This was a triumph.
I'm making a note here: huge success.
It's hard to overstate my satisfaction.
- Still Alive, GLaDOS
So, I've been doing this for some time now, and while I've enjoyed it, I think it's time I moved on. It's not that I think it's a waste of time or anything, but the fact is, I never really found an audience for what I do here. Well, that's not counting myself, and while making myself laugh is a noble enough cause, it's more easily accomplished by just making funny faces in the mirror, which is far less labor-intensive and does not typically require spell checking. Either way, my priorities have shifted, and I find that more pressing matters demand my hummingbird-like attention span at the moment.
The good news is that the site is all paid up for a while, so it's not like it's just going to vanish. Even those of you who read it somewhat regularly most likely missed a few things along the way, and this is your opportunity to catch up. You can benefit from my experience in using gardening projects to prepare for the zombie apocalypse. The World should know about Tiny Pete, and his selfless contributions to the needs of the vertically challenged. You can benefit from my wisdom in public speaking, romance and interview questions to avoid. My point is, there are depths here, and they're waiting to be plumbed.
Just like your mom.
So yeah, I'm going to post this bad boy, archive the whole mess to my USB drive, and walk away. It's been swell, and now I should probably do something to reduce that swelling. Those looking for bite-size bits of smart-assery are welcome to follow me over at Twitter. For everyone else, thanks for stopping by and standing witness to my weirdness for the last couple of years.
Sincerely,
R.B.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Call It The McWTF
With the recent release of the KFC Double Down - a bacon and cheese sandwich on a fried chicken bun - I have been pondering the reasoning behind such foods. Honestly, if I wasn't a vegetarian, I could see the moment where I'd consider eating such a thing despite the fact that it could probably kill me where I sat, the last bite still oozing grease onto the paper wrapper my head rested upon, giving the brief illusion of a tear falling from one of the Colonial's wee, beady eyes. "Why," I ask myself, "would anyone even consider doing that to themselves?", and then it hit me.
This is all because of Doritos.
See, I blame Doritos for planting the idea that eating could somehow be an "extreme experience". I think that this, combined with the natural human tendency to take risks for cheap thrills, leads to foods that no one actually thinks they should eat, but they do anyway. Just ask Luther Vandross. Oh wait, my bad.
While the old me would have reprimanded the people at KFC for such things, I will instead engage my creativity once again to make a suggestion that, given these facts, will lead to the greatest selling fast food product of all time. See, it's not enough anymore to make it really bad for you. Hell, everyone does that. No, we've clearly raised the bar of fast food offerrings to require something so repulsive, people will have to try it just for bragging rights.
Thus, we need a fast-food haggis burger.
Seriously, imagine it. Take a thick slice of traditional haggis, complete with a sheep's heart, liver and lungs stuffed into its stomach, coat it in breading and deep fat fry that sumbitch. Now drop it on a bun with a special sauce (preferrably Scotch whisky based), and put it in a value meal with a mess of fries (or even better, deep fried "neeps and tatties", which is just mashed rutabega and potato, but totally sounds dirty and would thus sell better). I'm getting sick just thinking about it. Whoever picks this up will sell a million of them in the first week.
I'm leaning towards McDonald's for obvious reasons, but really whoever steals it first can run with it.
This is all because of Doritos.
See, I blame Doritos for planting the idea that eating could somehow be an "extreme experience". I think that this, combined with the natural human tendency to take risks for cheap thrills, leads to foods that no one actually thinks they should eat, but they do anyway. Just ask Luther Vandross. Oh wait, my bad.
While the old me would have reprimanded the people at KFC for such things, I will instead engage my creativity once again to make a suggestion that, given these facts, will lead to the greatest selling fast food product of all time. See, it's not enough anymore to make it really bad for you. Hell, everyone does that. No, we've clearly raised the bar of fast food offerrings to require something so repulsive, people will have to try it just for bragging rights.
Thus, we need a fast-food haggis burger.
Seriously, imagine it. Take a thick slice of traditional haggis, complete with a sheep's heart, liver and lungs stuffed into its stomach, coat it in breading and deep fat fry that sumbitch. Now drop it on a bun with a special sauce (preferrably Scotch whisky based), and put it in a value meal with a mess of fries (or even better, deep fried "neeps and tatties", which is just mashed rutabega and potato, but totally sounds dirty and would thus sell better). I'm getting sick just thinking about it. Whoever picks this up will sell a million of them in the first week.
I'm leaning towards McDonald's for obvious reasons, but really whoever steals it first can run with it.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Probably Cut Down On Future Therapy Bills As Well
You know, I try not to point out every time I see a headline that makes me facepalm. Really, I do. But seeing that the good people at the University of Michigan have now confirmed the long-held theory that fat kids get bullied more often that non-fatties just blew me away. As a recovered fat kid (eventually, I wasn't a kid anymore), I actually read this three or four times just to make sure there wasn't something more to the findings, because this doesn't seem like something that would require science.
Honestly, how can anyone find this surprising? Fat people are the nation's last, best hope for being mocked. You can't make racial jokes anymore because they're, you know, offensive. Go ahead and try to make a joke about a woman's proper place and let me know what it's like to get bitch-slapped by the Secretary of State (although it's gotta hurt going for the management job and ending up a secretary, but I digress). Thanks to all the efforts of the hard-lined conservatives to strip basic rights away from gays, those of us who know better can no longer of good conscience even tread those waters (with the continued exception of Maxwell, who I assume gay people make fun of as well on the basis of...well, look at him).
What we have left is fat people and monkeys (and deep down, we all know the monkeys are going to rise up against us someday). See, when we make fun of fat people, we do so with a certain impunity. It's not like other minority groups where there was no choice. Most fat people are fat because of their own actions. Yes, there are exceptions for medical conditions, but typically, if someone is really obese, you can safely bet that there was a Twinkie involved somewhere along the way. Not even Buddha was born really, really fat. At some point, he let himself go.
Am I saying that it's okay for these kids to get bullied? Of course not. It's despicable. We need to protect these kids. Instead, their parents should be required to spend a certain amount of time in the school, hanging out on the playground, sitting in the lunchroom, so they can be bullied in the place of their children, since they're the ones to damned lazy to swat that cookie out of junior's hand when such actions are required. Hell, let junior join in.
I would imagine pounding mom and dad with a dodge ball would burn more than a few calories, no?
Honestly, how can anyone find this surprising? Fat people are the nation's last, best hope for being mocked. You can't make racial jokes anymore because they're, you know, offensive. Go ahead and try to make a joke about a woman's proper place and let me know what it's like to get bitch-slapped by the Secretary of State (although it's gotta hurt going for the management job and ending up a secretary, but I digress). Thanks to all the efforts of the hard-lined conservatives to strip basic rights away from gays, those of us who know better can no longer of good conscience even tread those waters (with the continued exception of Maxwell, who I assume gay people make fun of as well on the basis of...well, look at him).
What we have left is fat people and monkeys (and deep down, we all know the monkeys are going to rise up against us someday). See, when we make fun of fat people, we do so with a certain impunity. It's not like other minority groups where there was no choice. Most fat people are fat because of their own actions. Yes, there are exceptions for medical conditions, but typically, if someone is really obese, you can safely bet that there was a Twinkie involved somewhere along the way. Not even Buddha was born really, really fat. At some point, he let himself go.
Am I saying that it's okay for these kids to get bullied? Of course not. It's despicable. We need to protect these kids. Instead, their parents should be required to spend a certain amount of time in the school, hanging out on the playground, sitting in the lunchroom, so they can be bullied in the place of their children, since they're the ones to damned lazy to swat that cookie out of junior's hand when such actions are required. Hell, let junior join in.
I would imagine pounding mom and dad with a dodge ball would burn more than a few calories, no?
Thursday, April 29, 2010
It's Like Worrying About What Leaf Would Look Best On Adonis
I realized the other day that I have almost no perception of what other people think of me. I don't mean as far as whether or not they like me - I'm sufficiently narcissistic to just assume everyone finds me as witty and charming as I do. Rather, I realized that at some point, I stopped concerning myself with what people thought of me physically, as far as my looks or how I dress.
You know, when I was growing up, there was all this attention on how people dressed (which in my case was unfortunate). As I get older though, I find that if people don't see something really unusual or inappropriate, they don't really comment on how someone else is dressed. Even when they do, it's something brief, like a curt memo about casual Fridays not extending to cosplay, with not so much as a mention of admiration for the amount of work I put into that Star Trek uniform, right down to Uhura's earpiece and black boots. Haters.
Anyway, let me give you an recent example. The other day I wore a pair of dress pants and nice shirt, an activity usually relegated to those occasions when I've gotten behind on the laundry and have run out of jeans. My lovely wife asked what I was dressed up for, as did a co-worker. I took these comments as compliments at the time, but the more I think about them, the more insidious they become. I mean, the statement "What are you all dressed up for?" sort of comes with the implied completion of "I only ask because you typically dress like the clerk of a video game store who's given up on the idea that he'll ever find love outside of MMORGPGs". Okay, maybe that's a bit of a ridiculous statement. I mean really, who finds love in MMORPGs?
Maybe this is only an issue because I'm a guy. I see women comment on what their friends are wearing on occasion, but with men, that doesn't really happen unless one of your friends is wearing something worth making fun of. I think this is based on the concern that saying something nice about something another man is wearing can be perceived as gay, which is a baseless fear unless your commenting on how well his underwear shows off his package, and even then it may just be a kind individual paying a compliment before realizing that maybe the gym locker room isn't the best place to meet new friends.
Either way, it's not like I'm henceforth planning on fretting over my fashion sense. I'm reasonably comfortable that no one is going to tell me that I look like a goof, even if I consistently look like a goof. Besides, perhaps it's better this way. I get to go along in life assuming that everyone considers me, if not a fashion mogul, at least a reasonable dresser, assuming they notice how I dress at all.
And really, once presented with this kind of pretty, who's going to notice what kind of clothes I'm wearing?
