The Complete Idiot's Guide To Brain Surgery (and other bad attempts at humor)

Writing on a regular bassist

2011-02-04T00:03:00.004-05:00

So I didn't win the contest I sorta talked about in the last post. That's okay. It was an honor just to be rejected. Seriously, though. I think its time to start writing on a more regular basis (MS Word tried to turn that into "bassist." That's kinda funny. Is a regular bassist a dependable bassist who shows up to band practice on time, or is he/she a bassist with a diet high enough in fiber that his/her bowel movements are within the normal range?).

Thanks to Nathan Bransford for picking my paragraph as a finalist, and thanks to all three people who showed up at my blog and thought, "How the hell did this guy become a finalist? He writes like a drunk turtle." You have all made my day.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to drink some beer, wax my shell, and give this bassist some oat bran.

-The Sasquatch

Hello and Welcome

2011-02-01T16:03:00.004-05:00

Hello and welcome to all the people who have come to this site from the other site where they're doing the thing I'm not allowed to mention lest I become disqualified and lose my shot at Internet glory.

A few interesting facts about me:

I can drink a 16 ounce beer in less than two seconds.
I used to use the "I can drink a 16 ounce beer in less than two seconds" line whenever I met new people, but I stopped once I graduated college (except for when I am in the company of lawyers, who consider such a feat a good indicator of intellectual prowess).
I have no idea who Mitch Hedberg is, but I'm certainly going to look him up on youtube once I get home from work and am able to watch videos on youtube without being threatened with corporal punishment.
Yes, my dad sometimes says those things, but he doesn't say them enough to fill in for the "#@!$ My Dad Says" guy, who totally sold his parents out for a crappy television show.
I think William Shatner would make a bad father.
He'd be a pretty good uncle, though.
A lot of people I know and like told me that Anonymous' entry was better than mine. I tend to agree. Anonymous' is shorter than mine and that makes it better because reading is hard.
If Shakespeare is right and Brevity is the soul of wit, I must be witless.
A lot of the people I know and like agree with the previous item in this list. Especially the "witless" part.
Thanks for looking at my blogger blog.

For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, just wait a few years for my next post. It will all make sense then.

Piece,
The Sasquatch

The Best Thing That Ever Was

2009-09-25T21:52:00.000-05:00

He smiles at me, the way he does, with his eyes cocked sideways twoards me and his mouth half open; expectantly, like he's listening to a long and complicated joke that's just about reached its punchline. Then I look at him and smile and he throws his head back and opens his mouth as far and as wide as he can, joy exploding on his face, the same way his momma does on rare and wonderful occasions. I smile again, hoping to egg him into another one, but he furrows his brow as if to say, "Not yet, old man." And just when I've about given up hope he does it one more time. We repeat this a few times as I change his diaper. In a few years I'll have to remind him to keep his voice down because its late and his laughter tends to wake up his mother, maybe his siblings (if there will be any) and most likely the neighbors as well. His voice will carry and he won't notice it. It will take constant reminding to keep from offending people. Just like his dad. But for now, whether there is noise or silence, I see him smile and I think to myself, "this is the best thing that ever was."

A Day in the Life:

2009-01-02T12:56:00.002-05:00

9:08am

I just realized that my favorite morning radio program is still away for the Holidays, so I made up for it by tuning into an episode of “A Prairie Home Companion” from back in April. A friend recently made fun of me for listening to “old people radio.”

“Well I usually skip the talking portion and listen to the music,” I said.

“Like that makes it any better,” he said.

10:45am

My contacts are drying out and I can hardly see anything. I have the monitor set to “extra blind” and everything is still blurry. When I walk around, it’s like I’m surrounded by a 2’ bubble of clarity outside of which is a sea of shifting, liquid colors. There are people out there. Some of them speak to me. I turn my head in their general direction, squint like Mr. Magoo, and affect the best response I can muster before leaving as quickly as possible so as not to appear stupid.

12:30pm

I went to a place called W.G. Grinders for lunch today. It was the first time I had been there. It’s cold but pleasant outside, so I walked about half a mile there. I’m without a car today, so that’s another reason. The restaurant had options for sandwiches. 6”, 10”, and 20”. I remember thinking to myself, “When I was younger, I probably would have gone for the 20in, but now that I’m a bit older, I’ll be responsible and get the medium.

About five minutes later, they brought out a sandwich that was twice the size of my head. I asked the owner if it was 10” wide as well as long. He laughed. I tried my best but was unable to eat the whole thing. A group of Marines at the counter laughed at me when I asked for a doggie bag. Some of them opted for the 20” sandwiches.

Does this mean I’m getting older than I thought or is WG Grinders just generous with their portions?

12:42pm

Is it just me, or does anybody else find it ironic that it takes upwards of two whole minutes to load a page titled “15 quick ways to improve your page load speed” from a popular web development website?

12:57pm

Most people would use twitter for this sort of thing, wouldn't they? Ah well.

Welcome to the Future!

2008-12-30T14:39:00.006-05:00

Can you believe its 2009 already? Think about it. I've been out of school long enough for the toddlers that occupied Kindergarten when I was in school to actually graduate themselves. If that happens two more times, I'll be on a porch with a shotgun before I know it, screaming at all the whippersnappers to get the hell off my lawn.

Assuming we have a lawn to yell about, that is. Which might not happen for two major reasons...

First, global warming could kill all plant life on earth, reeking havoc on the food supply, forcing humans to use our magical powers of science to develop genetically engineered sources of nutrition and sustenance. Either that or we evolve wholly new digestive systems at a heretofore unheard of metabolic rate. A new sort of gastronomic prowess that will let us digest rock or coal would be just the thing we need.

Second, the economy might collapse, causing Jen and me to abandon our dreams of homeownership, accepting positions as deck hands on the latest and greatest line of Carnival cruise ships. If that happens, the entire world will be our front yard! And all I'll have to do is walk around with a shotgun telling the mutant teenage spawn of the world's richest people to stop messing around and get the hell out of my sleeping receptacle before I call management and have them secretly fed into the ship's engine as fuel. Once both the environment and the economy collapse, human flesh, particularly that of spoiled, rich kids, will become the source of energy that makes the world turn, of course. And it's not like the kids' parents will notice they've gone missing. Rich people don't care about their kids. Everybody knows that.

I don't think it'll come to that, though. When things get real bad, the beauty of uninhibited Capitalism will force McDonalds and Burger King to race against the clock, inventing a coal-based hamburger, solving both the nutritional and economc problems that face the world, returning everything to relative normalcy except for the minute possibility that flatulence from the McCoal Burger might result in accidental self-immolation if you buy the wrong kind of fabric for your pajamas.

Which is why I have decided to sleep in the nude from here on out. Just in case.

I'm sure you wanted that image stuck in your head. That's why I spoke so freely of my naked, hairy ass, sleeping above the covers for all to see. I'll have to sleep above the covers, of course, because if my digestive expectorations achieve a high level of flammability, it wouldn't make sense to eschew pajamas and keep the wonderful, 600 thread count sheets Jen and I got as a present (from someone or other) when we got married. Bedsheets are just as likely as my flannel, Aqua Teen Hunger Force t-shirt to catch aflame. More so, probably. Meatwad is cool, but even he is susceptible the laws of Thermodynamics. Tossing the pjs and sleeping under the covers would be about as useful giving openly corrupt bakers 50% of the American gross domestic product with no strings attached and then expecting them to be charitable with their newfound wealth.

That would be ludicrous! I'm glad nobody thinks that way!

So 2009 approaches quickly and I can't wait. if my powers of observation are correct, it looks like this will be the year that the world collapses around us and we devolve into a Mad Max style polst-Apocalyptic nightmare. I've been preparing myself for this eventuality a long time. I read "The Stand" About a 157 times when I was a kid, I laughed at "I am Legend" for all the right reasons, and I recently started in on Cormac McCarthy's entire bilbiography. I might not be able to grow food, and I can't see well enough to shoot straight and hit the zombies when they attack (and they WILL attack), but at least I'll be able to quip sarastic, vaguely philosophic rhetoric. Those are the characters everyone loves the most, anyway.

I might sound cynical and if questioned on the matter I'd have to agree. With one caveat. I'm personally optimistic but socially cynical. I hope for the best in my life, but I believe our species is on the back end of the bell curve, the part where trigonometry takes over and everything goes to shit. Faced with the prospect of a new year, I think the best thing to do is sit back with your favorite drink and watch everything burn.

It's the best kind of entertainment there is.

Proverb or Curse?

2008-10-13T12:58:00.003-05:00

An ancient Chinese proverb goes like this: "May you live in interesting times." With all the economic fun recently, I guess we've met that. Most people don't know it, but the "interesting times" proverb was the first of three. The other two are "May you come to the attention of those in authority" and "May you find what you are looking for."

Some people interpret these as less proverb and more curse. I think I agree with that sentiment.

Change you can BELIEVE in

2008-10-06T14:27:00.001-05:00

This Blows

2008-09-17T13:57:00.003-05:00

Things have been weird this last week. The remnants of Ike rolled through on Sunday, knocking out power for 153% of Columbus residents, businesses, and people with no fixed address. It was strange because it was totally unexpected. The morning was hot and sunny and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even though Pastor Tom at church took everybody outside and made us play cornhole. The wind picked up round about 1:00, but it never rained. It was still hot and sunny; just really bleeping windy. There was too much wind for all that sun. Standing outside was like watching Steve Urkel compete in the “World’s Strongest Man” competition. Reality is there right in front of you, but it just doesn’t make sense.

Our power went out at 3:00, which was a good thing because we were watching the Bengals lose to the Tennesse Titans at the time, and if the carnage on my television continued much longer I would have had to throw something large and heavy into our shiny new flat screen. We spent a decent amount of money on that thing, and I imagine Jen wouldn’t have appreciated it too much.

At least not until the Browns played.

So the power was out Sunday night and has been m.i.a. ever since. That has meant lots of money spent eating out, lots of time searching for bags of ice to keep our food from spoiling, and lots of time listening to AM talk radio, hoping in vain for positive news updates from the happy folks at WTVN, who keep telling us to look for more information on their website (how, exactly, am I supposed to do that, Paco?). Evenings move a lot slower when there isn't television to watch, and we crawled into bed early last night, hoping that the dulcet tones of Sean Hannity, who spoke excitedly about illegal aliens and fiscal responsibility, would lull us to sleep.

The worst part is that normal, rational people, who understand perfectly the rules of the road when they encounter everyday things like stop signs, apparently lose at least 50 IQ points when faced with the complex task of navigating a multiple lane intersection when the stoplights don't work. Some people - a rare few - adhere to the standard guidelines, which tell you to treat it like a four way stop. Others continue through the intersection at breakneck speeds, oblivious to everyone and everything they encounter. These are likely the same people who spend hours at home playing Grand Theft Auto and have decided to take the game to the streets now that the power has gone out and their game boxes no longer give them a questionably healthy yet completely legal outlet for their rage. They swing around corners at wide angles, shout loud profanities at old women, and attempt Olympic records for the 400m dash from each full stop, all the while hoping that if they hit a pedestrian hard enough, they'll knock him into the median and score extra points.

The worst offenders, however, are the timid. These are the people who go to bed at 8:00 pm every evening, never watch movies with a higher rating than G, and scour the ingredients of their food to make sure there are no unnecessary extravagances like salt or fat or taste. I see these people in their cars. They approach each intersection with their eyes closed, repeating a well-practiced mantra1, and then they leap into the intersection without paying attention. Only it wasn't their turn. Realizing their mistake, they panic. They cover their heads in a manner similar to what their teachers always said would protect them from a nuclear explosion when they were kids. They wave everyone else around, but people can't get past them, and everybody gets mad and starts honking, which exacerbates the whole thing, making tensions rise and causing the timid drivers to go into shock. As if they believe a real nuclear explosion is imminent. They hunker down further and prepare for the worst, which is a good thing because that's when one of the GTA's I mentioned earlier comes barreling through the intersection, ramming into the Timid Driver's car, and knocking it onto the median.The timid driver screams in horror, losing what little sanity he had left. And the GTA gets excited, thinking he's scored a thousand points and moved up a level.

