw is a big draw.
Situations where you're surrounded, however, imply that you've made a tactical error. I mean if you can keep your clan safe for, I don't know, maybe a week or two, then the rotting will kick in. At that point, you'd have to make a pretty serious blunder to find yourself surrounded by a bunch of slow, dragging zombies. So as long as we had enough food to hold us up in the house, being ambushed isn't a real concern of mine.
The downside of the chainsaw is obvious. It requires fuel and maintenance. While I suppose I could siphon gas out of cars abandoned along the roads for a while, I would have no chance at fixing a broken chainsaw. Heck, I can't fix the kids toys. So an ax looks good from that point of view. No fuel, no maintenance, and I could sharpen an ax against a rock. I'm pretty sure rocks will still be in full supply regardless of the flesh-eating crowds.
I don't know. Maybe I'm over thinking this. For now, I'll probably just borrow a chainsaw or something. Maybe buy the ax. I mean, when the time comes, I really only have to protect everyone long enough to get to the local Meijer anyway.
Then, it's machetes and shotguns all around baby.
Obviously, if I were to buy a chainsaw, that would make the job faster, it would be easier on me, etc. However, that is short term thinking, and I'm a long term guy. So while a chainsaw would make this job faster, what about in the long run? So the question I really have to ask myself is this: when the zombie apocalypse comes, which would I rather have at my side?
Again, I think a lot of people would say chainsaw, but I'm not convinced. Sure, when surrounded by a legion of the undead, bent on devouring you and your family, a chainsaw would be nice to have around. You know, it would let you clear a path in short order. So sure, in situations where you're surrounded, you would want the chainsaw. Also, let's face it - anyone who has ever seriously considered this scenario (and you all should) has the image of Ashley J. Simpson in their minds, so naturally the chainsaw is a big draw.
Situations where you're surrounded, however, imply that you've made a tactical error. I mean if you can keep your clan safe for, I don't know, maybe a week or two, then the rotting will kick in. At that point, you'd have to make a pretty serious blunder to find yourself surrounded by a bunch of slow, dragging zombies. So as long as we had enough food to hold us up in the house, being ambushed isn't a real concern of mine.
The downside of the chainsaw is obvious. It requires fuel and maintenance. While I suppose I could siphon gas out of cars abandoned along the roads for a while, I would have no chance at fixing a broken chainsaw. Heck, I can't fix the kids toys. So an ax looks good from that point of view. No fuel, no maintenance, and I could sharpen an ax against a rock. I'm pretty sure rocks will still be in full supply regardless of the flesh-eating crowds.
I don't know. Maybe I'm over thinking this. For now, I'll probably just borrow a chainsaw or something. Maybe buy the ax. I mean, when the time comes, I really only have to protect everyone long enough to get to the local Meijer anyway.
Then, it's machetes and shotguns all around baby.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Honk If You're Reading This While Driving
A phenomenon I have never quite understood is the bumper sticker. I mean, I understand how it works. Someone comes up with a witty saying or political slogan and puts it on a permanent sticker, and someone else who finds this amusing/insightful purchases it and slaps it on the back of his/her/its car. The mechanics are clear enough. It's the inspiration I don't get.
First, it speaks of a culture that cannot speak for itself. I mean, I appreciate an amusing quote as much as the next guy, and, if the occasion is appropriate, will bring one out. I can not, however, imagine the one line that is so witty it would inspire me to announce it to every driver who has occasion to look at the backside of my car. But we, as a nation, have come to rely on the words of others to speak for us, so we find something that seems to fit our current though patterns and then put it out there as out own, hoping I suppose to identify with like minded drivers.
Stranger than this though are those that feel the need to announce their religious or political motivations through these stickers. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that you're willing to share this kind of personal information, as it allows me to be that much more specific when I'm cursing you out for driving like a moron (presumably because you couldn't see out your rear windows, what with them being covered by stickers). Really though, I have enough anger issues in my life. I would rather wait until you've done something offensive on the road to dislike you, as opposed to immediately assuming that you're a douche just because you couldn't take the time to scrape "Bush/Cheney '04" off your vehicles tailfeathers.