You know, when I was growing up, there was all this attention on how people dressed (which in my case was unfortunate). As I get older though, I find that if people don't see something really unusual or inappropriate, they don't really comment on how someone else is dressed. Even when they do, it's something brief, like a curt memo about casual Fridays not extending to cosplay, with not so much as a mention of admiration for the amount of work I put into that Star Trek uniform, right down to Uhura's earpiece and black boots. Haters.
Anyway, let me give you an recent example. The other day I wore a pair of dress pants and nice shirt, an activity usually relegated to those occasions when I've gotten behind on the laundry and have run out of jeans. My lovely wife asked what I was dressed up for, as did a co-worker. I took these comments as compliments at the time, but the more I think about them, the more insidious they become. I mean, the statement "What are you all dressed up for?" sort of comes with the implied completion of "I only ask because you typically dress like the clerk of a video game store who's given up on the idea that he'll ever find love outside of MMORGPGs". Okay, maybe that's a bit of a ridiculous statement. I mean really, who finds love in MMORPGs?
Maybe this is only an issue because I'm a guy. I see women comment on what their friends are wearing on occasion, but with men, that doesn't really happen unless one of your friends is wearing something worth making fun of. I think this is based on the concern that saying something nice about something another man is wearing can be perceived as gay, which is a baseless fear unless your commenting on how well his underwear shows off his package, and even then it may just be a kind individual paying a compliment before realizing that maybe the gym locker room isn't the best place to meet new friends.
Either way, it's not like I'm henceforth planning on fretting over my fashion sense. I'm reasonably comfortable that no one is going to tell me that I look like a goof, even if I consistently look like a goof. Besides, perhaps it's better this way. I get to go along in life assuming that everyone considers me, if not a fashion mogul, at least a reasonable dresser, assuming they notice how I dress at all.
And really, once presented with this kind of pretty, who's going to notice what kind of clothes I'm wearing?
Thursday, April 22, 2010
DLOG Presents: Earth Day Tips
It's Earth Day again, and instead of sitting around feeling bad about the fact that you still use a can of hairspray each day (dude, I'm telling you, the pompadour is coming back), take some actions. We'll even help. Here are some things you can do to help make a difference, or at least get off Al Gore's %#@$ list:
Remember, only you can make the changes needed to save our planet. Unless someone else does instead I guess. Whatever.
- Just for today, try not to slap any hippies.
- Use the space in your yard to build a habitat for local woodland creatures. Not only do they have a space to visit and thrive, but it affords you an opportunity to see them up close, making them much easier to shoot.
- Stop buying newspapers - all the news is available online. In addition to saving trees, people will stop talking about how incredibly old fashioned and out of touch you are, causing you to shake your cane at them in a threatening manner.
- Consider unique ways to bring more green plant life to your neighborhood. For instance, there's this kid in the neighborhood who grows all these big plants in his basement, and you can tell it makes him feel really good about himself. It's like that guy is always smiling.
- Showers can use as much as 10 to 25 gallons less water than a bath, and that's not even counting the water saved from using it as a urinal as well.
- Make sure to run full loads of laundry to conserve water. I've run loads so full that some of the clothes come out still dry, which also saves on the power to run the dryer.
- Instead of disposing table scraps down the drain or in a landfill, consider getting a composter. Not only will you get valuable fertilizer for your garden, but many modern composters are large enough to house an entire body. I've heard.
- Don't limit your recycling efforts to the standard plastic jugs and water bottles. Think outside the box and be creative. For example: toilet paper Rorschach tests.
Remember, only you can make the changes needed to save our planet. Unless someone else does instead I guess. Whatever.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Female Viagra, Persistant Arousal, and The Real Reason I Failed Pre-Calculus
While I try to shy away from medical news topics, what with the fact that they are frequently so briefly remembered, today I saw two semi-related stories side by side and felt they needed to be addressed. This is because they are both interesting, and not because they both are related to women in the mood. Well, it is a little, but only because there's just so much comedy gold one can mine from rectal exams.
Anyway, first we find claims that we are one step closer to Viagra for women. This article made several statements that brought me joy, starting with "Attempts to treat female sexual dysfunction with Pfizer's erectile dysfunction drug Viagra have for the most part failed", something I personally didn't find surprising, what with most attempts at giving women erections fail. Better still though is when they pointed out that the new drugs apparent success is being verified by testing the drug on female rabbits. I repeat: we're showing some success of an arousal drug with female rabbits.
In a similar study, it has been shown that a new crack-like drug is very popular among crackheads.
If a story promising female Viagra brought me joy, then the tale of a Wii fit injury leading to "Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder" brought what can only be described as unmitigated glee. A woman in the UK who managed to fall off of a Wii fit board has found herself with an injury that causes "intense feelings of genital congestion and sensations that are typically unaccompanied by any conscious awareness of sexual desire". Better yet, in her own words: "It began as a twinge down below, before surging through my body. Sometimes it built up into a trembling orgasm." Yes, this unfortunate victim now knows what it's like to have your genitals take over control from your brain and lead you to a state of uncontrollable arousal.
In other news, every male between the ages of fourteen and twenty who ever lived - ever - has just been diagnosed with Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder, and has thus been excused from walking up to the front of the class as symptoms dictate. The U.S. Surgeon General will be issuing notes upon request.
Anyway, first we find claims that we are one step closer to Viagra for women. This article made several statements that brought me joy, starting with "Attempts to treat female sexual dysfunction with Pfizer's erectile dysfunction drug Viagra have for the most part failed", something I personally didn't find surprising, what with most attempts at giving women erections fail. Better still though is when they pointed out that the new drugs apparent success is being verified by testing the drug on female rabbits. I repeat: we're showing some success of an arousal drug with female rabbits.
In a similar study, it has been shown that a new crack-like drug is very popular among crackheads.
If a story promising female Viagra brought me joy, then the tale of a Wii fit injury leading to "Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder" brought what can only be described as unmitigated glee. A woman in the UK who managed to fall off of a Wii fit board has found herself with an injury that causes "intense feelings of genital congestion and sensations that are typically unaccompanied by any conscious awareness of sexual desire". Better yet, in her own words: "It began as a twinge down below, before surging through my body. Sometimes it built up into a trembling orgasm." Yes, this unfortunate victim now knows what it's like to have your genitals take over control from your brain and lead you to a state of uncontrollable arousal.
In other news, every male between the ages of fourteen and twenty who ever lived - ever - has just been diagnosed with Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder, and has thus been excused from walking up to the front of the class as symptoms dictate. The U.S. Surgeon General will be issuing notes upon request.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Wait For It...Fjord!
When I went to Disney last year, I wrote up an overview of the trip for you good people (and yes, for you lousy ones too), but sort of glossed over one important point. See, the trip was actually very educational for me. As someone who has not traveled much, only leaving the US of A for the gentle climes of Canada (which is really just America Light), I'm sort of confined to the news and television for my views of other countries. Now, thanks to Epcot, I have diversified this knowledge greatly.
I'll give you an example. I'm part Mexican, so you'd think I'd know stuff about Mexico, right? Yeah, not so much. Fortunately, I'm now far more aware of my heritage. I mean, I knew about the Incan stuff, but who knew Mexico was actually full of señoritas in flowery dresses and dudes in sombreros? Oh, and the mariachi bands that are apparently everywhere. I find it hard to believe that the drug wars I hear about on the news could be happening in a place with so many mariachis, going around playing guitars and making everyone all jovial-like. I shall read further reports with a grain of salt.
Another country I was ignorant of was Norway. I mean, I knew Norway was lousy with fjords (which Epcot confirmed for me), but that was pretty much it. Now I know that to this day, Norway is a land of Vikings, a place where people travel by ship to battle swamp trolls with giant, double-sided axes. Who knew it would be so exciting? Of course I'm in no hurry to actually go there now, what with not liking riding on ships or forest trolls much, but still. Very educational.
Fjord. God I love that word. Fjord fjord fjord.
Okay, I'm done.
Anyway, there was a lot more. Everyone in France loves wine and cheese and art and the Eiffel tower, which I kind of suspected already. People in the UK like rugby and knights, which I was also aware of. People in Morocco like cous cous and belly dancing, which surprised me, as I thought belly dancing was more of an Egyptian thing, but whatever. There was just so much to take in.
Oh, and Martin Short %#$@ing loves Canada, which I didn't know, but in hindsight makes total sense, because he's always just so damned polite.
Fjord.
I'll give you an example. I'm part Mexican, so you'd think I'd know stuff about Mexico, right? Yeah, not so much. Fortunately, I'm now far more aware of my heritage. I mean, I knew about the Incan stuff, but who knew Mexico was actually full of señoritas in flowery dresses and dudes in sombreros? Oh, and the mariachi bands that are apparently everywhere. I find it hard to believe that the drug wars I hear about on the news could be happening in a place with so many mariachis, going around playing guitars and making everyone all jovial-like. I shall read further reports with a grain of salt.
Another country I was ignorant of was Norway. I mean, I knew Norway was lousy with fjords (which Epcot confirmed for me), but that was pretty much it. Now I know that to this day, Norway is a land of Vikings, a place where people travel by ship to battle swamp trolls with giant, double-sided axes. Who knew it would be so exciting? Of course I'm in no hurry to actually go there now, what with not liking riding on ships or forest trolls much, but still. Very educational.
Fjord. God I love that word. Fjord fjord fjord.
Okay, I'm done.
Anyway, there was a lot more. Everyone in France loves wine and cheese and art and the Eiffel tower, which I kind of suspected already. People in the UK like rugby and knights, which I was also aware of. People in Morocco like cous cous and belly dancing, which surprised me, as I thought belly dancing was more of an Egyptian thing, but whatever. There was just so much to take in.
Oh, and Martin Short %#$@ing loves Canada, which I didn't know, but in hindsight makes total sense, because he's always just so damned polite.
Fjord.
