Dark Dreams: The Hunted

It's night and I'm standing next to the ruins of what used to be a castle somewhere in the English countryside. In the moonlight I can see gray rock walls crumbled, doors still standing in walls that no longer hold anything in, or anything out. I move slowly and carefully, knowing the attackers are everywhere now. The night is dark, and the few clouds in the sky move slowly, light in a deep blue sky, except in the far distance.

In the distance the clouds glow orange where London burns.

I creep along the walls, listening for sounds of life, hoping to find another survivor amongst the ruins. I hear movement, and slowly edge my way to an area where the remaining wall only comes up about four feet. On the other side I hear voices, and quietly I peer over the edge of the wall to see who's there.

They're short, maybe three feet tall. They're not wearing any clothes, and in the moonlight their skin looks brown and tough, like leather. One reaches it's clawed hand into what was once a man, pulling at something until it comes loose, bat's wings raising slightly with the effort, and then eating it. A walkie talkie on the body's belt crackles with static, and the other thing turns its horned head towards the sound. A broken voice comes whispering through:

"Can anyone hear me? Jesus, we were completely surrounded. It's just me left, and I...wait...what was that?"

There is a brief pause, and then the sound of tearing and screaming. Then the walkie talkie goes silent. One of the demons looks at the other and says, "Huh. It makes you wonder why he bothered with the radio."

The other demon shrugs and says, "Well, he didn't know."

Having seen that these are not the survivors I seek, I carefully move away from the ruins and begin to cross the countryside. I listen all the time, occasionally darting my eyes to the deep blue sky for fear of one of them dropping down from above. I move along, and as I come to the top of a hill, I see headlights moving in the distance. I want to rush down and wave for help, but something tells me not to, and instead I lay down against the ground, watching the headlights slow as the road gets closer to where I am.

The car stops in front of me, about 200 feet away from where I'm laying against the grass. A woman steps out of the car and walks to the side of the car I'm closer to, scanning the area as if looking for something. She's tall, with long black hair and a form fitting blue dress that looks like something out of the 1940s, and I think to myself that I would probably find her attractive if I believed that she was human.

Failing to find anything, she gets back into the car. I see her lean over to pick up a phone from the passenger side, somehow knowing she needs to report her progress, when she pauses. She raises her head, and she stares me right in the eyes.

And I know that I'm not going to escape after all.

A Cut Above

It is now the night before Halloween, and I have what I consider to be a complete travesty in my house. Last weekend, we invited a set of neighborhood girls over to carve pumpkins, and just to be sure we bought and hollowed out a couple of extra ones. Well, two pumpkins have been sitting on my porch for nearly a week now, empty canvasses awaiting the hand of a pumpkin master to mangle their flesh into a glowing work of art.

I thought myself to be such a master at one point. I started out like everyone else, working my way up from a general veggie master to gourd master until deciding to specialize in the Americanized version and hone my skills upon the orange beast of the gourd world. Interesting tidbit - originally, turnips or rutabagas were carved in Europe, but I was not interested in the title of "rutabaga master" for reason I think are obvious.

Anyway, I'm getting geared up to put the kids to bed tonight (hopefully early) that I may pop corn, pour myself an adult beverage, and take to the blades. Then I went online. Now I realize that I am not the master I believed I was. Maybe I'm a padawan - that's more reasonable.

Because these guys are the $#%@ing Jedi of carving.

First, let's look at the set of nercore pumpkins pointed to by my good friend. Some are pretty standard template fair, but other are a world of "holy cow". The Death Star? The Mario? The three dimensional Darth Vadar? Those are beautiful.



Impressed as I was, nothing could prepare me for what I found via Slashdot today. The man's name is Ray Villafane, and apparently he was part of a Food Network challenge for pumpkin carving where he whipped some hiney. Looking at his work, you can see why. I'm absolutely stunned at the level of detail he's put into this. Just to up the ante, he actually includes a brief tutorial on how he does one of them, but I think unless you are already an artist who can do realistic sculpture, it's best just to admire.



So...yeah. I though my Dr. Horrible pumpkin was going to be ambitious, but these people go above and beyond to create brief but stunning works of art. I'm sure there are those who would call this a waste, particularly when one considers the temporal nature of such work, but I couldn't disagree more. I love to see someone dedicate themselves so fully to something that, even if just for a few days, bring a little more fun into the world.

Happy Halloween Eve people. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a lot of work to plan for.

To Look Into Her Eyes And Say, "Daddy Is A Big Liar"

Once upon a time, I was a big liar. I mean it was bad. I would lie to get out of trouble. I would lie to get my way. Hell, I would lie just for sport. The thing is, I was great at it. Rarely did anyone suspect the degree with which I bent the truth to do my bidding.

Then I moved out of my parents house and started growing up. The older I got, the more I realized that a)lying about things is wrong and b)lying about things is a huge pain in the tuckus. So I stopped. Just like that. It wasn't even like a habit I had to break. I just decided that if anyone asked something, well, I'd tell the truth to the best of my ability. It's easier, and I don't have to remember anything to cover my heiny later.

Then I had kids.

Now, here's the thing - I have the same policy with my kids. If my daughter asks me a question, I will answer honestly. I may not fill in all of the gory details but I tell her the truth. When she asked if I have a mom and dad, and why we don't see them, I told her the truth (now with only half the awkwardness). I believe the best thing I can do for my kids is treat them like little adults, assume they are not morons, and tell them the truth about the world so they are ready for it.

The problem is that I got railroaded into two lies, and now I'm facing one of them: Santa Claus. At first I fully protested for the aforementioned reasons. Unfortunately, I relented, and now I'm having to face the wrath of this decision. This morning, on the way to school, she said other kids in her class said that there was no Santa Claus, and asked me if there is or not. I went all political on her:

"What do you think?"

"I think there is a Santa."

"Well, there you go then."

Then I deftly changed the subject and continued the drive to school, furious with myself the entire way. I have deliberately misled my daughter in a way that I told myself I never would. She is more ignorant that some of her peers because of something I did. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that I have spent the entire morning hating myself for this.

The thing is, what do I do now? We're heading into the season, and I'm going to be reminded of this constantly. We're going to go to the mall for pictures on Santa's lap. She may even write Santa a letter this year (she's big on writing letters right now). Every one of these things is going to remind me that I'm a bad parent, that when she realizes that I've been lying, she'll never trust me completely ever again. I'm just not ready for that, and I have no one to blame but myself.

At least I have a few months before I have to deal with the whole "anthropomorphic rabbits distributing painted unfertilized fowl offspring" issue.

Moose Interrupted

For those of you who lack offspring, I will share with you a little hint. The key to running a household with smaller, cuter versions of yourself is routines. Routines for dinner. Routines for getting ready in the morning. Routines for those rare moments where you're in a public place and someone puts on a show tune ("That's it pumpkin - now jazz hands!").