We're supposed to get power back this evening. I hope so, too, because the hot water is nearly gone and I imagine we'll have to wash our clothes with a soapboard before too terribly long. Soapboards are nice when you're watching re-runs of "The Beverly Hillbillies," but in reality they stand for a complete lack of civilization and manners. I'm not saying I have either of those, but I do like to keep up pretenses.

Plus, I'd really like to get back to Grand Theft Auto.

Dry Leaves

2008-08-28T12:27:00.000-05:00

Strange weather in columbus, ohio. After weeks of nothing, the rain decided to open up and really let loose. It spits and it showers, and fog hangs in the air, making everything seem dank like I how I always imagine London to be. We moved recently and my trek into work at the great and wonderful state university of ohio now includes a drive through the city on one of columbus’ major highway instead of around the side like I used to. It’s nice on mornings like this. Clouds hang around the tops of the buildings, obscuring the tops, giving them room to whisper at each other in the rain, telling stories about the people who scurry about below, oblivious to everything going on above them.

Time’s moving fast again. Last I checked it was early spring and summer was just around the corner. Now it’s almost fall. The recent hot dryness has turned the edges of green tree leaves brown, forcing them inward in a manner that reminds you of fall. It isn’t fall; not yet. Jen tells me it’s just the lack of water, but it feels like fall; it smells like fall. And even if it isn’t quite the real thing yet, the crispness of everything might very well be the beginning, that reminder that the wild beauty of nature’s death dance is not to far off.

Time is moving fast again. Summer passed me bye much faster than it usually does. A lot has happened these past few months to distract me and, maybe I’ll go into that here sometime soon. Maybe I won’t. Right now I’ll just sit on the deck and watch the leaves change.

Whether it’s a lack of water or the real thing doesn’t matter. It’s still beautiful.

Bench in the park

2008-05-16T08:10:00.002-05:00

My wife and I sat on that bench a little over two years ago. This was when we were still dating. It was daytime then and the trees were dressed in their summer leaves. We had walked all over centre island and we sat here for a bit to rest and listen to the sounds of the birds in the trees and fishermen who sat in their boats in the next cove, arguing about the fish and whether they were biting. I kissed her. Then some kids came along on the walking path and we stopped. We got up a minute later and left. It was a nice moment.

Other Worlds

2008-03-21T12:22:00.002-05:00

When I was a kid, we had this fire pit in our backyard. It was built of bricks and concrete and it had a small chimney that reached maybe four to five feet in the air. It may have been shorter, though. I was much smaller back then. I used to dream that our fire pit wasn’t actually a fire pit. I imagined it was an actual chimney for an underground house. I imagined an entire civilization of subterranean people, scurrying around just beneath us, going about their sunless lives oblivious to the world that existed just above them. I believed in this place so strongly that I would often look out my bedroom window at night to see if I could catch the smoke rising out of the chimney, evidence that this other world existed.

When I was a boy there was this tree, this gnarled behemoth that stood on the hill next to our apartment. A series of mean roots ripped through the ground, coalescing into a trunk covered in knotholes and crevasses and impossibly brittle bark and then, just a few feet off the ground, split into three or four large branches that danced and jigged sideways, just above the ground. The branches spread out in all directions, in and among each other, twisting their way towards the heavens. The tree never seemed to sway, even in the strongest wind, and the leaves, which turned a dark and ugly brown in autumn, were always the last to fall. I imagined the tree was a witch’s hand, sent from the depths of hell to snatch the neighborhood kids who always seemed to want to play on it.

When I was little we had this field down the hill behind the Chalmers parking lot that was covered by a lush carpet of thick, green grass that grew long and swayed in the summer breezes. I imaged invisible warriors fighting legendary battles in this field, their invisible, heavy feet moving the grass as they fought against invisible monsters to keep control of the field and protect the people who lived nearby. Some days, when it was less windy and the field stood relatively still, I searched the grass, looking for arrowheads, broken pieces of metal, and flecks of red on the green blades that covered the ground; evidence of the battle I was certain had taken place.

When I was young I found a large bone buried in the ground just past the giant tire in the playground behind my school. My friends and I spent all year trying to dig it up. We found sticks from the nearby woods and we dug into the ground near the bone, looking for the rest of the dinosaur. Of course it was a dinosaur bone. We all knew it. We hoped to dig it up by the end of the year and present our findings to the teacher, who would put us on television and give us medals for our smarts and our bravery. Everyone would love us, we told ourselves. All we needed to go was dig up that bone.

When I was a kid there were other worlds than the one in which I lived. Many other worlds.

My wife and I spent most of last night reorganizing our kitchen. We stayed up pretty late building some shelves we plan to use for wine storage and we were pretty tired by the time we went to bed. Just before we fell asleep, my wife rolled over and said, “We’re thirty. Isn’t that weird.”

“We’re not thirty yet,” I said, “We’re only twenty ten.”

“No. We’re thirty.”

“Does that mean we’re old?”

“I think so,” she said. Then she paused and continued. “Thirty. How did that happen?”

We both fell asleep shortly thereafter but, just before I nodded off, I remembered a lot of the things I used to believe when I was a kid. I thought of the chimney and the tree and the field and dinosaur bone. I haven’t thought of those things for a very, very long time.

How did that happen?

Seasonal Employment

2007-11-29T15:47:00.000-05:00

So Jen and I got part time, seasonal jobs to help us pay off some debt. We're hoping that we might one day be able to pay off the massive debt we accumulated in the pursuit of our four useless degrees (between the two of us). She's working at a temp agency. It's tough for her and she's tired when she comes home from work.

This is how I feel about my job...

Happy Slapsgiving, Everyone

2007-11-23T16:14:00.000-05:00

Did I say that out loud?

2007-10-29T06:37:00.001-05:00

You know you've checked out of your job when, in response to a co-worker's suggestion about a particular course of action, you utter the following:

"You might want to try to get [boss] to pimp that one, because my pimp hand isn't strong enough for that."

Countdown to new employment: 9 days

Intelligence

2007-10-11T12:52:00.001-05:00

Intelligence: n

Wait until late June to address the broken air conditioning in the building, leaving my office to roast at over 100 degrees until almost Independence Day.
Turn the air conditioning off September 1, when the temperature outside is still quite warm. Temp in my office: 103.
In response to complaints, wait for temperature to dip into the 60s, then turn the a/c back on. Temp in my office: 40.
In response to complaints, turn on heat in the building. Temp outside creeps back into the 80s. Temp in my office: 105.
Temp outside continues to rise. Heat is still on. People complain vociferously.
Facilities responds by turning on the heat for the second floor and the a/c for the first floor. Temp on first floor: 40. Temp on second floor: 95. temp in my office: 101.

Screaming

2007-10-01T17:14:00.001-05:00

Me: Did I tell you? We might move to the bigger office downstairs soon.
My Student Assistant (MSA): Really?
ME: Yeah. It's the one with windows.
MSA: Is there room for a jousting ring?
Me: Probably.
MSA: Awesome.

(pause)

MSA: Wait...Can we shut the office door to keep all the screaming in side?
Me: Um ... What do you plan to do in this new office?
MSA: I don't know. But I'm not gonna be the one screaming.

756

2007-08-08T07:37:00.000-05:00

Josh Gibson is unimpressed.

Business Time

2007-07-30T09:00:00.001-05:00

Harry Potter Spoilers

2007-07-19T12:54:00.001-05:00

I found these spoilers online Highlight the following text, if you dare:

"1. The boat sinks.
2. Harry sees dead people.
3. Hermione, really a guy.
4. Kreacher killed him in the conservatory with a lead pipe.
5. Voldemort is blown up after a rag tag bunch of fighters shoot a photon torpedo up his hidden vent hole.
6: The death eaters were created when the ministry tried to pacify an entire planet using an airborne drug.
7: Hagrid is shot off of the owl tower by biplanes.
8: Harry originally got his magic when he took the red pill.
9: Dobby throws his sock into the volcano.
10: Voldemort got his power when a cursed spider bit him.
11: Harry and Hermionie, twins separtaed at birth. Oh yeah, and Voldemort's his dad.
12: Hagrid's zoo gets out of control, takes over the island.
13: Monkeys.
14: He uses the wall of the outhouse as a sail.
15: Draco uses the magic amulet to wipe out all the vampires.
16: Rosebud is a broom.
17: Snape is really Tyler Durden.
18: Hogsmead is actually in the middle of downtown London, but no one knows it.
19: Harry is saved by a living statue sent back in time by himself.
20: Hagrid tunnels out using a little rock hammer hidden in Hogwarts, a history.
21: Neville is Kaiser Soze
22: It's Mrs Weasley's head in the box they give to Mr. weasley.
23: Everyone is arrested at the castle after a cop car pulls up and takes them off to jail.
24: Lucius Malfoy gets lost in the maze and freezes to death.
25: The entire D.A. dies defending the bridge.
26: Luna blows the monster out the airlock. She is wearing only her underwear
27: Voldemort is really just part of Snape's split personality.
28: Hogwarts is just a modern nature preserve.
29: Ron, Hermione, and Harry sit in Hogsmeade drinking butter Beer. One after another, Death eaters enter the bar, giving the trio menacing looks. Voldemort walks in and orders an apple pie. Harry puts a tune on the Jukebox and then ... the last 11 pages of Book 7 are blank.
30: Taking a cue from Fox television, Bloomsbury cancels the release of book 7 due to a false perception of falling sales.
"

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Blur

2007-03-26T11:24:00.000-05:00

The Big Spoon called me today to return the book of sheet music Jen and I had given him prior to the wedding in hopes that he'd be able to work out some of the songs on guitar and play them at the ceremony. He didn't have the time (which was perfectly fine), and he just now got around to giving the book of songs back to me.

We ate lunch together and, after he left, I retreated to my office, opened the book of music, and attempted to see how much my sight reading skills had diminished since last I picked up Ye Olde Trumpete. I put the cd into my computer, looked for the fastest, most difficult song in the book, hit play, and hoped I'd be able to follow along with trumpet fingerings in my brain as the music played.

But I never got the chance. As the music sped forward, I realized that my eyesight has deteriorated to the point where I can no longer distinguish which notes are on the line and which are in the spaces. And I can't tell if a marking is a sharp or just an accidental.

This means I can't play the trumpet anymore. I'm only 29 and I already have to acquiesce to old age.

It's not devastating. I don't play music professionally. in fact, I've only busted out Ye Olde Trumpete a few times since I played in college, and I sound more and more like a dying cow each time. But it certainly is a sad thing to learn that what was once such an integral part of my life will never be again, no matter how much I want it to, unless I get new eyeballs or spontaneously learn how to play free form jazz.

Sad.

Marriage and Old Farts

2007-03-15T14:03:00.000-05:00

Hey there, people. It's been a while since last I spoke, and a lot has happened in the interim. I've moved twice, I got married, and I spent an entire day at work listening to old broadcasts of "A Prairie Home Companion" online. That last one might sound lame to you, but who cares what you think, eh? It's better than listening to the drunken lady next door habitually call her insurance company to swear at them about their overinflated rates.

I liked the show so much, I even sent in a letter, which I usually only do when I'm mad about something (and rarely at that). And wouldn't you know it, they put my letter on the front page with a response from GK his self! Either that or they had some lowly intern do it. As of this post, my letter is #2 on the front page here, but you can still read it here once that goes the way of the dodo.

Marriage is good, too. I'd like to tell you all about the things I've learned thus far in my career as a newly minted husband. Unfortunately for you (and fortunately for me), that kind of knowledge isn't safe for all audiences.

Try getting that image out of your mind. I dare you!

P.S.
I started counting backwards once I hit 27 so, yes, I'm still in my mid-twenties. Shut the hell up.

Good Guys, Bad Guys, Explosions (as far as the eye can see)

2006-12-20T00:27:00.000-05:00

88:14:25:36

2006-12-12T00:03:00.000-05:00

Modern American Poetry

2006-12-10T19:37:00.000-05:00

Jen and I sat around this evening, surfing the intarweb and eating applesauce. I noted that my Google talk icon was a bear, and she noted that hers was a red wheelbarrow. It is, in fact, a picture of a red wheelbarrow accompanied by some text which asks, "Does anything really depend upon a red wheelbarrow?" She explained that this was in response to a poem she had to read for a modern American poetry class when she was in college. She then found an explanation of the poem, which seemed both pretentious and stupid to me.