While we're on the subject, can we stop putting those little fish derivations on the backs of our cars? First I see a little fish, and have to inquire what the %#$@ I'm looking at, what with having been brought up a godless heathen. Then the little fish has some variation on God's name in it. (Why exactly does God need a name anyway? When someone in heaven says, "Hey, God", is there really any doubt who's they're referring to?) In retaliation, we get a little fish with feet, proving that the scientific community is just as committed to marring the outside of their vehicles as the Christian folks. Then there's another fish eating the foot-bearing fish. And then the Flying Spaghetti Monster, presumably mocking the entire crowd with his noodly appendage. Enough already. What really kills me is that I keep wondering if these things are actually being made by terrorist groups in an effort to drive us all into a self destructive ball of road rage.
So stop it. I don't care if you're all for world peace. I don't want to know how well your kid is doing at school. I will neither decide for or against getting an abortion because of some thing you put on your car (kind of a moot point really, but you get the idea). You're just irritating other drivers, and not unlike tattoos, I'm sure that in hindsight you fully regretted putting that Child's Play 2 bumper sticker on your nice new car.
Unless, you know, someone else did that for you. In which case I'm sure that whoever it was is really, really sorry and never did anything like that again. Ever.
First, it speaks of a culture that cannot speak for itself. I mean, I appreciate an amusing quote as much as the next guy, and, if the occasion is appropriate, will bring one out. I can not, however, imagine the one line that is so witty it would inspire me to announce it to every driver who has occasion to look at the backside of my car. But we, as a nation, have come to rely on the words of others to speak for us, so we find something that seems to fit our current though patterns and then put it out there as out own, hoping I suppose to identify with like minded drivers.
Stranger than this though are those that feel the need to announce their religious or political motivations through these stickers. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that you're willing to share this kind of personal information, as it allows me to be that much more specific when I'm cursing you out for driving like a moron (presumably because you couldn't see out your rear windows, what with them being covered by stickers). Really though, I have enough anger issues in my life. I would rather wait until you've done something offensive on the road to dislike you, as opposed to immediately assuming that you're a douche just because you couldn't take the time to scrape "Bush/Cheney '04" off your vehicles tailfeathers.
While we're on the subject, can we stop putting those little fish derivations on the backs of our cars? First I see a little fish, and have to inquire what the %#$@ I'm looking at, what with having been brought up a godless heathen. Then the little fish has some variation on God's name in it. (Why exactly does God need a name anyway? When someone in heaven says, "Hey, God", is there really any doubt who's they're referring to?) In retaliation, we get a little fish with feet, proving that the scientific community is just as committed to marring the outside of their vehicles as the Christian folks. Then there's another fish eating the foot-bearing fish. And then the Flying Spaghetti Monster, presumably mocking the entire crowd with his noodly appendage. Enough already. What really kills me is that I keep wondering if these things are actually being made by terrorist groups in an effort to drive us all into a self destructive ball of road rage.
So stop it. I don't care if you're all for world peace. I don't want to know how well your kid is doing at school. I will neither decide for or against getting an abortion because of some thing you put on your car (kind of a moot point really, but you get the idea). You're just irritating other drivers, and not unlike tattoos, I'm sure that in hindsight you fully regretted putting that Child's Play 2 bumper sticker on your nice new car.
Unless, you know, someone else did that for you. In which case I'm sure that whoever it was is really, really sorry and never did anything like that again. Ever.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
They Can't Properly Slide Down Stairs Either
Last night my lovely wife ran downstairs to check her email, and since the kids were already in bed, I found myself alone. As is often the case in these situations, I responded to my many years of spousal training and used this solitude as an opportunity for a blissful release of stockpiled methane. Amidst the klaxon blast, I realized that I was not, in fact, alone at all, as my cat sat atop the couch giving me a look of judgment as only a house cat can.
At first, I mistook this look as disdain for the act itself. A dog would never judge me like that, but from a cat I've grown to expect it. After a moment's reflection, however, I realized that what I was looking at was bitterness, a bitterness born of the realization that what I had just done was something that she herself could not do, for while she may participate half way in such a release, she will never know what it is to announce its coming with the fanfare that I had.
For, as a cat, she lacks butt cheeks.