Well, as the official morning person of the household, I'm responsible for packing lunches and then waking, dressing, and/or feeding the tots before school, and we have a well established routine. A big part of that routine is me nagging after the Princess, who tends to forget what she's supposed to be doing in favor of a shiny object (awww...just like her daddy). The point is that it works, and those who know me know that being late to anything makes me a little crazy, so it works well. Typically, we're ready with about ten minutes to spare.

What's odd about this is that one would assume that having help would improve said routine. Unfortunately, there's a kink in the system where that doesn't work. See, a big part of my morning routine is letting the Moose sleep until the last minute, throwing his clothes on, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and then rushing everyone out the door, where we proceed to his daycare and they give him the bowl of cereal I packed. I used to get him up for breakfast, but when I tried to wake him he would just mumble and roll over, and if I forced him out of bed he would be all cranky with me (awww...just like his mommy). So now I let him sleep, and it has worked out way better than I ever expected, but it relies on one little element that's sometimes out of my control.

His mother has to be gone before I wake him up.

Well, last night my lovely daughter woke at four in the morning complaining of a stomach ache. After trying using the bathroom, drinking a glass of water, elevating her (she has a history of reflux), suggesting that she try to burp or release gas some other way, she was still complaining. Then she started throwing up, which pretty much went on until she was empty. As a result, mommy stayed home to stand watch over our Princess.

Unfortunately, that meant the Moose got mommy time. Now, I never begrudge him his adoration of his mother as it's something we share, but all morning when I took him away to try and brush or comb or whatever, the little bugger wailed like I was pulling out toenails. When I dropped him off at school, he was still huffing a little from the crying fit in the car, and when I handed him off, the wailing began again. At first his teacher suggested that maybe he wasn't feeling well either, because this is very unlike our normally docile Moose. I explained that mommy was home, and that he had been going on since I took him away from her. "Oh," the teacher said, "well that's probably it. He does the same thing when she drops him off." I get a wave and smile, and then it's on to the aforementioned Cheerios that await him for breakfast.

So yeah, I need to work on the whole "when mommy's home" branch of the morning routine. Hearing my babies cry makes me feel bad, and given that I was running behind today and so skipped my coffee, it added to a mounting caffeine headache that was building to Scanners proportions. The problem is that once I've got a good routine, I tend to only change it grudgingly. I don't know. Maybe I can come up with something.

You think that maybe I could convince her to hide until we're gone?

Best. Idea. Ever.

I had to run to the local grocery store this weekend, and while picking up some coffee I noticed that they had a coffee for Barack Obama. I didn't buy it, but there it was. I didn't see a McCain coffee (I'm guessing coffee makes him irritable), but this got me to thinking about what a poor choice that was. I mean, if you're going to put a product on politicians, make it something that actually represents them, something that speaks to the person. That is why I am now presenting my idea, which hopefully will not be stolen and marketed by people with more money than me (particularly that #%$* Willy Wonka, whose stupid Oompa Loompas I still have a restraining order against).

The 2008 Presidential Candidate chocolate bars.

Let's start with the Obama bar. The Obama is a simple, straightforward white chocolate bar that is then coated on the outside with dark chocolate. This of course runs the risk of turning off people who continue to have irrational fears of dark chocolate. At the same time, it also runs the risk of putting off people who will claim that it's not dark enough, that really it's a white chocolate bar with just the look of a dark chocolate bar. These people spend too much time thinking about stuff like that, and frankly, we don't care what they think. It's yummy.

One thing about the Obama bar - while it doesn't actually contain nuts, it is processed in a plant where nuts are used in other products. We'll probably need to put a big warning on the wrapper, not necessarily suggesting that the Obama bar is itself nutty, but that we need to be wary. We need to know more about how much time the Obama bars spent with these other, potentially dangerous bars, and what effect it has (again, potentially) had on the Obama bars own levels of nuttiness.

Moving on, we have the McCain bar. The McCain is straight forward, all American milk chocolate. It's classic, it's tested. Everyone knows what to expect from it...or do they? The beauty of the McCain is that it's the maverick bar. Oh sure, it starts with milk chocolate, but from there, you never know what you're going to get. You might get a bar full of fiber chunks (tested extremely well in Florida with the "damned old" demographic). You might get a bar full of fiery chili pepper. You might just get a bar of chocolate. See, it's classic, it's tested, but at the same time there's an undercurrent of risk, a certain flavor of the erratic, that makes it kind of adventurous.

Now, we would be remiss to leave out the Vice Presidential nominees, so each Obama bar will come with a (slightly smaller) Biden bar. The Biden bar is also milk chocolate, and is actually very similar to the McCain bar, except that the Biden bar is consistently a little nutty. Not enough to worry about - it's always good. You get what you paid for. It's just, you know, a little nutty. Also, for whatever reason, we're having a little trouble with the wrappers, so while all the necessary information is there, it's sometimes hard to tell just exactly what we were trying to say. We've got people working on that.

Lastly, we have the Palin. The Palin bar, which, similar to the Biden bar, comes along with the McCain, is actually all about packaging. The wrapper is unbelievably shiny, gold and silver wrapped in streaming red, white and blue, but without pretension. It's actually hard to look away from, yet a lot of people feel that it speaks to them, that it's somehow familiar. It has the look of something you'd see in the window of a small town candy shop. Now it does tend to make the McCain look kind of plain in comparison, even dull, and people are already talking about pushing the Palin on it's own, but it's worth it to get customer attention to the two of them. Even better is that each wrapper comes with a little homespun wisdom, something to make it homey. We put a lot of thought into what went into the packaging on the Palin (don't even ask how much we spent on design), but we think it's the best package out there.

We're confident that it's enough to keep people from noticing that there's nothing in it.

Dark Dreams: The Juggernaut

I'm in a round room that seems like an old attic. The walls and floors are wood, but not finished wood. It reminds me in some ways of a barn, the way the walls are solid but the twisted and brown floor boards don't quite meet up exactly. The walls seem air tight though, and at the top they meet a ceiling that angles upward. In the center of the room is a tremendous post, almost as wide as I am, going from the top of the ceiling down through the floor.

There are no windows, and there are no lights, but it's not dark in the room. Instead, light is coming up from below through the cracks in the floorboards, through the space between the boards and the post. The light is orange and red, and it moves as if, just underneath the floor I'm standing on, magma is sliding and shifting, oddly calming and beautiful.

I look around but don't see anything else in the room. I figure there must be a door or hatch, but I'm not immediately finding it. I start to walk and realize that, behind the post where I was standing, resting against the opposite wall, there is something else in the room.

There is the Juggernaut.