"Does this person sound full of shit, or is it just me?" I querried.

"Yes!" she countered. "The only reason I made it though modern American poetry was because Lorraine and I shared chocolate covered espresso beans at 3am, making sense of things."

"Hey!" I screamed. "That sounds like a modern American poem all by itself." And, so I repeated it, in poetic verse, which I will now share with you.

Meaning, by my fiance

Chocolate covered espresso beans.

at 3 am

making sense of things.

There is also the following haiku, which I found earlier this week when I was supposed to be working:

Haikus can be fun.
But sometimes they don't make sense.
Refrigerator.

Don't even try to understand it. It's too complex for your tiny brain.

Heavy Weather

2006-12-01T14:15:00.000-05:00

An e-mail from my roommate this morning:

It was 62 degrees when I left work this morning. Of course it's 34 degrees right now and the wind is gusting to 60 mph. I watched the neighbors' roof blow right off his carport. If it weren't for the stand of trees I was too lazy to cut down when I first moved in, that roof would be in Michigan right now. I couldn't help but laugh. I'm not really a sadist, but another neighbor has this huge dog kennel, they also have a huge dog. The kennel was lifted right off the ground and tossed about 30 feet. It ended up in the alley behind my house, so did the dog. Fortunately the dog appears to be ok. He's sitting right in front of the roof to the carport barking at it. He's seems to be encouraging it to get free as well. Who knows, its a crazy day, maybe they will run away and have a very happy life together. Perhaps my roommate will write a play about it. "Dog on a cold tin roof." Right now I'm just wondering when me and my house will blow away. Maybe we could land on a wicked witch. I really need more sleep.

My response:

The play is already written. It's scheduled for performance this spring, starring Al Pacino as the dog and Rosie O'Donnell as the roof. I've already been contacted about the Pulitzer. If the house blows away this afternoon, perhaps you will land closer to church and will not then have to put up with rush hour traffic on the way there this evening! Either way, I expect you to pay me real, green money for losing all the stuff in my room.

There's at least $27.52 worth of useless junk in there

Today is a lazy Friday indeed!

The Fever Sets In

2006-11-22T13:20:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I posted anything. Sorry about that. Rather than write a real post, however, I have decided to mine the depths of my past, pulling out an article I wrote for Swine, Inc. back when I was in college. It is, in fact, one of the articles I submitted to the Society of Professional Journalists who, in response, gave me some kind of award for journalistic excellence. Which I found amusing. Because I wrote the thing in 20 minutes while nursing a hangover.

So, Abbie, to answer a question you have asked me on several occasions...THAT is why I have no respect for journalists.

Here's the article:

I saw a Christmas commercial on t.v. last week, and I wanted to find the nearest pencil and jam it into my ear. Christmas isn't a holiday anymore. It's an institution. It's a business as big as Starbucks, McDonald's, Microsoft, and Disney all rolled into one gigantic ball of plastic smiles and fake happiness.

It's only supposed to happen once a year, but we know better. Christmas sneaks in earlier each time around. First we had Santa right where he should be, sitting happily in his sleigh for the last few weeks of December. Next we had whispers of reindeer and elves at Thanksgiving. After a while, we started seeing kids dress up as Rudolph and Mrs. Claus for Halloween, and now we have idiots hanging Christmas lights just after labor day, planning their decorations to match the leaves as they change color.

The Christmas season is now almost a quarter of a year. That’s a longer lifespan than your average grasshopper.

Pretty soon we'll see Santa sticking his fat ass into summer barbecues, March Madness, Easter. By the time Thanksgiving rolls around we'll have out-of-control snipers taking potshots at the big guy during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. We'll have effigies and protests, and ritualistic Santa hunts involving double barrell shotgun toting rednecks stalking mall Santas at shopping megaplexes, laying out the carcasses on the third floor of the parking garage to clean and dress the kill.

“Look here, Mary Sue,” they’ll say. “I shot me ten Santas. Call the kids in from the mud harvest. We’s eatin’ good this year!”

What happened? When did Christmas turn from a regular holiday into a culturally accepted, cannibalistic religion celebrated by excessive debt and self-immolation? Has our culture really sunk this low? Do we work like frenzied dogs all year just to buy our friends and family expensive crap they don't want or need?

It's a disease and none of us is immune. We look at our credit slips and bank account statements each January, when sanity has returned, and we say to ourselves, "Never again." But when the weather turns cold and the leaves change color, the fever sets in again like it always does. Going broke every December doesn't dissuade consumers from buying into this feeding frenzy. All the department stores have to do is play "Jingle Bell Rock" or "Here Comes Santa Claus," and we’re off to see the wizard. Our eyes glaze over, our pulse quickens, and our battle-worn credit cards come out for yet another season of bad carnage.

We lose our minds for weeks at a time, like a heroin junkie in search of his next fix. We know what we're doing is wrong, but we can't help it. It's all in the name of fun, after all, and we tell ourselves that we deserve this, even as we spend ourselves into oblivion. No wonder the rest of the world thinks we're crazy and selfish. We spend the better part of the year either preparing for or recovering from the drunken orgy of mass consumerism, paying no heed to the problems of the rest of the world or our place in it.

Christmas is no longer just a holiday. It's the holiday. It’s no longer a celebration of one's faith and a time to bask in the joy of family gatherings, unless of course you consider two-for-one lawnmower sales in the middle of winter a heartfelt expression of Godly worship. The dilution of a joyous holiday is sickening and only goes to show how far down the drain we have come.

But never mind that now! Sears is having a special on wool socks and ratchet sets. The time has come. The fever has set in. Grab your money and let's go!

Imagine what I could have done if I'd sold my soul and become a Real Journalist(tm)!

The Sasquatch Speaking Tour, 2006

2006-10-13T11:22:00.000-05:00

The library at the large state university in Ohio where I work puts on these public readings on a weekly basis where staff members, faculty, students and the like choose their favorite books and read them out loud to a group consisting of one or two people who dig that sort of thing and a bunch of completely uninterested college students who just happened to be in the area. Because I record the library news podcasts, and because my responsibilities at work leave me with a great deal of free time, the organizers of this event asked me to be on call as a last-minute fill-in, just in case somebody backed out at the last minute.

They, too, are followers of the, "if you can't go with the best, go with the Sasquatch" way of life, apparently. And for that I applaud them!

A few weeks ago, I got the call that a professor who had planned to read something about Brazil or Portugal (one of those obscure eastern European countries, anyway) had backed out in favor of trekking downtown in search of new and exciting ways to fill his incessant needs for heroin and crack cocaine. In short, they needed the vocal stylings of the Sasquatch, and they needed them in short order. So I grabbed a book from my shelf and proceeded to WOW! the five or so people sitting in the seats next to where this glorius event takes place. I did such a great job that two or maybe three of them were still awake at the end.

A student worker from the Office of Information Technology was on hand to record the event, and even though she fell asleep midway through and started drooling all over the equipment, she did a fine job. If you're interested in hearing my pathetic warblings, go here (and click about 30 minutes in) to listen as I read chapter 1 from To Own a Dragon by Donald Miller.

At the very least, I'll put you to sleep with my dulcet tones!

Schmoopy

2006-10-10T00:38:00.000-05:00

So I proposed to Jen on Sunday. I had this big thing planned, too. When I got back from my conference in California, I was going to take her out to a nice French Restaurant, stop at the build a bear store (because to say that she likes stuffed bears is like saying Winston Churchill “liked” to drink on occasion), and then head over to this cool fountain where I planned to pop the question. This was where we got together back in February to have dinner when she was in town briefly. It was very cold that night, and we joked about how we should go to Canada sometime when it got warm. I remember walking along the shops at Easton, thinking that if I saw her look at me the way she did in the moonlight that evening, I could be happy.

So, like I said, I had this big thing planned. I went out last Thursday with Meg to look at rings and, in less than hour, found what I thought was the perfect one. Christy went back with me on Saturday to confirm it. I dropped some cash on the table, they slid the ring across with a knowing, sideways glance, and I set my mind on waiting for the big day to come. I was nervous and excited at the prospect, but I kept in all in check by repeating my plan, which I felt was a good one, if somewhat generic.

Then stuff changed. She hung out at my place late on Saturday night. I drove her home because she was too tired, and then brought her car back to my place. I then drove her car to church Sunday morning where everybody met (she lives with some friends of ours and caught a ride with them). After church, she and another friend went consignment shopping and I rode back to her place with our mutual friends.

Jen got home from shopping around 5 or 6, and everybody hung out for a while. Jen and Christy watched television while Chad (Christy's husband) and I worked on [project deleted until release forms signed] Later, we all watched some television. We hung out. We talked. It was nice.

It started getting late, so Jen drove me home. She sang along with the radio the whole way and maybe it had something to do with the way the moonlight came in through the window, but all I could do was stare at her and smile the whole way. Instead of dropping me off and heading straight home, she came in to visit for a while. She lives at "party central" for our group of friends so we don't get much time for just us. It's nice to have some time alone, even if it is late on a school night.

We got to talking about the usual stuff and that talk turned to our plans for marriage. It was the joking, kidding kind of stuff, and maybe it was the moonlight again or maybe it was the way she kissed me back when I tried to kiss her goodnight, but I just couldn't help noticing how spectacularly beautiful she was (and still is). It was like that night in February all over again. If I could just get up the courage. If I could just get up the courage.

"Hypothetically speaking, what kind of ring would you like?" I said.

"I don't know,” she said. “Something unique."

"What about an elephant-shaped diamond? Would you like an elephant-shaped diamond?"

"No."

"Would you say no if I proposed to you right now with an elephant-shaped diamond?" I asked, smiling.

"No. I'd say yes."

"What about a pink, heart-shaped diamond?"

"You wouldn't buy that even if you knew I really wanted one, which I don't,” she said. “I know you better than that."

"Right," I said. Then I waited a second and continued, "What about a twenty dollar bill that’s been folded up to look like a ring? Would you say no to me if I proposed with one of those?"

She laughed and said, "No. I'd say yes. Then I'd take the ring and use it to buy gasoline."

"You wouldn’t be able to drive your car, then." I said. "Becuase you'd think the gas was too precious a gift to use so flippantly."

"Right," she said. “ I guess you know me, too.”

"Ok. So elephant rings and no dollar bills. I know! What about a plastic ring from a cracker jack box? Would you say yes to that?"

"Yes. If you proposed with a plastic ring from a cracker jack box, I'd say yes."

"Hold on," I said. "I've got one in my room. I'll go get it."

I went into my room and, at first, I planned to come back out and say that I couldn’t locate it, that it was probably gone forever, and that she would never be able to marry me because I had lost the plastic cracker jack ring. I didn't think I would do it this way. Then something changed. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was the weekend, I don’t know, but I pulled out the real ring instead. And I went back to the living room and said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't find the plastic ring. All I could find was this."

Then I opened the box and revealed the ring I'd picked up just that morning. She started crying. And her mouth fell open in shock. And she covered her face with her hand the way women sometimes do when they're overwhelmed. And she looked at me with the most beautiful, surprised look I have ever seen. I told her about the big event I had planned, that it was really going to be awesome, that she would really have loved it. I told her that I really wanted to make it a special proposal, because I wanted it to be something she'd remember, and that maybe it was the moonlight or maybe it was just the fact that she's the most beautiful woman in the world, but I just couldn't wait any longer.

And then I said, "Will you marry me?"

And then she said something I couldn’t hear and I said, "Could you repeat that? I couldn't hear you."

And then she smiled and said "yes."

I put the ring on her finger. I kissed her, and she kissed me back. And then we sat like that for a while. Holding each other. In the moonlight.

Danger, Will Robinson.

2006-10-02T15:22:00.000-05:00

The state of Ohio, in its infinite wisdom, has apparently loosened the stringent vision requirements for motor vehicle operation, thus granting me another four years of driving. It was close, too. I had to guess on some of the letters and numbers. The deciding factor was either a B or an 8. I had already missed one number on the list and if I missed this one they'd take away my license. I took a quick glance at the patterns of previous lines and guessed that it was the letter. The DMV manager then sighed in relief and said, "Alright. You made it."