Monday, April 5, 2010
I Guess "Here Famous" Doesn't Impress The Same Way
Well, the weekend saw me driving the family across scenic Michigan to take a weekend trip (and by "scenic", I mean, "flat and occasionally tree covered"). As I am wont to do, I shopped for available billboards while admiring the work of others. In the process, I came across something that I'm not sure I approve of on a billboard for a bakery - the use of the term "world famous".
To give you a point of reference, this here website has, according to my analytics, had visitors from sixty two different countries. That seems like a lot to me, but that could be due to the fact that my ignorance of geography keeps me aware of only those countries currently threatening us (I'm looking at you, Canada, sitting there all polite and quiet, smiling while you sharpen you're skates and train your squadrons of attack-beavers). So I've had people from all over the world swing by and hopefully snicker at my work here.
Still, I don't know that I would go so far as to refer to the site as "world famous". That just seems...I don't know. Presumptuous perhaps. I might call it "world vaguely-aware-of" or maybe "world stumbled-upon", but "famous"? It just seems a bit much.
As such, I must admit that I remain dubious that the bakery known as Cops And Doughnuts (so named because it's actually owned by police officers - nice) is truly famous around the world. I guess I should have stopped and found out. Maybe the doughnuts are just that damned good. The truth is though, once you get burned by one "world famous" attraction, it's hard to trust again.
Damn you Mystery Spot. Damn you for making me believe.
To give you a point of reference, this here website has, according to my analytics, had visitors from sixty two different countries. That seems like a lot to me, but that could be due to the fact that my ignorance of geography keeps me aware of only those countries currently threatening us (I'm looking at you, Canada, sitting there all polite and quiet, smiling while you sharpen you're skates and train your squadrons of attack-beavers). So I've had people from all over the world swing by and hopefully snicker at my work here.
Still, I don't know that I would go so far as to refer to the site as "world famous". That just seems...I don't know. Presumptuous perhaps. I might call it "world vaguely-aware-of" or maybe "world stumbled-upon", but "famous"? It just seems a bit much.
As such, I must admit that I remain dubious that the bakery known as Cops And Doughnuts (so named because it's actually owned by police officers - nice) is truly famous around the world. I guess I should have stopped and found out. Maybe the doughnuts are just that damned good. The truth is though, once you get burned by one "world famous" attraction, it's hard to trust again.
Damn you Mystery Spot. Damn you for making me believe.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
God, That Must Be Your Feet Then
I've discussed interesting perfumes and colognes here before. It's kind of required sometimes. I mean, had I not acknowledged the Star Trek colognes (which I still haven't received as a gift despite my best hinting), I would have put my nerd card at risk. And who wouldn't want to cover the Burger King scent. Well, something has come up that surpasses my wildest expectations.
Someone has released the the scent of va-jay-jay in a bottle and called it Vulva Original.
At first I figured this was an April Fool's day set up, but apparently it's been around for years. Trying to ignore the fact that the company didn't go out of business, fire all of it's employees and burn to the ground within weeks of announcing such a product, I did a bit of poking around (heh) and found corroboration via Jezebel. Apparently, they are not actually marketing this as a cologne or perfume but rather a "beguiling vaginal scent which is purely a substance for your own smelling pleasure".
If you can read that sentence without getting a serious case of the wiggums, you're a stronger person than I am.
Of course I have grave concerns about this, starting with that name. What kind of name is "Vulva"? Could they not at least make an effort at being creative? Perfumes always have these subtle names. Why not follow suit and call it something like Marée Basse? That or just go all out and just call it Giney.
Also, if you're going to release a product like this, don't rely on word of mouth to get the news out. This calls for a real marketing effort, a true media blitz. Besides, has there ever been a product that cried out so much for a celebrity spokesperson?
Vulva Original: for the man who wants to smell just like Tiger Woods.
Someone has released the the scent of va-jay-jay in a bottle and called it Vulva Original.
At first I figured this was an April Fool's day set up, but apparently it's been around for years. Trying to ignore the fact that the company didn't go out of business, fire all of it's employees and burn to the ground within weeks of announcing such a product, I did a bit of poking around (heh) and found corroboration via Jezebel. Apparently, they are not actually marketing this as a cologne or perfume but rather a "beguiling vaginal scent which is purely a substance for your own smelling pleasure".
If you can read that sentence without getting a serious case of the wiggums, you're a stronger person than I am.
Of course I have grave concerns about this, starting with that name. What kind of name is "Vulva"? Could they not at least make an effort at being creative? Perfumes always have these subtle names. Why not follow suit and call it something like Marée Basse? That or just go all out and just call it Giney.
Also, if you're going to release a product like this, don't rely on word of mouth to get the news out. This calls for a real marketing effort, a true media blitz. Besides, has there ever been a product that cried out so much for a celebrity spokesperson?
Vulva Original: for the man who wants to smell just like Tiger Woods.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
That, Or They Just Really Loved Sacrificing Goats
One thing I don't understand is Satanism. I don't mean LeVayan Satanism, which is basically atheism built around irritating Christians, but those people who actually believe that Satan is a deity worth worshiping. This...this makes no sense to me.
Here's my issue: all the information we have on Satan theoretically comes from the Bible, right? I mean, that's where it all starts, laying out his role as a Heavenly prosecutor who chose sides poorly and got his Heavenly butt kicked to the proverbial curb by the man in charge. So far, so good, right?
I know there are several, subtly differing versions of the Bible floating around. There are new testaments and old testaments and last season's testaments and hey-don't-throw-that-out-I-can-still-get-some-use-out-of-it testaments. Throw in updated editions, add-ons by new and exciting prophets plus the various translations, and you could probably build a library out of the differing versions this one book, right?
Now the one thing I think they all have in common (and feel free to correct me, those among you who have more experience with this) is that there isn't a version where Satan or Lucifer or whatever he goes by is an okay dude. I have yet to come across the Biblical description of Satan as just some misunderstood kid who spoke out of turn and was made an example of, so now he messes with humanity, but really deep down he's okay. Maybe he just needs a hug, but it never happens because he's always on fire or whatever.
So the one source we have on the guy basically spells out that he's kind of a douche. Nonetheless, some group (presumably made up of people with similar, douche-like qualities) has decided not only that he's real but that he's worth worshiping. I could even understand it if they were just doing it for attention, as with the LeVay crowd. Any basis for real belief, however, completely eludes me.
Maybe someone just woke up one day and said, "I wonder what it's like to be smited. How do we make that happen?".
Here's my issue: all the information we have on Satan theoretically comes from the Bible, right? I mean, that's where it all starts, laying out his role as a Heavenly prosecutor who chose sides poorly and got his Heavenly butt kicked to the proverbial curb by the man in charge. So far, so good, right?
I know there are several, subtly differing versions of the Bible floating around. There are new testaments and old testaments and last season's testaments and hey-don't-throw-that-out-I-can-still-get-some-use-out-of-it testaments. Throw in updated editions, add-ons by new and exciting prophets plus the various translations, and you could probably build a library out of the differing versions this one book, right?
Now the one thing I think they all have in common (and feel free to correct me, those among you who have more experience with this) is that there isn't a version where Satan or Lucifer or whatever he goes by is an okay dude. I have yet to come across the Biblical description of Satan as just some misunderstood kid who spoke out of turn and was made an example of, so now he messes with humanity, but really deep down he's okay. Maybe he just needs a hug, but it never happens because he's always on fire or whatever.
So the one source we have on the guy basically spells out that he's kind of a douche. Nonetheless, some group (presumably made up of people with similar, douche-like qualities) has decided not only that he's real but that he's worth worshiping. I could even understand it if they were just doing it for attention, as with the LeVay crowd. Any basis for real belief, however, completely eludes me.
Maybe someone just woke up one day and said, "I wonder what it's like to be smited. How do we make that happen?".
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Of Course It Would Be Under There
Like most people, I come across thing on the internet that I wasn't necessarily looking for. Such an example is Men's Underwear Guy. (Link NSFW. I'll explain in a bit.) No, it's not the most ridiculous superhero webcomic ever. Rather, it's a site where one man dedicates himself to reviewing men's underwear.
Seriously.
Now I'm a big fan of online reviews, turning to the net before making most of my major purchases. Never before would I have considered pausing before picking up a pack of BVDs, considering that maybe I should be doing more research into what I'm girding my loins with. Really, once I outgrew Underoos, my interest in the fashion considerations of my delicates waned almost completely.
This individual, on the other hand, has an affinity for men's lingerie that borders on disturbing. This in and of itself would be impressive, but the fact is he would appear to be reviewing the products the only way a person really can - he's trying them all himself. And how do we know this?
Because he's modeling every single thing he reviews.
This is amazing to me. Initially, my inclination was to believe that the guy was simply running this site to work out some exhibitionist tendencies. Well, that or he wanted a socially acceptable outlet to show his six-pack abs and that he's packing more heat than Neo attacking a building in the one and only Matrix movie ever made. Ever.
The thing is, he's really reviewing these things. Every thong, sling and leather thing is being rated, graphed and commented on in detail usually reserved for home stereo equipment. The man is a &$%#ing connoisseur. I was only on the site for like five minutes, and he has me questioning whether I should be choosing unmentionables more worthy of mention.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not throwing out my current collection to be replaced with the shoulder-harnessed jocks made famous by Borat (and yeah, they're in there). Still, next time I go to replace a worn set of briefs, I might consider doing a little reading first.
Of course it might compel me to pick up cucumbers and aluminum foil while I'm out shopping, but perhaps that's the price one pays for fashion.
Seriously.
Now I'm a big fan of online reviews, turning to the net before making most of my major purchases. Never before would I have considered pausing before picking up a pack of BVDs, considering that maybe I should be doing more research into what I'm girding my loins with. Really, once I outgrew Underoos, my interest in the fashion considerations of my delicates waned almost completely.