It would look like a suit of armor if not for the sheer immensity and the lack of a head. The shoulders go right across, smooth at the top where a hole for a head ordinarily would appear. The rest of it looks like it had been built for someone huge, some muscle bound beast that would work it's will through sheer strength and ferocity. It shows no signs of rust or deterioration, but still somehow carries the sense of antiquity.

I walk up to it, fascinated. I have to stand up on my tiptoes to look at the top. I do so wanting to look inside of it, and am disappointed to see that it lacks a place for a head to go through. As I look, I lose my balance slightly, and put my hand on the smooth chest of it to catch myself. From somewhere behind me, I hear a mocking voice quietly say, "Ooh, you shouldn't have done that".

I turn around to see where the voice has come from, but before I have a chance to find out, there is a cacophony of creaking metal. I turn just in time to jump back as one of the arms comes up, hand closing where my head had been a moment before. Finding nothing, the Juggernaut slowly pushes itself away from the wall, every movement causing that same metallic groaning, like the sound of metal being torn apart by great forces.

I back away, looking frantically for that exit. I still don't see anything like a trap door or window that might afford me some means of escape. Again, from somewhere behind me, the voice mocks me. "There's no way out, and even if there was, it won't stop until it gets what it wants." A soft laugh follows.

I continue backing away, moving quietly and trying to put both space and the tremendous pole supporting the room in between me and the thing that, now moving freely, slowly, deliberately, seems to be pursuing me. "It's not going to stop until it gets what it wants you know." The voice seems to be coming from below me now, but I don't dare look away from the metal giant, which paused at the sound. I can see it from either side of the pole, angling it's shoulders in my direction.

I stand still, breathless, trying not to make any noise, still hoping to find an exit before the slow moving thing is upon me. At my feet, I feel something bumping into my leg repeatedly, and again the soft laugh came from below me. "There's no where to hide in here, and there's no way out." I look down at my feet, and looking up at me is a man's head, his bloody neck and spinal column torn and twisting below him like a snake. He smiles at me, recognizing my panic. "He won't stop until he get's what he want, and mine wasn't good enough."

I hear it's laughter beneath the thud of a giant footstep, and look up to see the thing step towards the pole in the center of the room, the pole of solid wood, the pole that is almost as wide as I am. The thing raises it's left hand across it's right shoulder and, balling up a fist, brings it crashing down against the side of the pole. With a deafening crack, the pole splits in two like a toothpick, the top half hanging at an odd angle now while the bottom sinks down into the floor, flooding the creature with the red-orange glow the light below.

And I know, without a doubt, that I am not getting out of that room.

On The Bright Side, I Still Don't Qualify To Go As A Ghost

Today is the day we celebrate Halloween at work. Oh, we don't say we're celebrating Halloween, presumably due to a long debate on our in-house forum from a few years ago where a disgrunted religious person complained about the decorating (which Hermie personally takes offense to, but since he's not technically an employee, I explained that he cannot formally lodge a discrimination complaint). Anyway, there are donuts and candy and decorations and people are dressed up, all for the "Harvest Festival".



I myself am not dressed up this year. I was planning on it, but my costume budget went to other things. This means that if I wanted to dress up, I would have to either wear an old costume (which were all kind of situation specific), or wear one of the uniforms from my previous careers.

The latter always seems like a good option until I actually get into the outfit. At that point, I kind of regress into the person I was when that was my chosen profession. This tends to lead to uncomfortable situations for me.

As an example, there was the year I put on my ninja uniform. Everyone thought it was a pretty cool "costume", and I thought I had done well. The problem was that I recognized a target from one of the forums I still haunted (it's so hard to let go sometimes). Let me tell you, throwing a shuriken into someone's chest and then disappearing in a puff of smoke is pretty much a solid guarantee that you're not getting invited again next year.

Then there was the year I wore my winged vigilante outfit. Again, big hit for the most part. Thing is that I forgot to clean out my utility belt completely, and some of my defensive measures were still live. One minute I'm in the middle of a raucous game of Twister and then next thing I know, I've inadvertantly gassed an entire party (similar thing happened at a chili cook off incedentally, but we can discuss that another time). Fortunately I still had my breathing apparatus, so I escaped unscathed, and the gas that was released sort of "softened" everyone's memory, so for the most part no one could remember what had happened. Actually, that's how most of our parties ended back then, so I guess it wasn't a total wash.

Let's not even discuss the exotic dancer thing, beyond saying that it's not a good idea at the workplace. In my defense though, what are the odds that someone would play "You Can Leave Your Hat On" at an office part? Dude, totally awkward.

So yeah, this year I put in the spider earring, flipped over my watch to expose the Jolly Roger on the other side, and called it good. Maybe next year I'll buy a costume. For now, this will have to do. I might still break something out for Halloween night though. I mean, I still have my old lab coat and steel briefcase from my stint in biological research.

Besides, what are the odds that the zombie virus would still be active after all of these years?

I Miss The Old Days When They Just Tried To Shoot Me

It's official. Someone is trying to kill me. I don't think it's my lovely wife (although there have several suspicious stair related requests since I picked up more life insurance). No, it's something more insidious. I went something like five or six years without a major illness of any kind. Everyone else would get really sick, and then I would catch it, and I would get this mild version of whatever they had that barely annoyed me, much less laying me up in bed or anything.

Since moving, however, it seems like I've been fighting one thing after another. I don't know if they're putting kryponite in the water or what (I'm using kryptonite only as an example - currently, I have no known weaknesses other than candy and the eyes of my wife, which are, in my defense, scary powerful). I spent the last two weeks with a headache that Sudafed would quiet down but not eliminate. I finally felt better this week and started working out again.

Last night by the time I got home, my head was pounding. Every time I moved it it hurt in a different place. Add to that a sore throat that started around dinner time, and I was back to nearing collapse. By bedtime, it hurt to move.

Now, this is annoying to be sure, but today Sudafed has once again quieted the headache, and the sore throat was soothed away by coffee. Terrific. Better living through chemistry and all that. Unfortunately, those were just the normal problems. Here's where things get weird.

My elbow has been hurting for a few days. Being somewhat of an oaf, I just assumed that I had rammed it into some object without noticing (this happens more often that I like to admit). Last night it seemed to be bothering me a bit more than normal. So, on my way out the bathroom, I casually glance at the offending joint in the mirror, and it would appear that it's swelling up. It's definitely bigger than the other one anyway.

To be sure, this could be attributed to the aforementioned oafishness, but the fact that I don't recall hitting it hard enough to cause the swelling combined with it appearing to be getting worse has me concerned. I mean, why would be elbow swell up? I haven't lost any time, so the likelihood of an alien implant is low. I do recall that there was a small bump there last week, but Snopes assures me that there are probably not baby spiders nesting in my arm. I Googled "swollen elbow", but I couldn't make myself read too many potential issues and treatments - "blech" is all I have to say about that. So I'll treat it the way an American man is supposed to treat an illness - I'll watch it and hope that it goes away on it's own.