Which is a good thing. Because it looked more like an 8 than a B to me.

Those of you who live in Columbus are now on notice. If you're anywhere near the large state university in Ohio where I work between the hours of 7am and 6pm, and if you see the magical Conto swerving precariously across lanes and running lights, watch out. I'm not drunk. I just can't see you.

The Big Spoon Rides Again

2006-09-25T12:15:00.001-05:00

No Shit, Sherlock

2006-09-08T14:06:00.000-05:00

In an e-mail I received this afternoon from a professor regarding a website I created for him:
"I see that you used CSS sheets when you created this page. That's good! It should make things very easy for you to make these changes (he listed several pointless changes he wanted on the site, changes I had implemented earlier and then removed at his insistence). CSS sheets is (sic) a powerful tool in web development. Please come see me if you need help learning how to use it. " (sic)

My response (not really):
"Yeah. I know how stylesheets work, dumbass. I created the website, remember?"

Party

2006-08-29T15:49:00.000-05:00

We had a party at a friends house this past weekend to celebrate Caty's 30th birthday. It was a smashing good time. I'd say more about it, but I'm currently at work and work is busy at the large state university in Ohio. So take a look a my sister smoking a sotag and slap a smile on your face. Summer might be over soon, but that doesn't mean we don't still have some time left.

Wahoo!

2006-08-25T11:16:00.000-05:00

Reds tied for first
Ross, Castro lead late rally; Cards lose in New York
BY JOHN FAY | ENQUIRER STAFF WRITER

SAN FRANCISCO - The Reds started the epic 10-game West Coast road swing by moving into a virtual tie for first place in the National League Central.

"It was nice to get off on the right foot," catcher David Ross said.

You could say that.

...

The win - coupled with St. Louis' 6-2 loss to the New York Mets - puts the Reds in a virtual tie for first place in the Central. The Reds are 67-61 with a .5234375 winning percentage. The Cardinals have a .5238095 winning percentage.

(article)

E.E.S. Update

2006-08-24T09:04:00.000-05:00

I saw the eye doctor this morning and I now have an Exploding Eyeball Syndrome update. It seems that the disease as spread to the other eye! Where, before, my right eye was mildly astigmatized, it has now begun the slow descent into insanity we "saw" in my demon left eye. I wore my contacts to see the doctor and he was able to determine that, with my contacts, I can see about 20/50 in my right eye and about 20/500 in my left. Here is what I see with my right eye, and here is the same picture seen with my left.

Without my contacts, my vision is much worse.

This would be why I can't see anything. It would also explain why wearing the contacts causes my eyes to itch and get bloodshot all the time. My cone-shaped corneas are degenerating so quickly that the outside rims of the contact lenses are left flapping in the breeze, which causes them to be uncomfortable to wear.

I have to renew my license in October. Here's hoping I'm able to fool the cunning bastards at the DMV into giving me four more years to terrorize the good citizens of Columbus, Ohio!

Still Hanging On

2006-08-22T09:04:00.000-05:00

Rally upends Astros: Aurilia, Clayton deliver big hits as Reds pick up half game on Cards (source)

All night the crowd of 24,110 at Great American Ball Park was begging for some offensive fireworks.

It took a while, but the Reds obliged - big time.

The Reds scored four runs in the eighth inning - three on a home run by Rich Aurilia - to beat the Houston Astros 4-3 Monday.

The Final Countdown

2006-08-20T21:49:00.000-05:00

Gob not available for comment.

SoaP

2006-08-18T10:59:00.000-05:00

+

=

Badness

2006-08-17T08:13:00.000-05:00

You know its going to be a bad day when you get into work on the first day that everyone is supposed to move into your building, only to find that the switches for one of the major networks have gone down, none of the staff computers will connect, and the network administrator is on vacation.

Time for some ghetto networking, courtesy of Sasquatch Inc!

ADDENDUM:
1) Oh yeah ... and the room full of faculty computers I disasselbed and organized into neat piles for moving yesterday has apparently disappeared as well. The movers don't know what happened to them!

2) Oh yeah .... and the website I recently finished was rejected by the people who need it because I gave them everything they asked for down to each adn every explicitly annopying detail, and they ended up not liking it. They want me to do it all over again ... by Monday!

3) Oh yeah ... and the alcoholic faculty member in my office was the first to arrive this morning. Having discovered that her office is in a shambles, she has decided to blame me, saying she won't leave my office until I tell her what happened to her desk. Now my office smells like Bourbon and Vicodin.

Hopping The Pond

2006-08-16T13:47:00.000-05:00

An exchange this afternoon between me and the director of my department at the large state university in Ohio where I work:

Director: Are you all set up for the conference in October?
Sasquatch: Yep. Airfare and accomodations are settled. All that's left is waiting.
Direector: Do you have any other conferences or training classes you'd like to attend in the near future?
Sasquatch: Not yet. It's hard to find stuff that's relevant to my position.
Director: Check out some universities in Europe. They're a bit ahead of the ball when it comes to [technology thing you don't care about].
Sasquatch: Europe?
Director: What? Have you never been?
Sasquatch: No. No, I haven't.
Director: Well this should be fun for you, then.

Put this on the list of many reasons why I love my job.

More on abortion

2006-08-02T22:15:00.000-05:00

I sat quietly, listening to other people discuss the issues of abortion the other day,and this is what it was like.

Instructions: Make sure that each video is loaded fully by clicking the big play buttong and then hitting pause. Once the videos are loaded, hit play on each video as quickly as possible. Turn the audio all the way up.

Also, smack yourself in the face with a sledgehammer while this is going on.

Babies Everywhere

2006-08-02T07:58:00.000-05:00

I was on my way to work yesterday, when I saw what appeared to be an older model Ford Escort with no less than two hundred plastic baby dolls glued to the hood, roof, and doors in a the fashion of Chihuly art. What struck me as odd, aside from all the plastic babies, was the person who drove the car. He wore a Pizza hut uniform. Keep in mind. It was slightly past seven in the morning.

Several questions floated through my brain at that moment. Why all the babies? Why the pizza delivery uniform? Who was ordering pizza at seven in the morning and why would the dleivery driver show up in a car covered in babies? Was it performance art? Was it a political statement? Perhaps something about abortion? If so, what is the statement? There weren’t pictures of aborted fetuses, like the kind you sometimes see on huge billboards. The babies weren’t disfigured. They weren't arranged in such a way as to convey some sense of meaning. It was simply a large collection of plastic dolls super glued to a car as it drove around the campus of the large state university in Ohio where I work.

It was a lot to handle that early in the morning, so I sat there for a second and then went to work as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

WTF?

2006-07-31T09:07:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I posted anything. So here's a video.

Wise Words

2006-07-17T08:45:00.000-05:00

In the Team Cynical(tm) meeting this morning, one of the team members brought up an issue sent in by one of the librarians at the state university in Ohio where I work. Once the issue had been discussed, the aforementioned team member took the time to share the librarian's e-mail signature. It went like this: "There are no problems in life which cannot be dissipated by a good book."

The cynical team member then laughed and said, "Yeah, I'd sure like to see how a book is going to help dissipate your problems if your arm is caught in a wood chipper."

Several other Cynical Team Members laughed, and then one of them spoke up. "Wait," he said. "If you had read the instruction manual, chances are your arm would not have been caught in the wood chipper to begin with." Everybody grumbled agreement.

They may be cynical and they may have a bleak outlook on life, their jobs, and any purpose or meeing in life, but at least they have a sense of humor!

It's The End of the World AS We Know It (and I feel fine)

2006-07-17T07:48:00.000-05:00

I get into work this morning and I find these stories waiting for me:

7.2 magnitude earthquake hits Indonesia, Java struck by 6-foot tsunami
A powerful earthquake sent a 6-foot-high tsunami crashing into a beach resort on Indonesia's Java island Monday, killing at least five people and causing extensive damage to hotels, restaurants and homes, the president and witnesses said.

and this…

Israel Ground Troups Enter Lebanon

Israeli ground troops entered southern Lebanon to attack Hezbollah bases on the border, but they rapidly returned to Israel after conducting their military operations, officials said Monday.

and this…

Next target: Tel Aviv
Hezbollah rockets yesterday killed eight Israelis in the strategic northern city of Haifa - amid new fears that the next round of missiles could be headed for Tel Aviv. Officials believe Hezbollah is plotting to hit the country's second-biggest city, and worked through the night to install upgraded radar and radio systems that could detect an attack.

and, finally, this …

Many still flock to N.J. Winking Jesus
The raucous revival atmosphere is gone; the curiosity-seekers have long since moved on to the next big thing. But the "Miracle on Jackson St." - a plaster statue of Jesus that some say opened one of its eyes a year ago - is still drawing scores of religious faithful to Hoboken."Since God opened one of the eyes, you have faith," said Vincent Ortiz, who often prays before the statue - and its gleaming blue right eye - on his way to work.

Bring on the four horseman. Bring on the Brittney Spears/Aerosmith/Run DMC super group. It’s time for Armageddon!

World Domination

2006-07-16T22:16:00.000-05:00

Today, while speaking on the phone with my girlfriend, I heard her say the following in response to all the bad craziness going on in Israel, Lebanon, and the rest of the Middle East. "In the future, we should make it a requirement that all politicians have played RISK to some extent in their childhood."

I then said, "They've fallen victim to one of the classic blunders: never get involved in a land war in Asia."

She followed it up immediately with, "Only slightly less known is never to go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line."

Reason #4,976,453 why I love her.

Bored on a Friday

2006-07-14T13:41:00.000-05:00

I was beginning to think nothing interesting would happen today. Then I read the following quote from Frank Zappa, in response to a popular rumor, which made me laugh like a three headed sloth:

"For the record, folks: I never took a shit on stage, and the closest I ever came to eating shit anywhere was at a Holiday Inn buffet in Fayetteville, North Carolina, in 1973."

I don't know why, but I just couldn't stop laughing.

Spam Haiku

2006-07-12T10:24:00.000-05:00

Among the volumes of spam I get each morning at my work e-mail addres, I recevied two e-mails with the following subject lines, written apparently in haiku:

Spam Haiku #1: An ad for financial investments
"No," I said. "Let's wait."
She spoke of very simple things
How much would she have?

Spam Haiku #2: You can figure it out.
Inadequacy
All things are greater with size
enlarge your penis.

Either there are some creative spammers out there, or the guys writing code for human language approximation are getting really good.

more idiots

2006-07-12T09:41:00.000-05:00

Regardless of what you think about this issue, you gotta love this picture. It's been sitting in my pictures file for weeks and I have no idea where it came from.

Idiots

2006-07-11T12:00:00.000-05:00

Read this, then read this, and then laugh like a banshee. (source)

The Sasquatch: Asshole

2006-07-10T12:25:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend, a friend of mine laughed at me and my failed attempt to quit caffeine. The best part, he said, was that I had been so smug and self-righteous about it. This made me a bit nervous, since I really hate it when people act like that I make a sincere effort to stop myself from acting like that particular kind of asshole whenever possible. The worst part, though, was that he claims to have read such smugness right here on my blog. I went back and checked my previous entries just to be sure and, lo and behold, I can’t seem to find anything that was exceptionally self righteous with respect to my brief respite from caffeine slavery.

Here is one paragraph from an entry on June 23:

“I gave up caffeine. Yes. Me, the guy who is single-handedly responsible for bringing Diet Mountain Dew into the mainstream through continuous consumption of the sweet nectar, has given up his nasty vice. It’s been almost four days since I quit and, now that the gremlins have stopped gnawing on my head, I’m beginning to see the world through new, clearer eyes. Continued side effects include, rampant dizziness, unending exhaustion, a powerful and unquenchable thirst, a constant ringing in the ears, and a slightly more mature outlook on how to approach the world. Perhaps I should go back.“

I guess the “slightly more mature outlook” comment could be viewed in that light, but I figured it would have been outweighed by all the physical maladies I listed previous to that statement, most notably the rampant dizziness and ringing of the ears, which have continued throughout the inexorable relapse you all knew was coming. That, and the admission in the very next sentence:

“Oh yeah. I might also be diabetic. Have a nice day!”