This individual, on the other hand, has an affinity for men's lingerie that borders on disturbing. This in and of itself would be impressive, but the fact is he would appear to be reviewing the products the only way a person really can - he's trying them all himself. And how do we know this?
Because he's modeling every single thing he reviews.
This is amazing to me. Initially, my inclination was to believe that the guy was simply running this site to work out some exhibitionist tendencies. Well, that or he wanted a socially acceptable outlet to show his six-pack abs and that he's packing more heat than Neo attacking a building in the one and only Matrix movie ever made. Ever.
The thing is, he's really reviewing these things. Every thong, sling and leather thing is being rated, graphed and commented on in detail usually reserved for home stereo equipment. The man is a &$%#ing connoisseur. I was only on the site for like five minutes, and he has me questioning whether I should be choosing unmentionables more worthy of mention.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not throwing out my current collection to be replaced with the shoulder-harnessed jocks made famous by Borat (and yeah, they're in there). Still, next time I go to replace a worn set of briefs, I might consider doing a little reading first.
Of course it might compel me to pick up cucumbers and aluminum foil while I'm out shopping, but perhaps that's the price one pays for fashion.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
DLOG Presents: Parent Resources For Buying Video Games
Unless your Amish, it's pretty much a given that your children are going to be playing video games, and as a responsible parent you're going to want to make sure you're protecting their fragile little minds from potentially harmful content. Many parents are intimidated by this, what with not knowing much about games and the constant stream of doucheba...concerned individuals touting the dangers of video game playing. Fortunately, there are many fine resources available to you.
First and foremost, we have the Entertainment Software Rating Board (ESRB) rating system. These simple to use ratings allow a parent to, at a glance, figure out what games are appropriate for their children's age groups. Amazingly, many parents fail to even check the rating. These are the same parents who get all indignant when they discover little Bobby sitting at his Xbox shooting up a city before settling in for some hot, simulated sexiness. The irony here: little Bobby knows exactly how to use the rating system. Why do you think he chose the game in the first place?
Once you have familiarized yourself with the rating system, you may want to know more about these video games. For this, I might suggest turning to online sources such as Kotaku. These sites offer in depth reviews of the games, allowing you to not only judge which games are appropriate, but more importantly, which ones are going to suck. Let's face it, little Bobby, despite being eight now, still hasn't gotten off his lazy ass and gotten a job yet, so it's your hard earned cash he's spending on these games. Make those dollars count.
In addition to the ratings offered on these sites, often you can find articles that explore some of the more...interesting features of upcoming games in depth. Need to know just how graphic it will be when a Predator rips a space Marine's head off? They've got the screen shots. Weren't aware of the glitch in the game that allows the main character to walk around in the nude? Yeah, there's a whole video of that. (NSFW, duh.) That last one is especially useful, as it's not intentionally part of the game, so the ESRB may not have counted it in the rating. Best to watch it three or four times, just to make sure you took it all in.
Finally, if you really want to know what you're kids are playing and how it may affect them, you have to play the games yourself. I know, it's hard, but if you make yourself do it, I think you'll find you're the better parent for it. I myself have committed to buying a DSi XL only because my daughter has a DS, and really it's just irresponsible of me to not verify the content of the games that she might play. It's for that same reason I got the PSP. You never know when she might accidentally stumble across God of War, and I now have the experience necessary to sit down with her and explain that sometimes, it's okay to rip off a harpies wings and beat her to death with them, but it's still wrong to hit other kids on the playground.
Really, don't you wish you could you say the same?
First and foremost, we have the Entertainment Software Rating Board (ESRB) rating system. These simple to use ratings allow a parent to, at a glance, figure out what games are appropriate for their children's age groups. Amazingly, many parents fail to even check the rating. These are the same parents who get all indignant when they discover little Bobby sitting at his Xbox shooting up a city before settling in for some hot, simulated sexiness. The irony here: little Bobby knows exactly how to use the rating system. Why do you think he chose the game in the first place?
Once you have familiarized yourself with the rating system, you may want to know more about these video games. For this, I might suggest turning to online sources such as Kotaku. These sites offer in depth reviews of the games, allowing you to not only judge which games are appropriate, but more importantly, which ones are going to suck. Let's face it, little Bobby, despite being eight now, still hasn't gotten off his lazy ass and gotten a job yet, so it's your hard earned cash he's spending on these games. Make those dollars count.
In addition to the ratings offered on these sites, often you can find articles that explore some of the more...interesting features of upcoming games in depth. Need to know just how graphic it will be when a Predator rips a space Marine's head off? They've got the screen shots. Weren't aware of the glitch in the game that allows the main character to walk around in the nude? Yeah, there's a whole video of that. (NSFW, duh.) That last one is especially useful, as it's not intentionally part of the game, so the ESRB may not have counted it in the rating. Best to watch it three or four times, just to make sure you took it all in.
Finally, if you really want to know what you're kids are playing and how it may affect them, you have to play the games yourself. I know, it's hard, but if you make yourself do it, I think you'll find you're the better parent for it. I myself have committed to buying a DSi XL only because my daughter has a DS, and really it's just irresponsible of me to not verify the content of the games that she might play. It's for that same reason I got the PSP. You never know when she might accidentally stumble across God of War, and I now have the experience necessary to sit down with her and explain that sometimes, it's okay to rip off a harpies wings and beat her to death with them, but it's still wrong to hit other kids on the playground.
Really, don't you wish you could you say the same?
Friday, March 5, 2010
Those Days...They Were Golden
Okay, there's a piece on Kotaku right now on considering the ramifications on gamers of the fact that the iPad and the DSi XL are being released around the same time. This...this is wrong. As a gamer, I feel like I should say something about this, especially since I have access to the existing, miniature versions of both systems, the iPhone and the DS Lite.
Here's the thing: Nintendo owns the portable gaming world. I say this as someone who, if forced into choosing between my beloved PSP and my left foot, would prompty run out and pick out a nice peg. I've played a handful of DS games, and they are what one would expect - they are Nintendo games. They are Mario and Link and everything that I loved about playing video games as a kid, made pocket size. When I heard about the DSi XL, a DS for people with man-sized hands, I will happily confess that the plotting began that will make one of them mine. (Insert appropriate maniacal laughter here.)
My iPhone, on the other hand, is a very different thing. I love my iPhone. It's hard to think about getting by without it. It has become a second brain for me - keeping appointments, looking up facts, checking my email. It's a wonderful tool that has made me more productive by leaps and bounds.
And almost every game on it sucks.
Okay, that's a little unfair. There are some cute puzzle games, and of course Monkey Island and Wolfenstein 3-d worked amazingly well, but that's about it. Everything else falls into one of two categories: it's either something I've already played online in Flash, or it's a game that might be fun if I wasn't required to cover 20% of the screen with my %#$@ing thumbs to play it. Maybe other people don't mind this. People with tiny hands. Me being neither a midget or a carny, I ain't one of them.
My point is that I don't look at the iPad and think "gaming device". I think they look like fun and something that would be useful, an ideal kitchen device (I'm a geek - having a machine with wireless capabilities in the kitchen is no less reasonable than, say, a toaster). I would jump at the chance to get one if I had several hundred dollars burning a hole in my pocket. As a gamer though, it's not even on my radar.
So yeah, I'm not sure where you're coming from on this one, Kotaku. These are two completely different markets. I'm guessing you just really wanted to talk about the iPad, and as a gaming magazine this is the only excuse you had.
I'm the same way with monkeys, zombies, and my illicit affair with Bea Arthur, so I totally feel you.
Here's the thing: Nintendo owns the portable gaming world. I say this as someone who, if forced into choosing between my beloved PSP and my left foot, would prompty run out and pick out a nice peg. I've played a handful of DS games, and they are what one would expect - they are Nintendo games. They are Mario and Link and everything that I loved about playing video games as a kid, made pocket size. When I heard about the DSi XL, a DS for people with man-sized hands, I will happily confess that the plotting began that will make one of them mine. (Insert appropriate maniacal laughter here.)
My iPhone, on the other hand, is a very different thing. I love my iPhone. It's hard to think about getting by without it. It has become a second brain for me - keeping appointments, looking up facts, checking my email. It's a wonderful tool that has made me more productive by leaps and bounds.
And almost every game on it sucks.
Okay, that's a little unfair. There are some cute puzzle games, and of course Monkey Island and Wolfenstein 3-d worked amazingly well, but that's about it. Everything else falls into one of two categories: it's either something I've already played online in Flash, or it's a game that might be fun if I wasn't required to cover 20% of the screen with my %#$@ing thumbs to play it. Maybe other people don't mind this. People with tiny hands. Me being neither a midget or a carny, I ain't one of them.
My point is that I don't look at the iPad and think "gaming device". I think they look like fun and something that would be useful, an ideal kitchen device (I'm a geek - having a machine with wireless capabilities in the kitchen is no less reasonable than, say, a toaster). I would jump at the chance to get one if I had several hundred dollars burning a hole in my pocket. As a gamer though, it's not even on my radar.
So yeah, I'm not sure where you're coming from on this one, Kotaku. These are two completely different markets. I'm guessing you just really wanted to talk about the iPad, and as a gaming magazine this is the only excuse you had.
I'm the same way with monkeys, zombies, and my illicit affair with Bea Arthur, so I totally feel you.
Friday, February 26, 2010
DLOG: The Manifesto
So I've been thinking, I need to start a manifesto. This way, if I'm fiddling with the radio on my car and go careening madly off the side of the road, inadvertantly hitting a Government building in the process and killing myself, it will be seen as an act of patriotic defiance (not terrorism - I'm still considered Caucasian). This will probably make for better headlines than "Died in an effort to not hear that Lady Gaga telephone song again, like a twit".
As such, I have the following demands and grievances that I expect everyone to pay attention to and act upon, regardless how ridiculous, selfish and petty they may seem:
As I understand it, these are supposed to be living document, so I think this is a sufficient starting point. Feel free to add any suggestion to the comments section. I will give each due consideration.