If not, at least I hope to grow some variety of terrifying, tentacle appendage that I could use to hand out candy on Halloween - that would rock.

To Be Fair, It Also Bugs Me When Aliens Are Humanoid

Given the crowd I hang out with (online anyways), the following statements will come as a bit of a shock, and quite frankly, I would never dare put down these words as a forum post. Nonetheless, once in a while I must use this space to explore my own feelings about issues. This was partially the point of starting DLOG, and even though it may offend some, I must be brave and stand by my opinions.

I *$%*ing hate all of the Dungeons & Dragons, fantasy, swords and sorcery bull*$&%.

There. I said it. Now, allow me to elucidate.

These things, be it a Lord of the Rings book (where most of this originated) or the immensely popular World of Warcraft online game, supposedly fall under the banner of "fantasy". Fine. Good. I'm all about people stretching their imaginations to the limit, coming up with strange creatures and brave new worlds to inhabit them. The problem is that almost none of them seem to actually, you know, fantasize. Instead, there seems to be a solid template from which all of it stems.

Take orcs for examples. Those of you who sat through any one of the three Lord of the Rings movies got a good look at an orc - big, tough, scary and mean. They were a perfect enemy. Take a look at Wikipedia on the subject, and what you'll see is that, as I previously suggested, the orc originated in the Lord of the Rings universe. Then they showed up in Dungeons & Dragons, Warcraft, Warhammer, Earthdawn, Shadowrun, Magic: The Gathering, and Might and Magic, just to list what Wikipedia covers. Most of these are games, each, theoretically anyways, containing their own universe. It doesn't really talk about other media, such as the movies or countless novels that also "borrow" this breed of creature. Yet somehow, the orcs manage to slip their way into each one, along with humans, fairies, trolls, dragons, armor, horses, swords, etc.

And that's where you lose me. See, I read The Hobbit when I was a teenager. Problem was, it had been so distilled by all of the other fantasy crap that had been rolled out since it that all of it, from Gandalf the wizard to Smaug the dragon, seems cliche and trite. This is a tragedy, because now I know damned well that J.R.R. Tolkien invented a lot of this stuff, or at least was the first to use it in the fantasy setting that I'm talking about here. I never even tried to read the other books.

Now I understand that this has clearly become it's own genre, and that we're using the "fantasy" genre loosely at this point (although by "we", I'm counting at least most of the US). I just wish we could officially break from the genre. It's sad that I have a better chance of coming across something I would count as a "fantasy" story by looking to horror or science fiction. I want to see someone actually being creative, not creating the newest iteration of dragon fighting, sword bearing, Renaissance festival BS. I don't see where it's actually required at this point - I think we've covered it all. Twice.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go reinforce my windows in preparation of the inevitable twenty-sided die pelting that I must now face. Roll for intiative indeed.

When They Feel Better, I Guess They Can Climb The Plants And Visit The Giant

Having already discussed the medical marijuana proposal faced by Michigan voters in a couple of weeks, I had every intention of letting the topic go. I said my piece, I'm sure that all of you, knowing my keen intellect and dedication to the betterment of mankind in general, were all swayed by my eloquence and will make right decision when the time comes. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of continuing to read what others have to say on the topic, which lead me to this gem.

Ignoring everything else in the editorial, (which is the usual "if we give it to anyone then the kids will get it too), they state the following measure: "one marijuana plant can yield 28,000 joints in one year". Okay, having done independent research on this (no, I'm not citing my sources - trust me), I'm calling shenanigans on this little factoid. I don't know who's rolling joints for these people, but they are claiming that these plants (12 per person who is given an ID card from a doctor who confirms medical necessity) are somehow able to grow and thrive despite the fact that the person growing them is cutting off enough of the plant to roll over 76 joints a day.

Now look, I'm not a farmer. I've never grown marijuana. I've never grown a damned thing, but what little I do know about growing plants and general biology says that constantly cutting off leaves and whatnot (especially the whatnot - heh) would probably be detrimental to the health of said plant. Nonetheless, these people want me to believe that these magnificent green thumbs who apply for the ability to alleviate pain and whatnot with medical marijuana will be able to do so despite their severe illnesses. Heck, if that's true, we should let them do it based purely on the advances that we will get in the farming industries. Think of what they could do with corn or wheat! These people could feed the world!

Now, I'm sure the group responsible for this number didn't make it up out of thin air (political groups never do), but all the same I'm saying it ain't so. This thing stinks of inflation that make my tires jealous. Of course, I can't find out where the numbers come from because the group who is cited in the article (Drug Free Schools Coalition) doesn't have a web site. In fact, I can't find anything about them on the internet other than they are often cited as a source for such things. Personally, that makes me skeptical, but that's just how I am I guess. Use your own judgment, but take it from me, it would take more than a pot of soil and a bottle of Miracle Grow to pull this one off. So take these claims with a grain of salt.

Try one of these maybe:

Dark Dreams: The Doll

First: the official soundtrack.

After much searching and saving and waiting, our family had finally bought a house. It was a little strange, because it was sort of a fifties style ranch house, which is not something we initially wanted, but I think we're both just happy to have a place. We walk into the entryway, and the most notable thing about the place is that to the left is a doorway in the wall that forms a hallway and leads to the living area, a wall that is wood paneling on the bottom half and frosted glass on the top half.

My lovely wife carries a box into the living area, and calls to me. "Looks like they left something behind when they moved." I come around to see what she's talking about, and sitting on the floor is a doll. Like many dolls, it's not particularly childlike in it's dimensions, looking more like a small woman rather than a little girl. It's also gray, and it's skin is shriveled up. Strands of brittle gray are mixed in with the blond hair on it's head. It's lips have also shriveled, exposing little teeth behind them. It's eyelids are sunken inward, opened slightly to expose blackness where it's eyes should have been.

So, yeah, the previous tenants had left a little tiny corpse behind. A little tiny corpse in a blue dress. Charming.

I realize that my lovely wife has left to get another box. I look at the doll for a minute, then follow her out. Coming back in, I hear her say, "Well, you're going to have to get rid of it. I don't want the kids playing with this thing.". I ask why I have to do it, really not wanting anything to do with the ugly little bugger, and she gives me that look that tells me that there isn't any good reason for it being my job, but if I insist on arguing about it she'll find one. I sigh and go back into the room.