Which ended up not being true, but still made me feel a bit on edge that afternoon. In the very next entry on June 30, I began with the following, completely humble statement:

“I am the man!”

But, of course, I meant that in respect to the web design project I had recently completely; a project which failed, by the way. I know this post was not in reference to caffeine in any manner, however, since later in this post, I say the following:

“In case you couldn’t tell. I’m back on the caffeine. And, lo, it is a good thing. At least until the stomach cramps start, that is.”

As far as I can tell, I wasn’t being an asshole about the whole thing. I never claimed that quitting caffeine made me a better person or that I was somehow morally superior to all others for abstaining from it. I don’t do that shit, and I don’t even like to pretend to do that shit because people who act like that piss me off. So if you got the impression that I was being a smug, self-righteous asshole in any way, shape, or form, please accept my most heartfelt apologies. It was either a miscommunication on my part or a poorly phrased attempt at humor.

Discombobulated Whirl

2006-07-07T14:48:00.000-05:00

People. People. People.

There's an hour of work left on a Friday afternoon in this foul year of our Lord, 2006, and I can think of nothing better to do than write something, especially since the construction people of the large state university in Ohio where I work have apparently decided to put the totality of their technical acumen to good use through banging large, metal wrenches against thick, percussive poles endlessly, for hours upon end. Seriously. It's like they're going for a fucking record or something. My eyes have stopped working and the devastation of Meniere's disease upon my inner ear has persuaded the desk in front of me to jump ten feet to the left at random intervals all day. Just when I think its safe to start work again, somebody puts my office on spin cycle and everything flies around me in a discombobulated whirl. This means that even if I wanted to do real work I can't because my office won't let me.

Driving home should be fun.

So what are you up to? Is work going well? Are your various and sundry public service endeavors turning out like you had hoped? I realize that sounds sarcastic, and I apologize. I don't mean to be. I actually have a deep respect for whatever the hell it is you do. You're an amazing person and a testament to all that is American or Canadian or whatever nationality you are. I don't mean to be this way. It's just that, in my current state of mind, I can't help but sound like an ass.

I crossed the street this afternoon in search of a chipotle burrito and ran into a telephone pole. I mistepped while trying to avoid a homeless person who simultaneously begged for spare change and wished God's blessing upon all those who declined to share the contents of their emaciated pockets. He moved this way and that like a professional dancer in rags, jumping and thrusting his appendages at queer angles like a gazelle with loose tendons. I don't think he saw me coming, because after he imparted the wisdom of Job upon two college students who failed to notice him above the din of their iPods, he leapt backward, thrusting his arms in the air, shouting, "God say's it's gonna be all good!" His trajectory left him in my path, which would normally have been an easy thing to avoid. Unfortunately my aforementioned vertigo took that moment to tilt the earth downard and to the right, and I ran face first into the pole. This was a lucky thing, though. Because at that very moment a city bus blasted through the intersection at nearly 50 miles per hour. I might be a match for a VW Bug, but a city bus would have eaten me for lunch, which would be ironic since it was I who had recently sought noontime sustenenace.

The circule of life, indeed!

Alright. Enough babble. Everybody return to their regularly schedule programs, and I shall return to my previous love, professional yodeling. Ah the fun memories I have from my days as head yodeler on the professional circuit: the oppressive crowds, the thrill of competition, the sexy leiderhosen, the suffocating stench of sauerkraut. It was an amazing time but, sadly, it is another story for another day.

Yodeleeeee HEEEE hooo!

Call me Milton

2006-06-30T14:18:00.000-05:00

I’m wasting the final minutes of a pre-holiday Friday afternoon at the state university in Ohio where I work, writing meandering dialogue for a play that won’t seem to start moving and listening to The Killers’ Hot Fuss album. It seems I am not quite the man I thought I was in my previous post. The layouts I designed didn’t quite fly like I had hoped. But that’s ok. I have all next week to really mess things up.

I also learned this afternoon that, despite administration’s intimations to the contrary, I am moving out of my office in August or maybe September to make room for visiting librarians who may or may not be here until next Summer (2007). I get to move my tiny little lab, my boxes full of wires and connector thingies, and the two workstations and desks for my student workers into an office that is slightly smaller than where I currently live. This office is essentially a hallway between two major offices on my floor.

Oh yeah. It doubles as a storage closet!

This is good news, though. It means that once I get moved in and everyone realizes I am the loose tire without a valve stem, I can make the casual suggestion that perhaps working from home will serve as a viable alternative to on campus employment while the library renovation plans get started. Once the library renovation is completed (somewhere between 10 years and 200 years from now), I can move back into the storage closet. My student workers should have graduated by then.

So it looks like fun times here at Sasquatch Headquarters! Wahoo!

I’m sure they’ll get it all worked out. And if they don’t, I’m not too worried. It means I get to hang out in the comfortable computer labs with my laptop while they decide what’s going on.

Veni, Vidi, Vici

2006-06-30T11:04:00.000-05:00

I am the man.

I just designed two separate and somewhat complicated Wikimedia layouts and stylesheets for the library wiki we’re running at the state university in Ohio where I work. Additionally, I set up an off-wiki account request form, finished up some scripts for another site, cleaned up my e-mail account, and even had time to check out all the blogs I’ve missed in the past week. Not only that, but I did it all before noon.

In case you couldn’t tell. I’m back on the caffeine. And, lo, it is a good thing. At least until the stomach cramps start, that is.

Now that I’m finished with work-related work, I’m off to work on the three plays I need to write over the next two months. I hope your Fourth of July weekend is exciting. Try not to pour acid all over your eyeballs... like I did last year...when I was completely sober...no, really, I was...I'm serious...stop looking at me like that.

Given all the fun going on the Middle East right now, why not check out the Armageddon Flow Chart, just to see how close we are to destruction.

Updates from The Sasquatch

2006-06-23T13:12:00.000-05:00

So the play is over and everything is pretty much back to normal here at Sasquatch headquarters. There are a couple of interesting things going on around here, most of which you would likely rather not hear. But I’ll tell you anyway. Because this is my site and I’ll do as I please, thank you very much.

Did I mention that I have a girlfriend, now? If not, I do! Her name is Jen and she lives in the original home of the Sasquatch, Cincinnati. We’ve known each other for a while and we’ve been interested in each other for a while. Only neither of us had the guts to say anything about it. At the risk of sounding sexist, I should have said something about it earlier, but I didn’t. No matter. The present is what counts and at present we are together. Here is a picture of us together in Toronto over Memorial Day weekend.

** ** ** **

Now that the play is over, it would only seem logical that I should move onto other projects. Or maybe pay attention to my real job. Thankfully, that is not the case. I have several other dramatic performances to begin planning. The first is a play I’m writing for the Columbus area Firelight Theater Company (which does not yet have a website). The second is a collection of one acts I’ve been writing, which Wildwood will likely perform. Now, those of you out there in the know might start thinking to yourselves, “woah. The Sasquatch is writing for two separate theater companies!” Not so fast, bucko. The same people populate both companies. One is church related and the other is not so church related.

That means I can actually say bad words in the non church-related company!

Finally, I have yet another play I’m writing, which is for no group in particular, based on the book of Job. It's a comedy, though, so don't be afraid. I probably won’t finish that one until next year, though, since I still have to write The Book™, and start that cartoon with Chad.

I’m also thinking about going back to grad school, only this time I’d study library science instead of Information Systems. Sure, Library Science isn’t what it used to be, but I think the industry is merely undergoing a massive change, and those with library degrees as well as an I.T. background will find themselves in high demand in the near future. If not, at least I’ll have a happy pile of debt to deal with. That has to count for something, right?

I gave up caffeine. Yes. Me, the guy who is single-handedly responsible for bringing Diet Mountain Dew into the mainstream through continuous consumption of the sweet nectar, has given up his nasty vice. It’s been almost four days since I quit and, now that the gremlins have stopped gnawing on my head, I’m beginning to see the world through new, clearer eyes. Continued side effects include, rampant dizziness, unending exhaustion, a powerful and unquenchable thirst, a constant ringing in the ears, and a slightly more mature outlook on how to approach the world.

Perhaps I should go back.

Oh yeah. I might also be diabetic. Have a nice day!

Pointless Essay #Q: Tolerance

2006-06-15T13:26:00.000-05:00

The library of the large state university in Ohio where I work had a staff appreciation lunch on the big lawn today. I had the opportunity to sit with two ladies from the Slavic and Cyrillic library, and we talked about our jobs. I learned that the two ladies are from very different backgrounds. One is Bosnian and the other is Croatian. That might not mean much here in America, but in Eastern Europe that’s like saying one is Sunni and the other is Shiite, or one is Capulet and the other a Montegue.

One is a Hatfield and the other a McCoy.

Due to the nature of their collection, they often have guests from Eastern Europe over to visit. They will stay in the city of the large state university in Ohio where I work and spend their days pouring over the vast collection of ancient literature and whatnot. The ladies told me that their personal heritage can sometimes come into play.

“We have to warn people that I am from Serbia and she is from Croatia,” one lady said, “because sometimes they make inappropriate and disparaging comments about one race or the other if they don’t know. It might not sound right to us here in the States, but that’s just how they do things over there.”

We went on to talk about the geographical landscape of Eastern Europe and how, in order to retain their history, culture, and heritage, many groups also retained the social prejudices that went along with it. Otherwise, they argued, this heritage would be lost forever. ”It’s unfortunate,” they said, “but that’s the world they live in.”

After this happy conversation, they asked me what I did. I told them that I sat around all day, watching movies on my computer and posting to my blog and they smiled, saying that it sounded interesting. (actually, I told them what I did and they were immediately bored beyond belief; which is ironic, considering they deal with ancient Slavic tax records all day). They asked if this was my first experience working in a library and I said that I had worked as a Circulation manager at the highly esteemed University of Cincinnati Medical School library (you can’t spell SUCKS with out UC!), and that this was the city in which I was raised.

“Cincinnati’s a weird town,” one of them told me. “I’ve never understood it. Everybody there is so f**king conservative. I hate it.”

“Yes,” the other lady said, “What’s the deal with you people?”

Now I understood that they were joking, but I still found it mildly ironic that these ladies, who had spent a great deal of time discussing the great pains to they take in order to avoid offending people with Slavic backgrounds, would so easily speak about Cincinnatians and conservatives in such broad, derisive, and stereotypical terms, especially when you consider that they had never met me and knew nothing about me.

I told them that Cincinnati was a lot like Eastern Europe when it comes to tolerance and diversity and the acceptance of outside cultures. Due to its geographical landscape of surrounding hills, the city developed through small valley towns in between the hills which, for many years, remained isolated from the others with only a few rare exceptions. As the city grew and the towns expanded, the small pockets of civilization had to choose whether to give up their individuality and welcome outsiders or remain as they were. Many of the small towns refused to accept outsiders, which is why many people who move into the city from other locations can still feel like outsiders even after living their for over a decade. It is also why the city feels like it is stuck in the ‘70s, and has slowly begun a cultural descent that is eaten on one side by the aging population of those who were here in its heyday and on the other, the rampant flashy, suburbanized, tract housing blandness that threatens to destroy most cities across America.

I went on to say that, while the county is excessively conservative, the city is actually quite liberal. There is a vibrant arts and music scene, there are major sports teams with rich histories, and there are two major universities that contribute to the global community of science, art, architecture, and literature. The majority of Cincinnati’s politicians are democrats, and nearly every mayor in the city’s history has been rabidly liberal. This is the city that spawned Jerry Springer, remember.

“Well they need to stop being so damn conservative and just get with the times,” the ladies said, and we moved on to discuss other things.

I was surprised, though, that these women, who were open to other cultures outside the American landscape, would be close-minded when it came to domestic differences. This is, I think, a problem with the way we view society here in America. Have you noticed that both sides of the political spectrum make it a habit of accusing the other of close-mindedness? It’s almost to the point that this has become the defining characteristic of “those with whom we disagree,” and this is likely a large part of why so many people on either side of the equation refuse to discuss issues with people who challenge them.

This is a gross misconception about society as a whole. Most of us work with people who think differently. Pro choice people work hand in hand with pro life people. Homosexuals and conservative Christians shop in the same supermarkets. Democrats and Republicans sit next to each other at company picnics, eat the same food, drink the same beer, and often laugh at the same jokes. We are not as different as the popular beliefs make us out to be.