As such, I have the following demands and grievances that I expect everyone to pay attention to and act upon, regardless how ridiculous, selfish and petty they may seem:
- Each week, one individual voter, chosen at random, will be "Person of the week". They will be mentioned on all television news broadcasts and will recieve free food at any restaurant for the duration of the week. There will also be a hat, signed by the President of the United States, that they get to keep.
- A song shall be selected that, when sung by a man in a public restroom, must immediately be joined in upon by all other men sharing that facility. I'm pushing for Rawhide, but remain open to suggestions.
- Free pie Fridays. MAKE THIS HAPPEN!
- While I sympathize with the plight of the downtrodden in our society, I do not feel it fair that I should be expected to participate in funding Government programs to help them when such participation interferes with my procurement of shiny objects (for the purposes of this manifesto, "shiny objects" is defined as anything appearing anywhere on Gizmodo). As such, I shall be exempted of all taxation dedicated to programs that do not directly benefit me until the production of such shiny objects ceases or I run out of room for all my stuff.
- It shall be made illegal to hide from someone and then jump out, yelling "BOO!", in an attempt to frighten and startle them. That's just mean.
- The third Monday in March shall be declared a Federal holiday in celebration of the works of William Shatner. The Shat must get his due. (I don't %$#*ing care if he's Canadian. We're claiming him, and if that means we take Canada in the process, so be it.)
As I understand it, these are supposed to be living document, so I think this is a sufficient starting point. Feel free to add any suggestion to the comments section. I will give each due consideration.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Maybe I Just Don't Understand Art For Art's Sake
Okay, our situation has escalated and I'm now officially upset. See, I take great comfort in my belief that I'm the least mature person I work with. Well, this is no longer something I can take for granted.
At first it was a cry for help, then an unwarranted act of aggression against a friendly reminder of proper hygienic techniques. Oh sure, I wasn't thrilled to think that somewhere in my workplace, a psyche capable of such things was lurking, but what can you do? I work with a lot of people. Realistically, what are the odds that I'm the loopiest? (Don't answer that.)
Today, however, finds a thing that I simply cannot accept. See, someone (and I'm going to assume it's the same individual as before, if for no other reason that it allows me to limit the circle of crazy I'm dealing with) has taken a pen to the men's room and actually drawn a crude representation of male genitalia there. We're talking "creepy laundromat restroom" quality stuff here. In case that was deemed insufficient, he then also carved, for lack of a better term, "a boobie" into the toilet paper dispenser, lest some industrial cleaning person remove his mark from the world.
Look, I'm a graffitti aficionado from way back. I can understand wanting to share your vision with the world, regardless of what medium presents itself. This, however, this truly leaves me aghast. This is something I would have considered childish in middle school. The idea that here, in a professional setting, there lurks a mind that determined this to be a reasonable plan of action, that said to itself, "If only this wall had a weenie on it, then maybe things would be okay", actually leaves me uncomfortable in a way I haven't been since realizing that a lot of the people who comment on YouTube videos can legally vote.
This has me genuinely upset. It's not that I'm a prude. I can withstand the sight of a badly drawn bit of junk. It's just that I have certain expectations from people, expectations that I consider reasonable, and when those around me fail to meet these expectations...well, frankly it reduces my faith in humanity in general.
God dammit people, if you're going to write on bathroom walls, you have to at least try to be funny!
At first it was a cry for help, then an unwarranted act of aggression against a friendly reminder of proper hygienic techniques. Oh sure, I wasn't thrilled to think that somewhere in my workplace, a psyche capable of such things was lurking, but what can you do? I work with a lot of people. Realistically, what are the odds that I'm the loopiest? (Don't answer that.)
Today, however, finds a thing that I simply cannot accept. See, someone (and I'm going to assume it's the same individual as before, if for no other reason that it allows me to limit the circle of crazy I'm dealing with) has taken a pen to the men's room and actually drawn a crude representation of male genitalia there. We're talking "creepy laundromat restroom" quality stuff here. In case that was deemed insufficient, he then also carved, for lack of a better term, "a boobie" into the toilet paper dispenser, lest some industrial cleaning person remove his mark from the world.
Look, I'm a graffitti aficionado from way back. I can understand wanting to share your vision with the world, regardless of what medium presents itself. This, however, this truly leaves me aghast. This is something I would have considered childish in middle school. The idea that here, in a professional setting, there lurks a mind that determined this to be a reasonable plan of action, that said to itself, "If only this wall had a weenie on it, then maybe things would be okay", actually leaves me uncomfortable in a way I haven't been since realizing that a lot of the people who comment on YouTube videos can legally vote.
This has me genuinely upset. It's not that I'm a prude. I can withstand the sight of a badly drawn bit of junk. It's just that I have certain expectations from people, expectations that I consider reasonable, and when those around me fail to meet these expectations...well, frankly it reduces my faith in humanity in general.
God dammit people, if you're going to write on bathroom walls, you have to at least try to be funny!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
I'm Carrying Moist Towelettes, Just To Be Safe
Previously, I tried to reach out to the disturbed individual at my workplace that carved "HELP" into the wall. I fear his situation has not improved. You see, after a long quiet period without bathroom-related activity (other than, you know...the usual), we've had another incident.
Yesterday, I again found our bathroom defaced by a sharp instrument, and I can only assume it's the same individual. This time, instead of a simple pleading, he has taken his aggravation out on one of our many "Wash Your Hands" signs. I don't know if it's someone who just has an issue with hand washing or what (although I have a suspect if this is the case), but there are several slashes now forming a star defacing the sign, and between you and me, I find the whole thing frightening.
Clearly, this person never got the help they needed. Unable to control themselves any more, they've lashed out. So now we've got some guy in my building, full of the rage only neglect can cause, with a sharp instrument, looking to do attack the world that abandoned him in his time of need.
And worst of all, his hands are probably filthy.
Yesterday, I again found our bathroom defaced by a sharp instrument, and I can only assume it's the same individual. This time, instead of a simple pleading, he has taken his aggravation out on one of our many "Wash Your Hands" signs. I don't know if it's someone who just has an issue with hand washing or what (although I have a suspect if this is the case), but there are several slashes now forming a star defacing the sign, and between you and me, I find the whole thing frightening.
Clearly, this person never got the help they needed. Unable to control themselves any more, they've lashed out. So now we've got some guy in my building, full of the rage only neglect can cause, with a sharp instrument, looking to do attack the world that abandoned him in his time of need.
And worst of all, his hands are probably filthy.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Like Cats, But Without All The Mopey Singing
So, thanks to a post on Newly Nerfed, I squandered yet another hunk of my life watching videos of other people's pets. I thought I had broken free of this habit, but the individual responsible, one klaatu42, hit my weak point - he makes them talk. Already a sucker for a well placed lolcat, I'm powerless against this.
Why is this a weakness of mine? Simply put, I, like most people, cannot help but anthropomorphise my pets. As such, every time I watch either one of our cats do something, some part of me is running a narrative in my head of what I think the cat might be thinking. Sometimes they have accents. I'm pretty sure the new Calico Holly, for example, has a little Irish lilt, but I have no idea why. Azure, on the other hand, sounds a lot like my lovely wife, who like to taunt me about the cat's affection for me by narrating her take on the kitty's thoughts. It's a little sick.
What makes this so ridiculous is that I've watched these cats. I've seen how they operate. After Azure tried to catch the pointer on Dora the Explorer for the 800th time, I had to accept that there was no dialog going on in there. There's nothing going on in there at all. If they attached one of those monitors on her little, dumb, kitty brains, it would show less activity than Mario's success chart of the times when he actually attacked the right %#$@ing castle.
Anyway, I continue to get suckered into believing that they are thinking something. I will go on writing little dramas involving the cruel, deviant Azure trying to stifle the plucky, irrepressible Holly. The maniacal laughter. The inspiration defiance. The final showdown, involving them viciously attacking one another in a fight to the death (this scene plays out more often than it probably should, but it makes for great theater, plus it's funny when they forgot that they're on the bed or couch and they fall of mid-fight).
Perhaps if I could figure out a way to keep the monocle on Azure, I could finally share these visions with the world.
Why is this a weakness of mine? Simply put, I, like most people, cannot help but anthropomorphise my pets. As such, every time I watch either one of our cats do something, some part of me is running a narrative in my head of what I think the cat might be thinking. Sometimes they have accents. I'm pretty sure the new Calico Holly, for example, has a little Irish lilt, but I have no idea why. Azure, on the other hand, sounds a lot like my lovely wife, who like to taunt me about the cat's affection for me by narrating her take on the kitty's thoughts. It's a little sick.
What makes this so ridiculous is that I've watched these cats. I've seen how they operate. After Azure tried to catch the pointer on Dora the Explorer for the 800th time, I had to accept that there was no dialog going on in there. There's nothing going on in there at all. If they attached one of those monitors on her little, dumb, kitty brains, it would show less activity than Mario's success chart of the times when he actually attacked the right %#$@ing castle.
Anyway, I continue to get suckered into believing that they are thinking something. I will go on writing little dramas involving the cruel, deviant Azure trying to stifle the plucky, irrepressible Holly. The maniacal laughter. The inspiration defiance. The final showdown, involving them viciously attacking one another in a fight to the death (this scene plays out more often than it probably should, but it makes for great theater, plus it's funny when they forgot that they're on the bed or couch and they fall of mid-fight).