When I come around the corner, I stop because the doll isn't where it was before. I get a little irritated, wondering why, if she was going to pick it up anyway, my lovely wife didn't just throw it out. I look around and see that it's now sitting in the corner of the room. Its arms are down at its side now, and its little head is turned to the spot I'm standing in, tilted sideways as if considering me. I hesitate, finally realizing that something isn't right about all of this, and then walk over to and and reach down to pick it up.

And it raises its little head, and reaches for me too.

Oh Internet, Is There Anything You Can't Do?

Ah, the internet. Will you ever cease to amaze me? Every time I think we've run out of things to make new web sites about, the internet steps in and proves that people are even more wonderfully weird than I could have ever imagined. I'm just glad a have a group of forumites decent enough to hunt down the goods, that I may pass them along to you.

Take this site for example. Whether your for or against the potential Palin Presidency (ooh, there's that chill I get every time I say that), you have to admire the sheer detail of this thing. What's more impressive to me is the promise to update it until November 4th. At first I took that as an empty promise, but then I click this morning, and there's an annoying drip on the desk that, when clicked, brings none other than Joe "Not Event Registered To Vote?" Plumber, winner of last night's debate. Nice.

As if silly views of current events wasn't enough, how about the internet's constant stream of news that I might have otherwise missed? A granny get's mugged, then surprises assailants by turning out to be a former cross-country champion. A Cambodian couple's divorce ends in separating their property, literally. Or my personal favorite, the dude who tried to pay for his fast food with weed. Have it your way indeed.

But that's the usual stuff. How about something really weird? Well, have a look at uspide down dogs. It's a website where people post pictures of their dogs. Upside down. The dogs I mean. Actually, the pictures are upside down too. So it's a website where people post pictures of their upside down dogs upside down. And people have the nerve to claim that there's no new ideas.

Oh, I suppose the internet is also good for the mass sharing of information allowing an unprecedented flow of knowledge that has changed the way humanity approaches many aspect of day to day lives, bringing people together across traditional social and societal boundaries and allowing us to share in the humanity of others in ways we had never previously dreamed of. Or whatever.

But dude...upside down dogs. That's solid gold, baby. Solid gold.

***Update***
Apparently, Joe is in fact a registered Republican. Unfortunately his name is spelled wrong, so there's a good chance he'll be blocked from casting a regular ballot on November 4th.

At Least I Was On Key

Last night, I stepped back and viewed the entire political situation through my 3-B glasses (that's three beers for those of you who missed Strange Brew). Today, I'm a calmer, more peaceful person, and will try to not let the shenanigans of others enrage me quite like they have in the last week or so. In that vein, I will now use Scott Kurtz as my muse, and share with you one of those wonderfully painful, horrific and yet highly amusing stories I occasionally like to put down here.

In high school I was a choir boy. I also liked to act, so I naturally found my way into the various musicals the school would put on. As a result, my junior year found me taking the lead in the school production of Guys and Dolls. I like to pretend that I achieved this through my singing and acting skills, and not my ability to grow a full beard which made me look appropriately sinister for the role of a professional gambler.

So, it's opening night. The gym/auditorium is pretty well packed with family members, faculty, students...the usual high school musical crowd. The show is going well. No major screw ups have occurred, the singing has been pretty good, yadda yadda yadda. Overall, this is a success thus far.

I leave the stage after a big number and proceed to the small room they have designated for the men to go change outfits in. I shut the door, and was suddenly reminded that before a big show, I probably shouldn't have opted for for my traditional weekend snack of a giant grinder from Mancino's. My stomach was growling painfully.

Fortunately, I remembered that our changing room was also one of the many mostly soundproof rooms set in the walls of the choir/band room of the high school. I quickly peeked out the door to ensure that no one was loitering in my area, and, quietly apologizing to whomever it was who was going to have to change after me, proceeded to rip several extraordinarily loud and boisterous farts in a row. Having alleviated my stomach issues, I continued to change my outfit. I took off the jacket I was wearing, and that's when I realized that I had made a grave error.

I was still wearing the wireless microphone.

The little red light indicating that I had forgotten to turn it off stared at me accusingly. I was frozen, mortified at the thought of my trumpeting being broadcast through the auditorium speakers, trying to remember if there had been any tell tale grunts or noises of relief either proceeding or following any of the bursts. I waited, listening for...I don't know what. I was picturing the crowd in hysterics, people gasping, old ladies fainting...all as the choir director frantically ran around trying to locate the source of the new instrumental number.

After a minute or two without indecent, I continued changing, still terrified of what I had to face when I left the room. It turned out that the thick concrete of the walls had stopped the signal from reaching the masses, and I was spared the humiliation of facing my classmates after carpet bombing a musical. So, let that me a lesson to you - always, always make sure your microphone is off as soon as you leave the stage. The life you save may be your own.

On the other hand, I was always left wondering, if the signal had gotten through, would I have been the one voted "Most Musical"?

I'm Thinking Maybe I Need A Time Out

Okay, so I'm a having a little trouble getting started today. The issue is that I try to keep DLOG a nice mix of sweet and sour - a little bit of political ranting here, a random bit of humor there, etc. As such, I feel like I should be offering the sugar bowl after yesterday's bit of anger.

Problem is that frankly, I don't feel better. Everything I try to write about today is angry. Not my typical "oh this will make for a funny rant" anger either. This is something darker, and not really like me. I think the point where I was addressing the inmate who was trying to claim that he's too fat to be humanely executed, and I found myself suggesting they put an apple in his mouth and throw him over a spit, I realized that maybe today, I should just skip the whole thing. (Be glad I deleted that one and started over...you're missing the really dark stuff.)

So yeah, I think today we're going for brevity. In lieu of the funny I should have brought, I'm linking you to yesterday's PvP, which contained a line that, last night as I tried to sleep, repeatedly popped into my head and made me laugh. These small laughs, like hugs from my babies or a moment watching the birds flock for the Fall, are the small pressure valves that keep me from popping on days like today.

The Thing Is I Really Don't Want To Pack Again

This weekend, it was put on me to try and discuss the upcoming election with family. This is not something I would ever consider doing on my own, and having made a feeble attempt at it, I know why. It's not that I don't believe that I'm making the right choice - I know I am. It's that our country is now so broken that there's pretty much no reason to discuss this stuff anymore.

See, we all have these things we believe are important. We have a wide gamut of ideas and opinions that make up our personalities. Unfortunately, our current system forces us to put all of that aside and back one of two people, and because of how far the divisiveness in this country has gone, making that decision has turned into an emotional one. People make their decision, and somehow they seem to become immediately radical over that decision. It's not enough to discuss ideas anymore. There's no room for hope of us coming together anymore. We hate them and they hate us.

Game on.

Typically, I try to be an agent of hope, but I'm losing that edge now. It doesn't help that, from my point of view anyway, one of our countries great leaders has been irretrievably corrupted by this process. Seriously, eight years ago I wanted McCain to run. I wanted to see him battle Gore. I wanted to be genuinely torn about who to vote for.