So how do we define cultural diversity and tolerance? Does tolerance mean that we should accept differing opinions as equally correct, even if those opinions exist in diametric opposition? Does it mean that we should recognize our differences and merely learn to co-exist? Or does it mean we should recognize people’s right to be wrong about stuff, realize that many of our deeply held beliefs and convictions are likely just as wrong, and commit to learning from other people through community?

I’ve always believed it’s the third one. While it is the most difficult, it can also be the most rewarding. It means that some of us conservative Christians can learn a thing or two about standing up to opposition (like Christ did) through the struggles faced by many in the homosexual community, many at the hands of our brethren. It means that socialists and free market capitalists can finally come together and realize that where one idea is weak, the other is strong, and that an economic ideal likely exists with both ends of the spectrum working in concert. It means Eastern Europeans realizing that historical mistakes really do repeat themselves if we fail to learn from them, and that the correct response to this repetition is not to sit back and call those involved close-minded, but rather to actively work towards quelling those mistakes before they get started.

And it means that fat, bald, white guys from Cincinnati should realize that this is a difficult thing for Eastern Europeans to do. Or anyone else for that matter.

Come see the play

2006-06-11T20:21:00.000-05:00

The play is this Friday at 8pm. Be there.

Only A Week Away

2006-06-08T07:54:00.000-05:00

ADDENDUM: Many thanks to Chad for the trailer production and to Poindexter for taking all the snazzy pictures.

Pointless Essay: Reasonable Faith

2006-06-06T14:19:00.000-05:00

P.Z. Myers over at Pahryngula has an interesting post on faith, arguing that it is worthless in modern society. He has this to say:

“Faith is a hole in your brain. Faith stops critical thinking. Faith is a failure point inculcated into people's minds, an unguarded weak point that allows all kinds of nasty, maggoty, wretched ideas to crawl into their heads and take up occupancy. Supporting faith is like supporting people who refuse to be vaccinated: they're harmless in and of themselves, they may be perfectly healthy right now, but they represent fertile ground for disease, and they represent potential severe damage to the social compact. When you're in a culture that worships Abraham's insanity, you're fostering the nonsense that enables the Son of Sam.”

In response to somebody else’s post about the idiotic pseudo-requirement that politicians must be people of faith in order to advance, PZ continues further with this:

“When the core of the institution is an acceptance of irrational, the ones who will climb to the top are those most able to exploit the delusions of the masses, or who are most earnest and unhesitating in their endorsement of foolishness.”

PZ is showing his hand. He launches into a derisive rant about faith without ever having defined it for us. To him, apparently, faith is an acceptance of the irrational, not an acceptance of something that, while rationality may exist to varying degrees, is not or cannot be proven beyond a certain extent. According to PZ, believing in the Flying Spaghetti Monster requires faith, but adhering to a scientific description, which is merely an inexact human approximation of reality, as truth and not an approximation of such requires absolutely no leap in logic. Science requires faith as well, and if you disagree, please explain whether you believe the Big Bang or String Theory of cosmogony (or something else) and share with us the perfect line of logic that has lead you to this conclusion.

Then give me a reason to believe that naturalism is the only valid system for determining existence and reality. I’m all ears.

P.Z. states that all religious belief is irrational and that we should conclude that statements of faith are merely the actions of small minds that do not wish to do the kind of work necessary to succeed. P.Z. makes the classic atheistic mistake when discussing issues of faith and spirituality. When confronted with an idea he either cannot handle or disagrees with, he merely changes the rules so that he does not have to. He argues from preclusion. He says that the supernatural cannot exist because its very existence does not fit into his limited, naturalistic worldview. The supernatural isn’t natural therefore it doesn’t exist. The astute observer will realize, of course, that it is quite irrational to assume that all of existence can be defined by our understanding of science, especially given the fact that scientists themselves claim there is a whole lot out there we just don’t understand. This kind of thinking requires a great deal of – oh, the irony – faith.

It’s easy to call yourself the tallest man in the world if you limit your definition of humanity to those people who are your height and shorter.

Don’t get me wrong. I actually agree with some of what Dr. Myers has to say. I don’t like the idea that politicians must pander to certain sections of religious society in order to get elected. I also believe that people quite often rely on faith as a crutch and refuse to think about things deeply. There’s a quote in the Bible somewhere that says as much, too, I think. It says (and I’m paraphrasing here) “Why are you still messing with this easy stuff. You should have moved onto meatier things a long time ago. Get moving!” I don’t like the big Bang argument that goes like this: “God said it and BANG, it happened.” This type of thinking severely limits human understanding and it cheapens everyone as a whole.

This does not mean that we should discount all faith in every situation, only those which are clearly irrational. This, of course, begs the question. What is rational? This is the position he should have argued. P.Z. obviously has some issues with people who believe in God. He thinks it’s irrational, but rather than explain the distinction between the kind of faith required to accept something that is irrational and the kind of faith it takes to believe something that is completely rational and yet not proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, he assumes all faith is obviously counter to standard logic, refuses to address those things he finds irrational about Christianity or any kind of religion for that matter, calls those who are open about their faith some nasty names, and moves on. In short, he sidesteps the argument because he lacks the mental cajones to engage in the debate.

He says that faith is a “hole in the brain,” but I wonder if he believes the same of his own.

Friday Morning

2006-05-19T08:23:00.000-05:00

It’s Friday morning and I can’t work. It’s not that I am incapable. It’s just that I really don’t want to do what I’m supposed to do today. All I want to do is sit here at my desk, surf the Internet and listen to Common through the fat headphones I found in the pile of crap my predecessor left when she moved on to other things.

I’ve never been much of a fan of rap and r&b, mostly because I’ve held strong to the belief that if you’ve heard one person scream about “bitches and ho’s” you’ve heard them all. This album is a bit different, though. Through the first few Mingus-inspired measures of the title song “Be,” to the inclusion of Umar bin Hassan from The Last Poets on “The Corner”, it’s a solid album, and it makes me wonder if there is more to the genre than what is commercially successful. It makes me wonder if there is a whole school of rappers out in the same vein as Nas, Mos Def, and muMs, people whose lyrics are based more on poetry and real life than the standard mindless chant you hear on the radio.

Don’t worry. I don’t like most popular music, not just rap. I believe the plague of midnlessness exists in all genres. It dominates, even. My mom says I’m a music bigot, but I’m not. I just don’t listen to bad music. What’s wrong with that?

** ** ** **

It’s raining again today. It’s been raining nearly every day for the last week and half. I’ve always wanted to live in Seattle. Now it seems that I do, except I don't get to look at the ocean.

** ** ** **

I put up a poster for the play yesterday, and slowly but surely people stopped by to ask what it was. I told them it was a play I had written and that even though I am a terrible actor, I’m going to actually be IN the play. I told them they were all welcome to attend, if they like, but that I cannot be held responsible for the sudden and violent urge to vomit after listening to me warble like a three headed chicken onstage. They laughed and said that, after my reading of Young Goodman Browne a few weeks ago, they were sure I’d do fine.

I warned them. That’s all I can do, really.

** ** ** **

If you’re having a bad day, watch this and smile.

City of Boulder, CO To Institute Newspeak

2006-05-15T09:28:00.000-05:00

Citizens encouraged to turn in neighbors for telling bad jokes. "Finally we have the freedom of controlled language," say city leaders.

From the Denver Post, by David Harsanyi:

There's a famous joke that goes like this: What's the difference between a Rottweiler and a Jewish mother? Eventually, the Rottweiler lets go.

Now, some Jews may find that joke offensive. I don't. But if you're insulted, and you live in Boulder, you're in luck. Soon enough, you may be able to report me to the authorities.

Tuesday, the Boulder City Council will take up the matter of allocating public funding for a "hate hotline," which would give residents an opportunity to report incidents in which Boulderites use tactless language.

...

So, it seems that since purifying our thoughts is still beyond technology's reach, Boulder will now attempt to achieve politically correct speech codes in other ways.

The council should realize, however ugly it may be, Americans still have the constitutional right to be racist, homophobic, Jew-hating or even to make bad jokes - as anyone who's heard the one about the redneck who invented the ejection seat on the helicopter can tell you.

Round them up and send them to the Ministry of Love. Maybe they'll lose their minds when they run into Michael Palin wearing a creepy baby mask

Peanuts and Cracker Jacks

2006-05-12T09:12:00.000-05:00

This post is going to be about baseball, just so you know.

When the season started, I was skeptical. The Cincinnati Reds haven’t had a good team in almost 6 years and they haven’t threatened to have a serious shot at post season play in over a decade. They have a good offense, sure, and they have had a few decent pitchers over the years, but for the past couple of seasons they seem to have lacked that extra “something” that turns a good team into a great team.

The Reds have done well this season, but the question of legitimacy has sat at the back of my mind throughout all of it. They’ve started well a couple of times, and one season they even made it to the All Star break in first place. But each year they fall apart. They loose a couple of close games, they loose a couple more, and before you know it management has traded your favorite players to Pittsburgh for a bag of Doritos and a six pack of Iron City Ale (which sucks, by the way).

Last night the Reds’ de facto ace, Bronson Arroyo, was on the mound and he was stellar. He pitched eight innings of shutout baseball with 8 strikeouts and only 1 or 2 walks. He got a little wild in the eighth inning, so they took him out in the ninth and sent in the closer, David Weathers, with a one run lead. He promptly gave up a run to send the game into extra innings.

The Reds were deep into the bullpen with their fourth pitcher by the eleventh inning, and things weren’t good. White gave up a homerun to Nick Johnson, and the infield followed that up with a series of blunders that let the Washington Nationals take a 4-1 lead into the bottom of the ninth.

It was getting late and I was tired, so I went to bed without watching the bottom of the eleventh. There was no way they could pull it out, I thought. The Reds were doomed. That’s it. Game over. Zip up your fly.

So, imagine my surprise when I checked the newspaper this morning and saw that the Reds came through in the bottom of the inning to win 5-4. The winning hit was a three run homerun by Ken Griffey Jr. who, before last night, had been on the disabled list for over a month. I imagine it was very exciting.

The Reds are certainly not the best team in baseball, and they do have a lot of questions; most notably the bullpen. But I’m beginning to believe that they finally have the confidence it takes to win. It probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to me.

It’s a nice feeling.

A Strange Thing

2006-05-08T15:04:00.000-05:00

A funny thing just happened. I walked across the street to visit my drug dealer (aka the people who sell Diet Mountain Dew and Orbitz cheweing gum, which I use to mask my Tourette's-induced facial tic), and on the way back I heard the whistling solo from the song "Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard" by Paul Simon. I was reminded of the scene in The Royal Tenennbaums where Gene Hackman's character at the kids dart across a busy New York street, enjoying the warmth of a fun summer day. I had the sudden urge to dart out inot traffic and put my cares to the wind. Just then a city bus blasted through the intersection in front of me at no less than 50 miles per hour.

It's a good thing I'm not impulsive.

Addendum:
Pagoda. Where's my havelina?

Pointless Essay number (previous plus one): Abortion Ideology

2006-05-08T13:43:00.000-05:00

I recently discussed the issue of abortion with somebody, and I was left with the distinct impression that he had made up his mind about me and my opinions and my reasons for holding the opinions that I do well before the conversation started. I suspect he had made up his mind about me well before he even met me. In response to this person, all I have to say about abortion is this:

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Quick. Tell me your opinions on abortion. Go ahead. Right now. Tell me. Are you pro-life or pro-choice? Pro-death or anti-choice? Which is it? Make up your mind right now and tell me. Quickly. Let me know. It’s easy. All you have to do is say whether you think abortion ends a life or whether you believe it is just a ball of lifeless flesh that a woman should be able to get rid of without provocation from outside influences. It’s a simple decision, really. Do you believe that killing babies is ok or do you want to force women into pregnant servitude? It’s not a big deal. Just make up your mind which camp you want to be in and relay that information to me so I can conveniently compartmentalize your entire thought process into a simple box which I will lovingly and gently smash into teeny tiny little pieces for being the exact polar opposite of everything I believe. You are wrong, whichever decision you make, and I will ridicule you forever for your stupidity and heartlessness and small mindedness. So make your decision. Go ahead. But remember, whichever decision you make, it is wrong. Because you are a bad person no matter who you are, and I don’t really care about abortion, women’s rights, the life of the child, the people involved, the emotional impact, or the far reaching societal consequences of this momentous decision. All I care about is how much I hate you. So make your decision. And do it quickly.