Perhaps if I could figure out a way to keep the monocle on Azure, I could finally share these visions with the world.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Okay, The Title Needs Work, But You Get The Idea
Well, it's Valentines season, and as anyone with school age-children knows, there is a long-standing policy among schools that a card must be brought in for every other kid in the class, regardless of gender or likability. I was sure that this practice would be put to an end during the conservative majority of the Oughts, what with it clearly indoctrinating schoolchildren with "the gay". Alas, I was wrong, and each child still gets a card, ensuring that no fat kid is left with an empty Valentines bag at the end of the day.*
But people who believe in a solid social hierarchy should fear not, for the card industry has taken you into consideration. See, out of every box of Valentines, there are levels. Most of the cards are smallish, maybe 2x3 inches. These are the ones you give to the people you're forced to give cards to, like that dude who sits in the corner and smells his fingers all day.**
Then there's the second tier card. Typically these are a little bigger, maybe by an inch or so in one of the dimensions. These are set aside for acquaintances - the kids who you liked okay, but wouldn't necessarily invite to your birthday parties if there were a limited number of seats.***
Finally, you have the premium card. It's still got the Jonas Brothers on it (or at least the ones the Princess picked out for the girls do, apparently feeling that their body of work fails to speak to the males of the group), but it's almost twice as big as the smallest ones. You're no longer getting just one Jonas, but the full Jonas trifecta. These you keep for genuine friends, or, in the case of the older kids, someone you like. As in like like. I think you know what I'm saying.****
So there you have it. As always, we find a way to make sure that those individuals who should be marginalized will be, thus maintaining the natural balance of society. The popular kids know they're popular, and the other kids know that the popular kids are popular too.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to work on a childrens book I'm writing, The Firefly That Burned So Brightly That He Ended Up A Fat, Balding, Worn-Out Husk By The Time He Was In His Mid-Twenties.
*To be honest, I preferred the bag that way anyway. It was lighter and easier to carry.
**Seriously, I washed my hands all the time. I was just trying to figure out what that smell was.
***Which I was totally understanding about, although I didn't really think it was necessary to point out that I would be taking up two seats.
****I have no idea what am I saying.
But people who believe in a solid social hierarchy should fear not, for the card industry has taken you into consideration. See, out of every box of Valentines, there are levels. Most of the cards are smallish, maybe 2x3 inches. These are the ones you give to the people you're forced to give cards to, like that dude who sits in the corner and smells his fingers all day.**
Then there's the second tier card. Typically these are a little bigger, maybe by an inch or so in one of the dimensions. These are set aside for acquaintances - the kids who you liked okay, but wouldn't necessarily invite to your birthday parties if there were a limited number of seats.***
Finally, you have the premium card. It's still got the Jonas Brothers on it (or at least the ones the Princess picked out for the girls do, apparently feeling that their body of work fails to speak to the males of the group), but it's almost twice as big as the smallest ones. You're no longer getting just one Jonas, but the full Jonas trifecta. These you keep for genuine friends, or, in the case of the older kids, someone you like. As in like like. I think you know what I'm saying.****
So there you have it. As always, we find a way to make sure that those individuals who should be marginalized will be, thus maintaining the natural balance of society. The popular kids know they're popular, and the other kids know that the popular kids are popular too.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to work on a childrens book I'm writing, The Firefly That Burned So Brightly That He Ended Up A Fat, Balding, Worn-Out Husk By The Time He Was In His Mid-Twenties.
*To be honest, I preferred the bag that way anyway. It was lighter and easier to carry.
**Seriously, I washed my hands all the time. I was just trying to figure out what that smell was.
***Which I was totally understanding about, although I didn't really think it was necessary to point out that I would be taking up two seats.
****I have no idea what am I saying.
Friday, February 5, 2010
My Rude Bodily Noise Skills Are Legendary As Well
This weekend is the annual celebration of my failure as the ideal American man. No, it's not my wedding anniversary (and if you thought it was, I should let you know that whatever my lovely wife told you was a vicious lie). Instead, it's the annual gathering of men around big-screen televisions all across the country to watch incredibly expensive ads for beer and erectile dysfunction drugs.
Oh, and there will be a football game in there somewhere as well.
Yes, it's Super Bowl weekend again. While I care about football slightly less than, say, the price of head cheese in Venezuela, I know that once again I will consider this as I'm doing laundry this weekend and feel just a little left out. It's not that I actually want to watch men in padded outfits fighting over a piece of leather and slapping each other on the ass - I've got clubs I can go to for that. Rather it's that I know a lot of the other guys will be gathering together to watch it, so I'm losing that camaraderie.
It's actually worse because it reminds me of all the things that guys are supposed to do together that I just never picked up. Despite my willingness to sit in a boat and drink, fishing doesn't really appeal to me. Golf has never come up either, surprising given my sartorial history. I won't repeat my lament regarding my lack of handyman skills, beyond saying that I'm not going to be invited to any barn-raisings in the near future. I don't even like The Three Stooges all that much.
Perhaps I'm reading too much into all of this. After all, I'm man enough to have reproduced twice, which isn't bad. All of this manly nonsense is just stereotypical rubbish anyway, right? There's nothing inherently manly about sitting around eating chicken wings and yelling at your television that I can see, so I suppose I should just learn to accept that it's not who I am.
Besides, I can always take comfort in the fact that I show amazing aptitude for both swilling beer and inappropriate scratching which is more than enough to hold on to my man card.
Oh, and there will be a football game in there somewhere as well.
Yes, it's Super Bowl weekend again. While I care about football slightly less than, say, the price of head cheese in Venezuela, I know that once again I will consider this as I'm doing laundry this weekend and feel just a little left out. It's not that I actually want to watch men in padded outfits fighting over a piece of leather and slapping each other on the ass - I've got clubs I can go to for that. Rather it's that I know a lot of the other guys will be gathering together to watch it, so I'm losing that camaraderie.
It's actually worse because it reminds me of all the things that guys are supposed to do together that I just never picked up. Despite my willingness to sit in a boat and drink, fishing doesn't really appeal to me. Golf has never come up either, surprising given my sartorial history. I won't repeat my lament regarding my lack of handyman skills, beyond saying that I'm not going to be invited to any barn-raisings in the near future. I don't even like The Three Stooges all that much.
Perhaps I'm reading too much into all of this. After all, I'm man enough to have reproduced twice, which isn't bad. All of this manly nonsense is just stereotypical rubbish anyway, right? There's nothing inherently manly about sitting around eating chicken wings and yelling at your television that I can see, so I suppose I should just learn to accept that it's not who I am.
Besides, I can always take comfort in the fact that I show amazing aptitude for both swilling beer and inappropriate scratching which is more than enough to hold on to my man card.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Best Part: Googling Each One To Make Sure They're Not In Use
It may surprise you to find out that Dangerously Low On Grog was not the only idea for an online foray I've entertained. I had several concepts for online journals that, for one reason or another, just never took off. Here are some examples that any of you are welcome to steal if the mood strikes you.
Fortunately I settled on DLOG, where the research is easier and doesn't involve injury/revulsion/potential litigation (usually).
- Lord Blackheart's Musings on the Misery that is Life
Given up because I had to end my Goth phase. Who has time to put on black eye liner and lip gloss when you're trying to get kids out the door?
- Things My Colon Said
Pretty self explanatory. Had to abandon this one on the grounds that my lovely wife threatened to leave me while I was "searching for the perfect quote". - Neat Places To Hide Bodies
Closed on the advice of my attorney. - Things You Can Stuff Into Petas
Fat-fingered the title, inadvertently leading to several animal-rights activists being stuffed with lamb meat and cucumber sauce and then offing themselves over the guilt of enjoying it so much. - Foods That Smell Like Body Parts
Shut down due to lack of interest/appetite.
- Proof That the Internet Is Full Of Morons
Closed because YouTube/news site comments pretty much cover everything I could have ever said. - How To Make People Say "Hey, Who's Touching Me?"
Also closed on the advice of my attorney. Dude has no respect for social experiments. - Will This Fit There?
Closed due to repeated injury.
Fortunately I settled on DLOG, where the research is easier and doesn't involve injury/revulsion/potential litigation (usually).
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Honestly, the Vaginal Discharge Jokes Write Themselves
It's time for another sinus infection, and having procured yet another batch of prescription medication, I decided that just for fun I would actually read the little insert my pharmacist put into the bag instead of tossing it like I usually do. This, like most things I do, has led to some unusual thoughts. The thing that really got to me was in the section possible side effects.
These, as you know, are always my favorite part. I love the idea that I would need to be told to seek medical attention for some of this stuff. What say we break that list down?
Of course I shouldn't mock. This will inevitably lead to me someday perishing from a severe reaction. I'll be left to die a swollen, peeling, confused, bloated, bruised, bleeding wreck of a man, lying in my own filth and mysteriously discharging vaguely irritated vaginas.
It'll make one hell of an obituary though, don't you think?
Seek medical attention right away if any of these SEVERE side effects occur when using Amoxicillin/Clavulanate:
Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue); bloody stools; confusion; dark urine; fever, chills, or persistent sore throat; red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin; seizures; severe diarrhea; stomach pain or cramps; unusual bruising or bleeding; vaginal discharge or irritation; yellowing of the skin or eyes.
These, as you know, are always my favorite part. I love the idea that I would need to be told to seek medical attention for some of this stuff. What say we break that list down?
- Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue)
Duh - bloody stools
Ewwwwww...and "duh" - confusion
So I'm supposed to contact my doctor if I'm taking this and I watch Donnie Darko?
- dark urine
What, like color, or prone to writing bad poetry and listening to Bauhaus? - fever, chills, or persistent sore throat
Dude, I'm sick - why do you think I'm on this to begin with? - red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin
Okay, so spontaneous combustion is out so long as I'm on this stuff. - seizures
Not sure what the police taking my hard drive has to do with anything, but I guess I can tell me doctor. The pictures were of his wife after all. - severe diarrhea
Okay, define "severe". I'm not in the habit of rating my diarrhea (cha cha cha). Should I be going with book length, and maybe most Stephen King is okay but The Stand warrants a hospital stay? - stomach pain or cramps
Well, alright, but why my doctor wants to know about me eating an entire bag of Habanero Doritos is beyond me. Actually, this might apply to the last item as well. - unusual bruising or bleeding
As opposed to the usual stuff. - vaginal discharge or irritation
Yes, if I discharge a vagoo I'll let someone know. The other is more difficult, as vaginas are notoriously polite and might not mention it if I irritate them, no matter how much they abhor the term "vagoo". - yellowing of the skin or eyes
Hopefully, no one in Springfield will ever have need of this particular medication.