Now, I see him as something different. I see him as someone who has allowed his messages and ideas to be corrupted in the name of securing a party ticket and winning. I see him standing by quietly while his people put ideas into American's heads that aren't just misdirection, they are often lies. Do I believe the Obama campaign is innocent of this? Please. I'm not an idiot. But the tone is different. Bending and spinning to appease the masses is one thing - I don't like it, but it's politics. Instigating hatred and anger, actively working to deepen trench that I honestly believe could be leading to the end of this country...well, it's just not something that I ever would have associated with McCain, and now that I do, I can't imaging supporting him, as a candidate or as a President.

I guess that's the scariest thing for me right now. I'm actually to the point where, having seen my own countrymen yelling out things like "kill him" and "bomb them" at Republican rallies, hearing stories of people openly yelling racial epithets at a camera man, or accepting ideas like Obama is a Muslim terrorist (he's a Christian Senator for God's sake), or even better, saying that he's an "arab" (born in the USA), I'm thinking about giving up. If this is what the people want, if this is the group that we're backing, and we want our decisions to be driven by fear and divisiveness, by actual,domestic terrorists, that's fine. You guys do what you have to do. But I'm done.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that after the campaign that he has run, if he wins, then that tone, for me, will define our country. We hate you, you hate us, and that's that. If this is the extent of the hope I can muster for our future, if that's really where I think we're headed, I will genuinely consider leaving. I don't want to be in a place where we're willing to overlook ignorance and threats of terrorism so long as it's from someone who's on our side. I don't want to be in a place where all we can see of each other is what divides us, forgetting that, for all our disagreements, we're still human and share more in common with each other than we imagine. And I really don't want to live in a place where my leader, the person I look to to embody all that is good and strong about our country, got his power by inciting hatred and anger, or allowing others to do it for him. That isn't what I thought my country was about.

I had kind of hoped that others felt the same way.

Dark Dreams: The Two Starcases

Picture a room about the size of a high school gymnasium. The walls, about 20 feet high, are all concrete painted a light gray. They are featureless save for a bank of small, embedded windows that go across the top, giving the impression that the majority of the room is underground. This sense is deepened by the fact that the only other features in the room are two staircases, also concrete, with the standard metal railings one would expect in an industrial setting. The staircases both go up to the same wall, one of the short walls of the rectangle, and both go down in the same direction, giving the entire space a near perfect symmetry. At the top of each stair case, against the long wall, is a single door, a large, metal thing painted the same shade as the rest of the room with the exception of polished steel handles and hinges.

Are you picturing it?

I'm standing at the top of one of the staircases. I don't know how I got there, but I know I was put there on purpose. I try the door next to me, and it's locked. Looking across the room, I can see the other staircase and the other door. They are about fifteen feet away from me, and for some reason, I'm sure that the other door is not locked. So I start down the stairs, and that's when I notice that the entire floor of the room is under about four feet of water. The entire room, expect for the staircases, is submerged.

The water is completely full of bodies. The bodies are the same gray as the walls except for the clothing and hair.

The water is not still. Instead, it churns slowly as if there is a source coming in from somewhere. I don't think the water is getting deeper, and I watch the staircases to make sure. Still, I know that if I want to get out, I will have to wade through the water. Through the bodies. I start to panic, and wonder why I'm being forced to do this. I start walking down the stairs towards the water, the entire time looking across the expanse of bodies, slowly shifting and sliding, each being gently moved along with the water.

I am about three steps away from the bottom of the stairs when I look across again at the other staircase. As my eyes trail back, I see that one of the bodies is face up, and his open eyes appear to be looking at me almost greedily. I stop, breathless, temporarily frozen by the gaze. I shake my head and tell myself to keep moving, telling myself that they are all dead. The eyes in the gray face staring at me roll back into the man's head, a small moan escapes his now gently smiling lips, and he shifts below the other bodies, engulfed by the water.

And I know that I was wrong. I know that not everything in this room, not everything in this water that I have no choice but to cross, is completely dead. Those that aren't...well, they don't intend to let me reach the other side.

Yes, I Know It Didn't Happen, But You Still Shouldn't Have Said That

I should have known I was getting seriously sick when my dreams turned on me. Most of the time, I dream, but it's inconsequential. I wake up, and they're gone. The exceptions are rare, and are typically nightmares or what I've gotten in the last week, which are strongly negative emotional dreams. What strikes me most about both is that, upon waking, you know you were dreaming, but you can't shake the emotional response.

On Saturday morning, I woke up convinced the world was either entirely pissed at me, or was about to be. In my dreams, both my boss and my wife were angry with me (which is of course preposterous, what with me being the perfect employee and husband). What was worse, though, was that there was this additional dread, what I think of as report card anxiety, where there was some other thing that I had done that neither of them knew about yet, but was going to really make them mad. (Did I ever mention that, at times, I was not the most applied student?) I don't know what it was, but it was so intense that when I woke up, I spent the first half of my day with this dread hanging over me, trying to figure out what it was that I had done that was going to bring it all down on me.

Last night was even stranger. I dreamed that my lovely wife and I were fighting. Not like boxing, or even yelling at each other. Instead, in my dream I was driving down the road, and the entire time she was harping on things I do when driving that irritate her. Now, let me be quick to point out that, while she will let me know when something bugs her, this is not a constant occurrence in real life, and when she expresses criticism, it is typically in a constructive manner. In the dream it got so bad that, in an effort to dramatize that I took a corner too sharply, she leaned into me, causing me to actually drive off the road.

The dream went on for a little bit more, and then I woke up around five in the morning. I went to the bathroom, I went back to bed, and then nothing. No sleeping. Why not? Because I was &$%#ing furious with my lovely wife over this fictitious altercation. I just lay there, internally grumbling about how I was just trying to drive, and if she had so many problems with how I drove, why didn't she ever offer to drive, blah blah blah. All over something that never really happened. Bizarre.

The funny thing to me is that first, it never happened, and second, even after waking up enough to use the restroom, I couldn't shake the anger. Eventually, I did get back to sleep, but when the alarm went off, I felt like I hadn't slept at all, and I was half expecting her and I to start bickering. Fortunately, we didn't, and I've figured out that my dreams are being driven by my illness (despite the last year's events, I really don't get sick often, and forget how getting really sick effects me). Hopefully, this realization means that tonight I'll actually rest and dream about normal things.

After all, the Enterprise isn't going to just start captaining itself.

Once In A While, I Do Notice My Surroundings

Today, I sit at home, having called in sick. Of course I feel bad about it, and I'm surprised I did it at all, but after a week of headaches and the fourth day of waking up to find that a deep breath gives the impression of someone squeezing a sponge in my chest, I decided it was best. That is all I have to say about that.