There is a lot more blood to spill after yours.

The Atheist Test

2006-05-04T21:59:00.000-05:00

It's not exactly true, but there are parts of it that are dead on. ..

The Pyrrhonian

The results are in, and it appears that you have scored 44%...

Quietly confident and aloof, the Pyrrhonian recognises that religions exist and that people subscribe to them, but manages to keep well out of it all. Pyrrhonians came to the realisation long ago that all matters of faith are beyond the scope of reason or argument, and thus retains a clear-headed skeptical approach to religion in general. They refuse to place belief in anything for which there is no proof, and regard the majority of theistic claims as irreconcilable. Leading a life of tranquility undisturbed by religious concerns, the position of the Pyrrhonian is enviable, if a little frustrating for others at times.

Link: The Atheist Test written by chi_the_cynic on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Decaffeinated Apocalypse

2006-05-01T13:37:00.000-05:00

I was going to quit drinking caffeine today. I had it all planned out, too. I brought six of those Crystal Light drinks that were on sale at Kroger’s last night and I had a schedule worked out where I would have one bottle of Crystal Light and then refill it with water. This would last me most of the day, I calculated, and when I got home I would either drink a bottle of caffeine free pop or several glasses of water through dinner, play practice, and the remainder of the evening.

It’s a great plan, but it didn’t work out like I had hoped. You see, the bottle of Crystal Light was only 16oz as opposed to the 20oz bottles of Diet Mountain Dew to which I have become accustomed. I drank the first three at 8am, another one at 10 while I was at a meeting, and the last two I downed in conjunction with my lunch at noon. For the past two hours, I have sat at my desk, staring at the clock, thinking about how great it would be to have a cold bottle of Diet Mountain Dew to sip on. That’s when the headache started. It was small at first, just a tickle above my left eye, but it spread quickly across the left hemisphere of my now bald head where it currently sits, throbbing with each successive heartbeat.

So I went across the street to the Vietnamese Deli and purchased not one but two 20oz bottles of Diet Mountain Dew. The headache has lessened and if I’m lucky it will be gone by this evening, allowing me to focus on remembering my lines for the play (lest Abbie should decapitate me and feast on the remains).

All this caffeinated fun got me thinking. What would happen if there was a national emergency and suddenly we were without the niceties we currently enjoy? What if, for instance, all the power went out, or all the major us cities were destroyed in nuclear explosions? What if the Stay Puft Marshmallow man came for us all?

Those that weren’t killed in the original marshmallowy onslaught, would undoubtedly be confused for a week or so afterwards. Many would put aside their differences and band together as a community in a way similar to what we saw in the aftermath of 9/11 … for a time. Soon there would be food shortages. Soon there would be contaminated water. Soon the prescription medications would run out. Eventually, we’d all run out of our particular version of Diet Mountain Dew. And then were would we be?

I’m talking about disaster of biblical proportions. Old Testament, real, wrath of God type of stuff. Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies, rivers and seas boiling, forty years of darkness, earthquakes, volcanoes, the dead rising from the grave, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together.

Mass Hysteria.

All because we’re too damn dependent upon Diet Mountain Dew. The sad thing is that I know all of this and yet I keep drinking the stuff. Because when you get right down to it, Diet Mountain Dew is one tasty beverage!

And my city would likely be incinerated anyway.

Professionalism and Crocs with Chainsaws

2006-04-28T11:39:00.000-05:00

[words deleted for work-related reasons]

And here’s another good thing. Somewhere in Australia, a couple of ranchers were cutting down a tree with a chainsaw when a crocodile, who was tired of all the noise, chased them down and stole it. He then proceeded to chew on the chainsaw for over an hour and half just to get it to shut the hell up.

I feel that way about my alarm clock sometimes.

I never could get the hang of Thursdays

2006-04-27T22:24:00.000-05:00

You ever have days when you feel like you'e an amazing asshole? That everyone around you merely tolerates your presence, waiting for that blissful moment when you are gone so they can go back to the regularly scheduled program of their lives? You ever feel like jumping into a car and disappearing, not because anything is bothering you, per se, but because you feel like you are a bother to everyone else? Even though you know in your head it isn't true, you still can't shake that feeling. It pervades all your thoughts and actions for the day, keeps you silent, makes you invisible.

I'm not a big fan of days like that.

It's an ILLUSION!

2006-04-26T11:56:00.000-05:00

Read this article from ETV and cue the music to "The Final Countdown" ...

Illusionist DAVID COPPERFIELD's latest trick may be his most practical -- the celebrity foiled an attempted robbery using his powers of illusion.
Copperfield and two women were walking in West Palm Beach, FL when they were robbed at gunpoint. While the two women were forced to hand over their
purse and money, Copperfield did what he does best: he performed an illusion.
When the robbers told him to empty his pockets, Copperfield, who was carrying a cellphone, wallet and passport, used his sleight of hand and pulled out his pockets to reveal nothing... the contents were gone, and the robbers were none the wiser.
As the robbers fled the scene, David took down the license plate number and aided the police department in quickly apprehending the suspects, who were also linked to five other armed robberies within the same week. David himself was amazed at the fast response time and the efficiency with which the West Palm Beach police and detectives apprehended the armed suspects.

The most shocking aspect of that story is not that David Copperfield was able to foil the robbers. It was that he was able to convince not one but TWO women to hang out with him. That is a feat of magic right there.

Tha Conference: Day 2

2006-04-20T10:23:00.000-05:00

Day 2 of the conference is off to a great start. I first took part in a session about setting up OSX labs in an educational environment (shut up, Nate). I was hoping for something good after having watched the Microsoft guy crash and burn yesterday, but I was sadly left wanting. The presenters were a couple of early twentysomethings from another state university in Ohio, and rather than show examples of what they did, they instead spent an inordinate amount of time praising themselves for finding solutions to simple problems. For instance, they spent twenty minutes explaining, in detail, how they rebooted a machine. For those of you who don’t know, rebooting is very simple. If all else fails, just unplug the damn thing (don’t do that).

So they started to talk about an easy solution for maintaining software upgrades when a couple members of the audience asked if they had tried RadMind. They hadn’t heard of it. Now I’m not up on my Apple software, but I would have at least looked around for readily available systems utilities before I bragged about how smart I was in front of a group of IT professionals; especially Mac enthusiasts, who adhere to the tenets of Apple philosophy with the devotion of a Muslim.

* * * *

The second session was supposed to be on the wonders of content management systems. Unlike the previous meeting, I was actually interested in this topic. Unfortunately, the presenter spent too much time at the bar the night before and was unable to make it. We decided to have a roundtable discussion group with those few who remained, in hopes that the presenter would awake from his drunken stupor long enough to vomit web development knowledge before us. I was going to stay, because I haven’t had much experience as a CMS admin and I wanted to see if I could pick something up. Then one guy asked, “Does anybody know what a content management system is?” And another responded, “No … hey I hear they have free donuts in the lobby.”

I left after that.

* * * *

I could have gone into another classroom, but I decided instead to head across the street in search of a Diet Coke. I don’t like interrupting classes anyway. When I got downstairs, I stopped at an ATM to pick up some cash, and came across two other Microsoft Reps who wore expensive suits, slick shoes, and were in the process of arguing about whose car was nicer. One man withdrew what had to be almost $1000 from the ATM and then hurried to the local restaurant. I approached the ATM and looked at this screen, which read the following:

“Do you have another transaction? Yes. No.”

“Hmmm,” I thought to myself. “Does Bill Gates feel like paying off my student loans? He’d never notice. I could probably throw in a Mazarati (spelling?) while I’m at it!”

Don’t worry. I was honest. I told the machine there were no more transactions, withdrew 90% of my remaining balance and spent all of that on a Diet Coke across the street. Unscrupulousness is not in my nature. At least, not on Thursdays.

Now, if I come across a Xerox rep, I’ll punch him in the face and steal everything he has. It’s what Bill Gates would want.

Off to lunch…

More to Come. Check out Conference Day 1 here

Conference Thoughts, Day 1

2006-04-19T11:38:00.000-05:00

I am at a conference this week. So I plan to include my thoughts as they come in the following pages. I will update this page each time I have a new thought (please, no jokes about my inability to do so).

So I just ate my introductory lunch and it was interesting to watch the hierarchical structure of things. First and foremost, you had the administrators. These are the guys (and they are all men, so don’t assume that I’m using the indefinite article in this instance) who have somehow risen to the top of their perspective organizations and rest high on the hog of all that the taxpayers and various and sundry supporters of higher education can offer. They wax poetic about their self importance and contain within their minds a simplified idea of how their organizations are structured, the intricacies of the inner workings of colleges and universities, and the bloated assumption that those around them actually care what they think. These guys jumped to the front of the buffet line, no questions asked and no apologies given. They attacked the front two tables so they could be seen laughing at each presenters vapid jokes and cajoling with their brethren over the alleged levity of this afternoon’s endeavors. In conversation, they whisper vague generalities and eye the room in a mad sweep in search of somebody of greater importance than you. Faced with a conversant well versed in the art of ass kissing, they will talk for hours about their successes. Faced with a person capable of seeing through their thin veneer of intelligence, however, they take personal offense at each criticism and quickly extricate themselves from the tense situation.

Next, we have the posers. These people are the upper crust of management. They are of reasonable intelligence and at one point in their pathetic careers, they knew what they were doing and possessed a zeal and a work ethic that drove them to produce great things. But after early success, they traded in their intellectual prowess for vain grabs and large stacks of dollars, which they use to purchase large homes, fancy cars, and trophy wives/husbands. Unlike the administrators, these people know that their status in life is overvalued and that, had the driving force in their lives been truth as opposed to greed, they may have achieved a more fulfilling state. This produces a sadness that, while cleverly masked with shiny suits and polished teeth, is still plainly visible in the eyes. They sit two or three to a table near the back of the auditorium, blithely engaging in pointless conversation, forever seeking out the hotel bar or the attractive, young newcomer, whom they plan to use to fulfill self indulgent fantasies about a life that could have been.

After this we have the cynics. These people come from the same stock as the posers, but chose an alternate route. Unfortunately, their lives have been dominated by a large and unwieldy stroke of bad luck that has provided them none of the extravagant comforts of poserdom along with no intellectual opportunities. Their once bright eyed exuberance has faded, replaced by a hatred for what they do and those with whom they work. They are usually unshaven, dressed in cheap clothes fro Meijer and Target, and they spend most of their time either in quiet solitude or on long rants to coworkers about the relative stupidity of the world in comparison to themselves. This is my category, in case you were wondering.

Finally, we have the young and the restless. These are the people who graduated less than a year ago, and have finally got their claws into what they believe will be a career as opposed to just another job. Their minds are still blinded by an idealism that has been with them since birth and which was only bolstered in the façade of collegiate schoolwork. They believe that banality is beneath them and that they will reach the stratosphere of both intellectual and moral pursuits in short order. They actually believe that the remaining members of the conference are as enthusiastic as them, and they engage in conversation under this precept, allowing themselves to be sullied by the dark hearted cynicism and psychopathic tendencies of everyone else. Don’t feel bad for them, though. They will quickly realize the truth. They will soon see that all of this action today is a mere moment of the strutting and fretting Bill Shakespeare mentioned when he spoke the world as a stage and the moment each of us has in the limelight. They will realize this and then they will join the rest of us in pursuit of something we know not for reasons we can never fathom.

Our lunches finished, the master of ceremonies takes the stage. The crowd cheers. Let the game begin!

* * * *

There is a large, fat man sitting on a chair, sweating buckets. His cell phone rings incessantly and every time he answers it, he sighs with exasperation. He pops a new piece of Orbit gum in his mouth every five minutes and looks around the room as though in search of a clock which will give him a time different from that which his wristwatch states. He wants out of here as fast as he can. I feel his pain, and I hope that I am not in his position when I am nearing the end of my career. I hope that I’m on a beach somewhere warm, thinking back to a life well spent and people I loved. Either that, or I hope to find myself cut down in a hail of gunfire from some nameless thug who tried to kill the children who cower behind me and then run away, my death having given them another shot at survival.