Of course I shouldn't mock. This will inevitably lead to me someday perishing from a severe reaction. I'll be left to die a swollen, peeling, confused, bloated, bruised, bleeding wreck of a man, lying in my own filth and mysteriously discharging vaguely irritated vaginas.
It'll make one hell of an obituary though, don't you think?
Friday, January 22, 2010
Also Bad: So, Which One Of You Is the 'Bert'?
I realized today while reading about the Proposition 8 trial going what the real issue with the whole group of people trying to prevent gay marriage is. It's not the "protection of marriage". It's not that allowing gay people to marry will open the doors for similar "civil rights" cases arguing that the love between a man and his Roomba is a natural and beautiful thing and should be protected under the law (seriously, listening to this guy, you'd think that was coming).
It's just that you're probably uncomfortable meeting gay couples.
This stems from a couple of things. People are always uncomfortable with encountering those who lead what they view as a radically different life style as themselves. I get the same reaction when people find out I'm a vegetarian. They get all uncomfortable, often reacting in strange ways. Well, it's the exact same thing, exept instead of eating vegetables, I'd be eating another man.
Wait, that might make me a cannibal. Well, you get the idea anyway. Moving on.
Another thing I hear often is that the idea of two men having sex makes some guys really uncomfortable (I cannot speak to how women feel about this, but if the movies they show late at night on cable are any indicator, it's not as big an issue with them). My advice to these people is that maybe, when you meet a couple of gay men, you should not immediately picture them having sex. I mean, if you automatically do that with every couple you meet, then I guess for the sake of equality go ahead (although it's not a habit I recommend, as it can lead to awkward conversation when meeting neighbors or your spouse's coworkers - "Hi, I'm Roger. Is he as flexible as he looks?"). Either way, eventually, you'll get over it.
Finally, I think the biggest problem is that people get hung up on traditional roles in marriage, and immediately want to figure out who is the husband and who is the wife. This is silly. I think we've come far enough as a civilization that we can acknowledge that these are just titles in a heterosexual marriage. I suppose if it's really an issue, you can ask who has to check on night time noises and kill the spiders in the house, but I'm still not sure what it will get you.
So what is the point of all of this? It's that I think a lot of people who support things like Proposition 8 do so purely on the basis of things that make them uncomfortable. Yes, I know there are religious arguments, but mostly I think it's basic discomfort and xenophobia, both of which can be addressed by simply recognizing that when you encounter someone, anyone, you probably have a whole lot more in common with them than you think, and that the differences are probably things that can be overcome.
Now if you'll excuse me, I've been feeling lonely lately. I'm comforting myself by looking at the newest model Roombas...just look at how it swivels. I swear, I get chills just watching it.
It's just that you're probably uncomfortable meeting gay couples.
This stems from a couple of things. People are always uncomfortable with encountering those who lead what they view as a radically different life style as themselves. I get the same reaction when people find out I'm a vegetarian. They get all uncomfortable, often reacting in strange ways. Well, it's the exact same thing, exept instead of eating vegetables, I'd be eating another man.
Wait, that might make me a cannibal. Well, you get the idea anyway. Moving on.
Another thing I hear often is that the idea of two men having sex makes some guys really uncomfortable (I cannot speak to how women feel about this, but if the movies they show late at night on cable are any indicator, it's not as big an issue with them). My advice to these people is that maybe, when you meet a couple of gay men, you should not immediately picture them having sex. I mean, if you automatically do that with every couple you meet, then I guess for the sake of equality go ahead (although it's not a habit I recommend, as it can lead to awkward conversation when meeting neighbors or your spouse's coworkers - "Hi, I'm Roger. Is he as flexible as he looks?"). Either way, eventually, you'll get over it.
Finally, I think the biggest problem is that people get hung up on traditional roles in marriage, and immediately want to figure out who is the husband and who is the wife. This is silly. I think we've come far enough as a civilization that we can acknowledge that these are just titles in a heterosexual marriage. I suppose if it's really an issue, you can ask who has to check on night time noises and kill the spiders in the house, but I'm still not sure what it will get you.
So what is the point of all of this? It's that I think a lot of people who support things like Proposition 8 do so purely on the basis of things that make them uncomfortable. Yes, I know there are religious arguments, but mostly I think it's basic discomfort and xenophobia, both of which can be addressed by simply recognizing that when you encounter someone, anyone, you probably have a whole lot more in common with them than you think, and that the differences are probably things that can be overcome.
Now if you'll excuse me, I've been feeling lonely lately. I'm comforting myself by looking at the newest model Roombas...just look at how it swivels. I swear, I get chills just watching it.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Maximum Mayo Capacity Tester. Worst. Job. Ever.
Today, I noticed that the office food shelf, that area conscripted to contain abandoned comestibles that are now free for the taking, contained a bag of coconut covered marshmallows. Now I do not partake of marshmallows due to their gelatin content (it's a veggie thing), so I wasn't especially excited or anything. I did, however, peruse the bag as I am wont to do and came across the following warning on the side:
Now far be it from me to question the safety concerns of the good people of Kraft. They did after all bring us such fine products as macaroni and cheese that comes in a color typically reserved for pumpkins and traffic cones, and really, what could be more wholesome? Still, does this seem a bit much to anyone else?
I guess what throws me here is that first line - "Eat one at a time". Do I, as an adult, really need to be informed that stuffing my face full of food might lead to choking? Or is there something special about the marshmallow that makes it a particularly onerous choking hazard? Maybe they get bigger when you put them in your mouth or something. (Stop that.)
So now my question becomes not why they're warning me about the marshmallows, but rather why they're not warning me about other foods. How am I supposed to know how much mac & cheese I can fit in my mouth at once? Or now many pickles? Or Chips Ahoy cookies? Or Cool Whip (which now comes in the spray can, begging to be upended directly into one's mouth)? Or scoops of mayonnaise (which also comes in a convenient squeeze bottle that, while not as tempting as the Cool Whip, could be similarly abused)?
Dammit, how am I supposed to stuff my face unless someone does the science to tell me how to do so safely?
Choking Warning - Eat one at a time. For children under 6, cut marshmallows into bite-sized pieces. Children should always be seated and supervised while eating.
Now far be it from me to question the safety concerns of the good people of Kraft. They did after all bring us such fine products as macaroni and cheese that comes in a color typically reserved for pumpkins and traffic cones, and really, what could be more wholesome? Still, does this seem a bit much to anyone else?
I guess what throws me here is that first line - "Eat one at a time". Do I, as an adult, really need to be informed that stuffing my face full of food might lead to choking? Or is there something special about the marshmallow that makes it a particularly onerous choking hazard? Maybe they get bigger when you put them in your mouth or something. (Stop that.)
So now my question becomes not why they're warning me about the marshmallows, but rather why they're not warning me about other foods. How am I supposed to know how much mac & cheese I can fit in my mouth at once? Or now many pickles? Or Chips Ahoy cookies? Or Cool Whip (which now comes in the spray can, begging to be upended directly into one's mouth)? Or scoops of mayonnaise (which also comes in a convenient squeeze bottle that, while not as tempting as the Cool Whip, could be similarly abused)?
Dammit, how am I supposed to stuff my face unless someone does the science to tell me how to do so safely?
Friday, January 15, 2010
Just Between Us, Someone Needs To Check Helena Bonham Carter's Pulse. Just Sayin.
This morning, I saw that one of friends was on Facebook questioning the reasons behind the fashion industry's insistence that a woman is only attractive is she's built like a ten-year-old boy. Well, having briefly worked as an international fashion model (it was a cover), I have a unique insight into the situation, one that I have kept to myself for a long time for fear of my safety. I have now accrued sufficient mana, however, to protect my family and myself from attack, and thus it is my responsibility to come clean about this.
The sad truth is that most of the modern fashion industry as we know it is actually driven by necromancers.
See, sometime in the last millennium, people got wise to the idea that it was mostly better when dead people stayed dead. Thus, a lot of necromancers found themselves without a lot to do. Strangely, it turned out that many the of skills required to raise the dead from their graves were also useful in coming up with new and exciting fashion trends (don't ask me how it works - not my area of expertise). So, they put aside their potions and rituals, taking up fabrics and patterns in their place.
Of course, you can design all day, but if you have no one to model for you it does no good. This is where things got weird. The necromancers, not really adept at people skills, what with their pallid appearance and the fact that they kind of smelled like a mausoleum, didn't work well with the average supermodel. To overcome this, they rolled their own, raising the recently deceased to parade around in their latest creation.
Unfortunately for those of us who find grown women attractive, they were really good at what they did. The fashion industry took notice, mistaking the decrepid corpses for extremely thin, living women, and began to follow suit. This unfortunately started the trends that find us where we are today.
Hopefully, this is just that - a trend. Perhaps one day, the dead will be allowed to rest and real women will no longer be made to feel bad about having hips. Until then, we just have to quietly tolerate it. Eventually, someone's foot is going to fall off on a runway, and that should pretty well tie it all up.
On the bright side of all this, we did get goths, Hot Topic, and some of the best costume designers to ever work with Timothy Burton.
The sad truth is that most of the modern fashion industry as we know it is actually driven by necromancers.
See, sometime in the last millennium, people got wise to the idea that it was mostly better when dead people stayed dead. Thus, a lot of necromancers found themselves without a lot to do. Strangely, it turned out that many the of skills required to raise the dead from their graves were also useful in coming up with new and exciting fashion trends (don't ask me how it works - not my area of expertise). So, they put aside their potions and rituals, taking up fabrics and patterns in their place.
Of course, you can design all day, but if you have no one to model for you it does no good. This is where things got weird. The necromancers, not really adept at people skills, what with their pallid appearance and the fact that they kind of smelled like a mausoleum, didn't work well with the average supermodel. To overcome this, they rolled their own, raising the recently deceased to parade around in their latest creation.