Think on this now, dear reader, for I believe this may be one of the key reasons for the bitterness felt by many of our fellow species in the animal kingdom against us. As we have been blessed with cheekage, we tend to take those cheeks for granted, never considering what it would be like to have to live without them, never knowing what it was to possess the musical abilities that come so naturally with such padded appendages. Animals like cats have to try and target their releases for effect, whereas for human beings that is merely a choice we can make from a vast repertoire of more tumultuous possibilities.
Why do I think this may be a source of bitterness? Well, let's think about animals that attack people, such as cats. Any cat, of any size, lacks the propensity for the above described symphonic shenanigans. Similarly, bears, wolves, sharks (who are further suppressed by the water, but could presumably still be taunted by what must be the extreme aquatic squeaking that would result from the forced clench of a wetsuit), wolverines, spiders, snakes, venomous ducks, etc. all must apply the tag "silent but deadly" not just to their stalking, but to their expellation of gas as well.
Now let's look at animals that, instead, have a history of not just non-violence, but an actual working relationship with man. Take horses for example. For hundreds of years, horses and men have worked together. We ride them, they pull carts, they shill beer for us; all sorts of things we, as humans, appreciate. And what do horses have in common with us? Huge, glorious butt cheeks, greater even than our own, with more sheer trumpeting power. Seriously, I haven't spent a lot of time with horses, but they never miss the opportunity to show off how much more boisterous their releases can be than our own (well, that and, you know, the other thing they like to point out that they've got over on us men).
Now, I'm not ready to begin writing a thesis on this or anything. Right now, I'm just exploring the idea, keeping an eye out for evidence to support my theories. I'll have to watch more Animal Planet to build up my case (although now that I think about it, last night it was lions attacking gazelles, which is more non-cheek on cheek violence - fascinating). In the meantime, I'll have to keep an eye on that cat. She still has some claws, and I'd hate for my posterior to become a target of her pent up rage.
At first, I mistook this look as disdain for the act itself. A dog would never judge me like that, but from a cat I've grown to expect it. After a moment's reflection, however, I realized that what I was looking at was bitterness, a bitterness born of the realization that what I had just done was something that she herself could not do, for while she may participate half way in such a release, she will never know what it is to announce its coming with the fanfare that I had.
For, as a cat, she lacks butt cheeks.
Think on this now, dear reader, for I believe this may be one of the key reasons for the bitterness felt by many of our fellow species in the animal kingdom against us. As we have been blessed with cheekage, we tend to take those cheeks for granted, never considering what it would be like to have to live without them, never knowing what it was to possess the musical abilities that come so naturally with such padded appendages. Animals like cats have to try and target their releases for effect, whereas for human beings that is merely a choice we can make from a vast repertoire of more tumultuous possibilities.
Why do I think this may be a source of bitterness? Well, let's think about animals that attack people, such as cats. Any cat, of any size, lacks the propensity for the above described symphonic shenanigans. Similarly, bears, wolves, sharks (who are further suppressed by the water, but could presumably still be taunted by what must be the extreme aquatic squeaking that would result from the forced clench of a wetsuit), wolverines, spiders, snakes, venomous ducks, etc. all must apply the tag "silent but deadly" not just to their stalking, but to their expellation of gas as well.
Now let's look at animals that, instead, have a history of not just non-violence, but an actual working relationship with man. Take horses for example. For hundreds of years, horses and men have worked together. We ride them, they pull carts, they shill beer for us; all sorts of things we, as humans, appreciate. And what do horses have in common with us? Huge, glorious butt cheeks, greater even than our own, with more sheer trumpeting power. Seriously, I haven't spent a lot of time with horses, but they never miss the opportunity to show off how much more boisterous their releases can be than our own (well, that and, you know, the other thing they like to point out that they've got over on us men).
Now, I'm not ready to begin writing a thesis on this or anything. Right now, I'm just exploring the idea, keeping an eye out for evidence to support my theories. I'll have to watch more Animal Planet to build up my case (although now that I think about it, last night it was lions attacking gazelles, which is more non-cheek on cheek violence - fascinating). In the meantime, I'll have to keep an eye on that cat. She still has some claws, and I'd hate for my posterior to become a target of her pent up rage.
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