Instead, I need to tell you about something wonderful. See, we moved over here last year. I've never really had the chance (or taken the time) to describe this, and it's worth describing.

Our drive to school each morning is nothing short of amazing.

My favorite season is Fall, and it's like someone sat down and tailored the perfect stretch of road just for the season. In the ten minutes it takes to get the Moose's day care, I feel like I've taken a full tour of the best Fall has to offer.

First, the entire road is thickly lines with woods on either side, tall trees that practically explode with color. Right now, they are just getting started, small bursts of pinks and reds and oranges amongst the wall of green. Each day, it gets a bit brighter, until the drive is like barreling down a kaleidoscope each morning, colors blurring by as you go.

Now this is not so unusual, and we had a similarly woodsy drive, in spots anyway, where we were before. What really takes it the next step here is the intense fog we get. Rain or shine, we begin to develop this thick fog that, because of the hilly terrain, moves and gathers into deep pockets along the road. Frequently, the road itself has little or no fog, save the occasional crepuscular rays shooting through the colored leaves, where alongside it pools of white and gray fog lay so thickly that you can't see anything that lies beneath or beyond them. It's a dazzling effect.

The best part is that there is one major intersection with a light on our path, and we have to stop there almost every day. To our right and our left are the think woods I described earlier. Ahead of us, on the left, is a wide field with a gentle, uphill gradient leading away from the road. At the top of the hill is a large, white house with columns across the front. During the peak of the season, the fog rolls down the gradient and lays across the field in such a way that you can see the white and gray layers as you look across it.

Across from this field lay another field, and as Bob is my witness, it is a giant pumpkin patch. The word giant can be applied to both the field itself, as well as the mind bogglingly tremendous pumpkins that lie therein. At the far edge of the field is a red brick farmhouse, and behind that is the standard red barn with white trim where you can go buy the pumpkins and the kids can go on a hayride.

You know, when I moved here, I said that it was like moving into a cliche of what small town America is supposed to look like. This is more than that. It's like someone painted a picture of a perfect Fall day and, upon seeing it, someone else decided to go ahead and implement it as if it was a blueprint. So for all my grousing about elections and illness and whatnot, each weekday for the next couple of month, I know I get to go on my morning drive and see everything that I love about this season.

It's not a bad way to start a day.

Sometimes...Sometimes I Need To Lie

As some of you know, one of the reasons I started this blog was a need to write, and failing any attempts at fiction, I decided that it was better just to write anything that to give it up entirely. So, five days a week (or as close to it as I can come) I sit down and throw a wall of text at you good people. Some days I talk about things that happen to me, some days I talk about things that make me mad or things I can make fun of, but the point is that I write.

Well once again the urge to put down words of fiction is rising in me, and I don't know why. I keep wanting to tell stories, to get these weird little ideas out of my head. What's interesting to me is that I've been paying attention to the people in my forum, and there seems to be a lot of them who have this same urge. Now, this is hardly a standard demographic, what with all of us being there presumably because we all enjoy the same webcomic, but still, I'm surprised by the number of them who have this creative urge. Many write, some tell stories, other do both serious and comedic webcomics, occasionally someone puts up a crude drawing of themselves sitting naked at their computers cursing out the rest of us (awkward), but the point is that there is a strong creative urge among them.

Maybe I shouldn't be surprised, but it's strange, right? I mean, why do we do it? Why do we feel the need to share these fictions? Is it a way to express some aspect of ourselves in a way that we can't express directly? Is it a need to try and seek out truths that are somehow to big to handle by simple discussion?

Perhaps it's something more than that. Perhaps our need to create is somehow ingrained into us. I can't find the quote, but somewhere in Neil Gaiman's Sandman books, someone explains it as the difference between the animals and men - the ability to dream and tell stories, to take something that exists purely in the mind and make it real for others.

Either way, I think I'm going to find someplace to start doing so. It won't be here - I tend to run a PG-13 shop around here, and I couldn't guarantee that same level of cleanliness where my lies are concerned. I'll have to find some darker corner of the web to haunt. In the meantime, to work out some of this for myself, I will be treating you all to a taste of something interesting later this week in celebration of Halloween - I've decided to share some of my favorite nightmares with you. So each Friday, up to Halloween, I will share one of the things that has snapped me awake at night, leaving me gasping and afraid to so much as move.

Hey, what good is an audience if you can't make them suffer along with you?

Technically, It's a Grammar Complaint

I keep trying to get away from the political stuff around here, so instead today we will discuss language. We all have our little accents here in the USA. I like to think that I do not, but my lovely wife points out that like most people in these parts I rarely say the 't' at the end of Detroit. Ah well, it's something to work on.

Being entrenched in the process whereby my daughter will learn to read, I have once again become acutely aware of how difficult it is to claim that things can just be sounded out, a fact that these accents make worse. That said, there are is one thing spoken incorrectly that I can not abide by. This term has no reason for existing, and for my money, falls well outside of an accent tissue and into a realm of almost intentional stupidity. Now, for those of my readers who are actually literate (pause to acknowledge silliness of this expression in a blog), please read the following word:

Nuclear

I was willing to overlook the fact that one tremendous boob pronounced this word incorrectly, because he was, as previously stated, a tremendous boob. Now there's another one out there, talking on television, trying to assume a mantle of power, and she can't say it either. So is this an accent thing. To the people of Alaska and the people of Texas share a common accent? Is there a whole slew of Americans that I am unaware of who feel the need to pepper their words with extra syllables? Is it a balance thing, where the syllable extracted from "You all" to make the sound "Y'all" is being used to extend this word? Seriously, just what the hell is going on here?

Maybe this really is a widespread issue, and I'm just not well traveled enough to know about it. You guys are from all over, right? Do people where you're from talk like this? Do YOU talk like this? Do you judge those that do? If not, why not? (Note: any admission to using this word in such a manner should probably be posted as anonymous in the comments section, as it will almost certainly result is some manner of judgment on your character - sorry, but all I have to go on is these two, and they aren't the brightest stars in the sky if you know what I mean.)

Now I know it's just a word, and that one should not allow themselves to get worked up about such things. I just get frustrated because these are the people representing us, and I hate to think of people in other countries associating me as being in the same shed as these particular tools. At least neither of the actual Presidential candidates uses the offending version of it.

Dude, I totally blew that whole "getting away from politics" thing again, didn't I?

A Modest Proposal...Or Two

Well, I watched the debate and was truly disappointed. Both candidates held their own, and no one did anything that will make themselves easy targets for future comedy. Biden came across as experienced and able to speak to many facets of governmental and international workings. Palin raised her standing from tremendous twit to merely brutally unqualified. Of course, I may be biased.