Unfortunately for those of us who find grown women attractive, they were really good at what they did. The fashion industry took notice, mistaking the decrepid corpses for extremely thin, living women, and began to follow suit. This unfortunately started the trends that find us where we are today.
Hopefully, this is just that - a trend. Perhaps one day, the dead will be allowed to rest and real women will no longer be made to feel bad about having hips. Until then, we just have to quietly tolerate it. Eventually, someone's foot is going to fall off on a runway, and that should pretty well tie it all up.
On the bright side of all this, we did get goths, Hot Topic, and some of the best costume designers to ever work with Timothy Burton.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
An Open Letter To Whoever Carved "HELP" Into the Bathroom Wall
Dear Sir or Madam,
I will confess that I was taken aback by your plea. What would drive a person to carve the word "help" into a restroom wall at their job is...well it's been on my mind. I can say that much at least. Unfortunately, the vague manner in which you made your request has left me at a loss as to how I may proceed.
See, you left no forwarding information along with your request. In the absence of an email address, phone number, or even a time at which I may expect you to return to the stall in question, I don't know how I can assist you in your request. If you had taken the time to be more complete in your thought, like the person who wrote "working here sucks" (a sentiment I cannot disagree with more, unless by "here" they actually meant that particular stall, in which case I am blissfully unqualified to comment), then perhaps I would have something to go on. Of course, this assumes you had time to spare, and what with the questionable quality of your penmanship, even taking into account the fact that you were carving, one may safely assume you were in some kind of hurry.
So given no more context to work with than a single word, I must assume then that the act itself was what you were seeking assistance with. As such, might I recommend that when defacing a public restroom, one might prefer a medium point Sharpie pen, which provides the permanence of a sharpened instrument while allowing for a more refined finished product. It's the tool of choice amongst the bathroom scribes that I am acquainted with.
Sincerely,
Dangerously Low On Grog
I will confess that I was taken aback by your plea. What would drive a person to carve the word "help" into a restroom wall at their job is...well it's been on my mind. I can say that much at least. Unfortunately, the vague manner in which you made your request has left me at a loss as to how I may proceed.
See, you left no forwarding information along with your request. In the absence of an email address, phone number, or even a time at which I may expect you to return to the stall in question, I don't know how I can assist you in your request. If you had taken the time to be more complete in your thought, like the person who wrote "working here sucks" (a sentiment I cannot disagree with more, unless by "here" they actually meant that particular stall, in which case I am blissfully unqualified to comment), then perhaps I would have something to go on. Of course, this assumes you had time to spare, and what with the questionable quality of your penmanship, even taking into account the fact that you were carving, one may safely assume you were in some kind of hurry.
So given no more context to work with than a single word, I must assume then that the act itself was what you were seeking assistance with. As such, might I recommend that when defacing a public restroom, one might prefer a medium point Sharpie pen, which provides the permanence of a sharpened instrument while allowing for a more refined finished product. It's the tool of choice amongst the bathroom scribes that I am acquainted with.
Sincerely,
Dangerously Low On Grog
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Oh, I'm Sensitive Alright. I'm Sensitive Like a Broad.
Warning: the following post is about potentially offensive slurs, and will thus contain language that some might object to. Nothing really bad like %#@$ or "adjustable rate mortgage", but still, you've been warned.
Driving the kids into school, I made some offhand comment that somehow involved midgets, which unfortunately led to my daughter asking me all sorts of midget-based questions. I did my best to answer them, but had to eventually press home the point that I wasn't sure if the term "midget" is considered offensive to...well, midgets. I recommended shying away from it until I could do more research (presumably involving finding one, calling them a midget, and seeing if they proceed to kick my shins).
I'm uncomfortable with situations like this. I'm rarely the most politically correct person in the room, but I try to be somewhat sensitive to the feelings of others. I almost never say things like "Great googly moogly, what's wrong with your face?" anymore. Still, there are cases where I feel that people go out of their way to be offended by something.
I'll give you an example. I'm a programmer. I like monkeys. Also, I like Fritos and Mountain Dew. Guess what the proper term for an individual such as myself is.
Obviously, "code monkey".
I've been told that I should shy away from this term at my workplace though because someone from another country is offended by it. Apparently, wherever they come from, referring to a person as a monkey is incredibly offensive. Well...okay, but we're not there right now and I'm not using it that way, so I'm thinking maybe it's time to let that one go. Frankly, I don't think much of any place that villainizes monkeys, so I get why they left in the first place.
Insensitive of me? Perhaps, but really, if we gather all of the things everyone ever got offended by and decided not to use those words anymore, we'd be left with a language composed of "the" and "rutabaga". Maybe "noodle", but I wouldn't count on it.
Still, I see the other side of it. I've actually had conversations with people online that are completely convinced that it's not considered offensive to call someone "faggot" so long as it's in the context of an online video game. They told me that the word had been adopted by gamers, who had changed the meaning to "not a good player", so there was no reason for gays to be offended by it.
In my head all I could hear were the words of my son: "Yeah, but no". The word was adopted by gamers for the very reason that one would assume, and any supposed change in meaning is rendered moot by the fact that the word is still constantly used, within our society, as an offensive slur. So long as the that douchebag Rev. Phelps and his ilk are on this planet (and remain closeted - wink wink, nudge nudge), the argument is simply unacceptable.
So what do I take from all of this? I guess that offensiveness of a word is a strangely subjective thing, based on current culture as well as context. Also, people are far more likely to consider a word no longer offensive if they were never part of the offended group to begin with. Still, it doesn't do much for the whole "midget" conundrum, so I should probably use a substitute expression for now.
I guess "Shorty McTinybritches" will do for now.
Driving the kids into school, I made some offhand comment that somehow involved midgets, which unfortunately led to my daughter asking me all sorts of midget-based questions. I did my best to answer them, but had to eventually press home the point that I wasn't sure if the term "midget" is considered offensive to...well, midgets. I recommended shying away from it until I could do more research (presumably involving finding one, calling them a midget, and seeing if they proceed to kick my shins).
I'm uncomfortable with situations like this. I'm rarely the most politically correct person in the room, but I try to be somewhat sensitive to the feelings of others. I almost never say things like "Great googly moogly, what's wrong with your face?" anymore. Still, there are cases where I feel that people go out of their way to be offended by something.
I'll give you an example. I'm a programmer. I like monkeys. Also, I like Fritos and Mountain Dew. Guess what the proper term for an individual such as myself is.
Obviously, "code monkey".
I've been told that I should shy away from this term at my workplace though because someone from another country is offended by it. Apparently, wherever they come from, referring to a person as a monkey is incredibly offensive. Well...okay, but we're not there right now and I'm not using it that way, so I'm thinking maybe it's time to let that one go. Frankly, I don't think much of any place that villainizes monkeys, so I get why they left in the first place.
Insensitive of me? Perhaps, but really, if we gather all of the things everyone ever got offended by and decided not to use those words anymore, we'd be left with a language composed of "the" and "rutabaga". Maybe "noodle", but I wouldn't count on it.
Still, I see the other side of it. I've actually had conversations with people online that are completely convinced that it's not considered offensive to call someone "faggot" so long as it's in the context of an online video game. They told me that the word had been adopted by gamers, who had changed the meaning to "not a good player", so there was no reason for gays to be offended by it.
In my head all I could hear were the words of my son: "Yeah, but no". The word was adopted by gamers for the very reason that one would assume, and any supposed change in meaning is rendered moot by the fact that the word is still constantly used, within our society, as an offensive slur. So long as the that douchebag Rev. Phelps and his ilk are on this planet (and remain closeted - wink wink, nudge nudge), the argument is simply unacceptable.
So what do I take from all of this? I guess that offensiveness of a word is a strangely subjective thing, based on current culture as well as context. Also, people are far more likely to consider a word no longer offensive if they were never part of the offended group to begin with. Still, it doesn't do much for the whole "midget" conundrum, so I should probably use a substitute expression for now.
I guess "Shorty McTinybritches" will do for now.
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Once And Future DLOG
For whatever reason, when the year rolls over, I feel like I should be doing something more...important with this corner of the internet. You know, imparting wisdom or some such nonsense. Unfortunately, my ego only covers my programming abilities and natural good looks, so I find it difficult to make myself believe I have such wisdom to share beyond "If you're not sure where it came from, maybe you shouldn't eat it", and even that has exceptions.
Still, this site could use some changes. I'm working on a face lift, as I haven't restyled this thing in a long time and would like something a little more official looking. I'm also considering not being so strict about forcing a schedule, but rather writing things up that are worth writing up. I'll still make it a weekly thing at least, but I hate it when these things feel forced. It's why I gave up on the need to wear pants every single day, and I'm a better man for it.
So, keep an eye on things, faithful readers (and random yahoos who only land here because they did an image search for monkeys). I promise to at least be as ridiculous as I have so far. Oh, and if I think of anything that falls under the category of wisdom, I'll pass it along. Probably accidentally.
"It is the prerogative of a fool to point out that the emperor has no clothes. But the fool is still a fool, and the emperor is still an emperor." Neil Gaiman, Sandman
Still, this site could use some changes. I'm working on a face lift, as I haven't restyled this thing in a long time and would like something a little more official looking. I'm also considering not being so strict about forcing a schedule, but rather writing things up that are worth writing up. I'll still make it a weekly thing at least, but I hate it when these things feel forced. It's why I gave up on the need to wear pants every single day, and I'm a better man for it.
So, keep an eye on things, faithful readers (and random yahoos who only land here because they did an image search for monkeys). I promise to at least be as ridiculous as I have so far. Oh, and if I think of anything that falls under the category of wisdom, I'll pass it along. Probably accidentally.
"It is the prerogative of a fool to point out that the emperor has no clothes. But the fool is still a fool, and the emperor is still an emperor." Neil Gaiman, Sandman
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