Somehow, it has up until now escaped my knowledge that here in Michigan we also have a couple of proposals to vote on. I'm a big fan of such proposals most of the time, as it gives me the impression that I actually live in a democracy where my opinion can directly affect the laws that govern me. Of course I usually just end up feeling put out at the fact that so many people differ so wildly from my opinion, but hey, that the whole melting pot thing, right?

So, I'm going to do my civic duty and talk about these issues in case you missed them, my fellow Michiganders. If you're one of my readers from another state, or don't feel like reading a long, unfunny post from me about real life (I wouldn't blame you), you can feel free to go read Get Fuzzy. It's funny, and it makes me happy.

So, first we have Proposal 1, which is the legalization of medical marijuana in the state of Michigan. Now, I personally don't understand why this is even a question, but then I support the legalization of a lot of drugs that are currently illegal anyway. Once we have a practical, proven use of something that could benefit people who are suffering, why would we continue to protest that use? You want to stop the recreational use that full legalization would entail (along with the subsequent tax income and reduction in drug related crime), fine. But for medical purposes, there is no reason we shouldn't be supporting this.

For more information, you can go to the Michigan Coalition for Compassionate Care, the creators of the proposal. In the name of fairness, I will also link to this press release from the group Citizens Protecting Michigan's Kids. As usual I will point out that it seems that the way to protect kids is through legislation, not personal parental responsibility. Funny how consistent that is.

Proposal 2 I'm all screwed up about. The second proposal would allow embryonic stem cell research under very specific conditions, those conditions being that the embryo was created for the purpose of in-vitro fertilization, is not going to be used for that purpose (and thus will be destroyed), and is less than 14 days old. I can honestly say that I have no idea how I feel about this. I can see the need for stem cell research. I can see where this will open Michigan up to compete in the arena of medical science, one of the only areas other than our failing automotive industry where we have traditionally done well. So this could open up a lot of opportunities for us, as well as help to advance medical science and help people who are suffering.

Ignoring some of the protests I've heard (including the threat of "weird science" and a television ad you may have seen claiming that it's going to cost taxpayers - an ad that the makers have since had to admit is patently false), this whole thing makes me a little queasy. I am, for various reasons, pro-life. I'm not militant about it. I don't necessarily want to overturn current laws. It's just my gut feeling that there's something not right about it. Most of this comes from my knowledge of late term abortions, which I cannot accept as anything other than killing. Once that idea takes seed, it's hard to follow a pregnancy backwards and say at what point it would be nothing more than a blob of cells, which obviously at some point it is. (Sorry, I know this isn't as much fun as my usual posts, but hey, I have to be real occasionally.) So to say that at fourteen days were okay to do what we want isn't a simple thing.

I'm not supplying links to more information on that one. It's too charged a topic and too personal, and the pages I found were not impartial enough to be accurate or even useful. (Seriously, one talked like there were legions of mad scientists waiting for this to pass so we could create a human-bovine hybrid. What the point of such a creation would be is beyond me, but apparently it's a big concern. I'm guessing it has to do with advanced stripper technology and breaking the two ta-ta ceiling that has held us back for so long, but that's not really my area of expertise.) I would encourage you to do your own research if you haven't already made up your mind. Hell, do more research even if you have.

These proposals to me seem more important that the electing of officials. When we elect officials, all we can hope for is that this other person, who we agree with to some measure, will follow through on whatever promises they've made that we liked. With the proposals, we get to directly affect the way our country works. I can't see a greater use of democracy, or a greater responsibility of our citizens, than to take them seriously, give them the consideration they deserve, and make your opinion known.

Unless you disagree with me - then stay home and keep your opinions to your damned selves.

Soon, This Blog Will Be Blacklisted From School Libraries. Sweet.

In the flurry of financial chaos and preparations for the train wreck that is to be the Vice Presidential debate tonight (I'm almost giddy when I think about how inevitably uncomfortable it's going to be), a fairly important item almost slipped by without mention. September 27 - October 4 is this years Banned Books Week. This is something worth noting, people.

Celebrated each year by the American Library Association, Banned Books Week gives us a chance to reflect on our remaining freedoms, one of which is the right to read pretty much any damned thing we want to. For a lot of us, we don't worry much about it, but we should. There are always people who want to protect everyone from themselves, who refuse to believe that people can withstand information and still remain themselves. I'm sure, for some, that is correct. For most, however, this is ridiculous.

A quick look at the most challenged books of 2007-2008 (PDF) shows some of the items that are always requested for banning, along with the reasons for the request. It's funny to me that the same things come up each year. It's not funny to me that sometimes they are actually removed from libraries, albeit school libraries.

Take, for example, the Harry Potter books. Once again we find the Harry Potter books being requested for removal on the basis that they promote witchcraft. Okay, setting aside for the moment that the books are clearly labeled fiction, let us approach the greater point that there's no such &$%#ing thing as witchcraft. You might as well protest the Smurfs because they encourage people to be blue and go around topless. An even greater point for me, however, is that the closest thing you can get to witchcraft in the real world is Wiccans, which is treated by those who believe in such things as religion. So, ban Harry Potter, you need to consider banning any texts that promote any religion at all, a slippery slope to be sure.

Even more important from my point of view is Mark Twain. See, Mark Twain's stories take place during a dark time in our country. As a result, people tend to use racial epithets rather casually, because that's how people were back then. As I understand it, they are frequently put up for banning for this reason, and this reason alone.

Now, I'm a white guy. I can't honestly say that there is any word in the English language that someone could throw at me that would truly upset me. Having said that, I attempt to sympathize with those for whom this is not true. Nonetheless, I cannot support removing the texts from libraries. It's our history. Pretending that it didn't happen removes any lessons that we can learn going forward, and no matter how far we would like to pretend we've come as a country, deep down, most of us know we're not where we need to be yet.

So yeah, don't try to ban books because they talk about drugs or sex, or the people you're trying to protect will have to rely on their idiot friends or the internet for this information. Don't try to ban books because they point out mistakes of our past, or we'll do that *$&% again and be all surprised when someone points out how wrong we were the first time. Don't try to ban books because they don't jive with your religion because someone else believes in something that your religion doesn't jive with. Is that clear? If you're concerned about someone you care about reading something that will have an effect on them, discuss it with them, but don't kid yourselves - you can't stop information.

This message has been brought to you by the Drug-fueled Wiccans Supporting Easier Access to Free Erotica Association of America.

And Again With the Cop Outs

Okay, today had a run to the doctor with a sick kid, many meetings, and, you know, my job and all. So yeah, it's gonna be a short one. In place of a blog post I will instead link to a short treatise that I think pretty well sums up my opinions of our country at this moment. Please, take a moment and watch. Hopefully, you will feel the same way as I do.