One or the other.

* * * *

Reading through the guest list of this conference, I noticed three people with whom I used to work at a different state university in Ohio. One of these people has the unfortunate last name of “Fish,” and the equally unfortunate appearance thereof. I remember, back when I was still in their employ, I offered greater assistance to their respective offices, proposing all sorts of interesting projects and activities I could undertake. They turned me down cold. Now I am their equals. And not only that, but my position (at the larger state university in Ohio) is not in jeopardy of being cut due to the extreme budget crunch in Ohio’s collegiate system (thank you Bob Taft. No, really). I cannot say the same for them.

Revenge is dish best served, regardless of the temperature.

* * * *

There is a guy standing in the corner wearing blue jeans and a baseball cap with the logo of a large tractor trailer distributorship in eastern Ohio. Nobody wants to talk to this guy. He’s wearing the nametag and cheap lanyard they give to everyone, so we know he’s here for the conference and he’s standing next to the clock (at which everyone steals furtive glances), so we all see him. But his demeanor is of one who does not understand even the minimum décor of professionalism and he is thus banished to the realm of freaks and losers. Still, this man has a job and, given the percentage of BigWig™ attendees at this little shindig, chances are he’s relatively well versed in the information technology field and relatively well paid as well (at least, as well paid as you can be in the academic arena). This proves once and for all that, even though we pretend to be corporate, we still make room for those who think and live outside what is traditionally considered “normal.” Were that not the case, I would likely be unemployed. Or worse, I’d be flipping burgers for minimum wage at the local Burger hut.

* * * *

So the rest of the conference wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I actually learned something. And when I got tired of learning something, I gave up and worked on the next round of plays I hope to write. Everybody wins!

There was one funny moment, however. I sat in on a Microsoft demonstration of the new Windows Vista operating system. The guy, a born and bred Microsoft junkie, went on and on about how Vista makes vast improvements over XP in both usability and stability. He made particular mention of the new searching functions and file management system. Shortly thereafter, he meant to show us how the new file management / searching function works … and the machine crashed … and he couldn’t get it working again.

That was pretty damn funny, and I can just hear Nate laughing at me as I type this.

weeeeee!

2006-04-13T23:50:00.000-05:00

Quicktime Video. Click at own risk.

What the?

2006-04-13T14:28:00.000-05:00

In a recent prep sheet for mathematics exam at Washington State Community College, students found the following question:

"25: Condoleeza holds a watermelon just over the edge of roof of the 300-ft Federal Building, and tosses it up with a velocity of 20 feet per second. The height of the watermelon above the ground t seconds later is given by the formula h=-16t^2 + 20t + 300."

Are you as outraged over this question as I am? I mean, seriously, what is the professor thinking? What could have possibly been going through his mind when he made that question? Come on! Everybody knows that the acceleration due to gravity is 32 feet per second, not 16! The equation should have been h=-32t^2 + 20t + 300. What the hell are they teaching kids these days?

ADDENDUM:
It turns out that I am an idiot. It would seem that the equation in question is (g/2)*t^2 + vt + h. This is why I am not an engineer.

So i was wrong. And this professor IS a racist.

artistic endeavors

2006-04-12T14:25:00.000-05:00

Thanks to this guy for the design.

Recalling History

2006-04-10T10:56:00.000-05:00

Last week I had the privilege of attending a neat historical reading from the memoirs of Bill Yenofsky, a World War II veteran who's tour of duty took him through Africa to Rome and Germany and many points in between. Bill’s daughter Susan read her father’s words while he added a few extra words of explanation and apology throughout. You can listen to the whole thing, if you like, right here.

CACCC Update

2006-04-10T10:11:00.000-05:00

Pat Robertson: "The problem is not that you have asthma. The problem is that you haven't been having enough sex!" [link]

More words of interest

2006-04-07T10:35:00.000-05:00

Today is “African Tribal Drum” day in the dance studio beneath my office. Only now it has more of a Middle Eastern feel to it. Like a strange combination of some as-yet-unreleased song from Sting and a Muslim call to prayer screamed from the top of a minaret. The bass shakes the floor beneath me and the bongos provide a running rat-a-tat-tat which dances over the singers, who belt out melodious soprano melodies in strange languages I don’t understand.

It’s really quite cool.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In response to yesterday’s missive on the dualistic nature of Christ, I received this happy e-mail:

“I hate it when you creationists try to pretend you know what you’re talking about. Adam didn’t live with God in the garden of Eden. There is no God. Darwin was right and you are wrong.”

I was shocked when I received this, mostly because I had no idea that people actually read this site. At best, I had hoped that a few of you might print it out and use the pages to line the bottoms of your bird cages. But even that requires work, and I assumed it was probably just too much to handle.

Seriously, though. I wasn’t talking about creation versus evolution. I was talking about God’s relationship with man as it is described in the Bible. It’s a story, and as with any story you can include descriptions that are factual, metaphorical, symbolic, and a whole bunch of other literary terms I never bothered to learn. In the case of evolution and creation, I have to say that it doesn’t matter to me whether it was strict creationism as some believe or some subset of the standard opinions on evolution as others, myself included, will state. Either way, the creation versus evolution debate says nothing about the existence of God or his interaction with humanity unless you either have an overvalued perspective of the significance of your scientific opinion or a strict, formulaic understanding of scripture.

Granted, there are a few things about evolution I don’t understand; macroevolution, in particular. I believe Kurt Vonnegut said it best in his book Timequake when he said, “Believing in evolution is like believing a tornado could rip through a junkyard and build a Boeing 747.” Some of it just seems a bit far fetched. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. And I am more than man enough to admit that I’m too stupid to figure it out.

With respect to religion, however, there are only two types of people who have problems with evolution and Christianity. There are those who have been taught the tenets of strict creationism since birth and have never questioned its validity, and there are those who believe in a strict, literal, and formulaic interpretation of scripture. I reject both ways of thinking, so lumping me in with that crowd is small minded. You should have asked a question first, instead of jumping to conclusions.

My interpretation of scripture, that relational story I mentioned in my last post, leaves room for both evolution and God. And if it ultimately isn’t evolution, I think it’s obvious that there will be some sort of scientific explanation for how the world developed from the Big Bang to where we are now. After all, there seems to be a scientific explanation for almost everything else, right? Science doesn’t preclude God and God doesn’t preclude science. I believe that God, being the definition of truth and logic (and many many other things) would likely use science in his creation schema. And if not evolution, then something else equally as confusing.

Like I said, I’m too stupid to figure it out.

My main point in the previous post was not to claim that evolution is wrong. It was to claim that when you look at scripture with the idea of a story in mind, you can contemplate the deeper meanings the authors intended. When you look at things literally, without respect to the whole of human nature and how we view the world, it doesn’t make sense. And you envision a lot of useless debates that need not exist.

With regard to your second statement, “God does not exist,” I have only this to say. What reason(s) lead you to this conclusion? I welcome your response.

-----------------------------------

I’m ready for the weekend. So here’s a picture of a sad pickle.

Pointless Essay #2: Humanity and Divinity (and my lack of understanding)

2006-04-06T12:22:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine asked the following question of me today:

How do you understand Jesus' humanity and divinity?

Not having much to do today, I crafted a simple answer. And here it is:

"There are a multitude of ways to think about this issue. It doesn’t seem to make much sense that Jesus could be both fully God and fully man at the same time. And there is that part of me that wonders why God even needed to become human to begin with. If he’s God, why can’t he just make things the way that he wants?

Right?

When I look at the Bible, I think of it in terms of a story. I know that a lot of people like to focus on the laws and traditions contained within. I do that to a certain extent as well. I was raised Southern Baptist, remember. But now I can’t help but look at all of history in terms of a story. That’s why there’s so much poetry and singing and exclamations of rage and hate and love and heartbreak.

If you were to tell [name deleted to protect the semi-innocent] all the things about [him/her] that you liked in a philosophical format, [he/she] would likely be unimpressed. “I really like your hair. Your eyes are attractive. Your figure is pleasing,” you’d say. And [he/she] would respond, “Whatever, freak.” But if you say the same thing in poetry, expressing your feelings in a relational format, the meaning changes. It deepens.

Take Shakespeare for example. In Romeo and Juliet, the two lovers speak of and to each other in poetic, iambic pentameter, but they speak to their friends in regular language. The language they use for each other, the language they use to speak of their love, has much deeper meaning than everyday speech or what you find in a generalized accounting of things. Even if all you’re doing is saying, “you are a very pretty woman,” it carries greater meaning for both parties to communicate relationally when Romeo says, “’Tis the east and Juliet is the sun.” (she is the first and brightest thing he sees in the morning) or when Juliet quips, “Be but sworn my love and I’ll no longer be a Capulet” (tell me you love me and I’ll give up everything I am just for you).

Or better yet, go back and read some of Moses’ writings in the Torah. Or David’s Psalms. Read them out loud. Read them in their original Hebrew. Listen to the ebb and flow of the words. Sometimes Moses states the facts and other times he breaks out into song. When you hear these songs as they were meant to be, not as a collection of theological ideas as most people consider them today and not as simple emotions as others have taken them, but as an expression of width and breadth of thought and emotion that comes with an exhaustive description of relationship, they gain significant depth.

God’s word is not merely a systematic theology. It is an expression of his love for us and his repeated attempts to restore the break we cause with our sin. It is the story of our relationship. In Genesis, this story goes from creation to the fall of man in just a few paragraphs. But take a minute and think of what that meant. God created the universe for us. When he was done with all of that, THEN he created man. Man was his greatest creation. And he didn’t mean for us to be as we now are, but as beings that could fully stand in his presence and be with him every moment of every day. Back then, we didn’t know what it meant to fail. We didn’t know what it meant to be disobedient. We didn’t know what it was like to have doubt or to fear death or to harbor ill will. All we knew was happiness and a perfect relationship with God.

This went on for a long time, too. Genesis says that Adam named every animal and living thing in all of creation. That had to take a while; years, maybe even hundreds of years of communion between Adam and God. Then God gave Adam his wife Eve. And they existed in the Garden of Eden for a time.

Then came the fall. But the fall was not just like sinning is to us nowadays. When you or I sin it is serious business, rest assured, but we can convince ourselves that it really isn’t. You ask for forgiveness and it goes away, but you can repeat it the next day. Follow this cycle and, after a while, sin becomes almost esoteric, like something that doesn’t really exist outside of an idea.

At least, until God kicks your ass about it anyway.

But for Adam, things were different. When he sinned, his very nature changed. He understood death and separation. He understood shame. He understood hatred, selfishness, and disobedience. He understood the vastness of the human capacity for evil. He was no longer God’s definition of human. He was … something else. He became our definition of human. For us, this would be like sprouting ten extra legs and suddenly existing in a four dimensional universe where everybody spoke binary and wore fez hats. It’s completely inconceivable.

When we sinned, we became different creatures entirely. And these creatures could not comprehend God. We could not interact with him properly. We became trapped in our selfish ways and there was no place for us but the death we had brought into the world. This should sound familiar, because this is how we currently are.

Fast forward a few thousand years. God has given humanity the law as a start towards learning how to come back from the depths of our existence. But like I said earlier, a list of rules is not nearly enough. A list of rules doesn’t change a person’s soul any more than baseball statistics are the reasons I enjoy the game or the daily routine that [married couple] undertake is the reason they love each other the way that they do. There is an unseen depth.

In one of his dialogues, Socrates describes a cave. He says man’s understanding from birth is like prisoners chained to a wall in a cave with their eyes covered. After time, one prisoner learns to uncover his eyes and he sees shadows on the wall. This shadow makes no sense to him because all he knows is darkness. But can you imagine the joy this person must have felt in realizing that there was more to life than just the darkness he had known since birth. You can imagine his thrill at realizing there were others around him and that, even though he was in a terrible situation, he knew there was more. Even this dim movement on a dark wall in a deep cave would seem like waking from a deep sleep to find that the world did not go away while you rested, and that the greatest joy waited at your fingertips.

Slowly, however, the man comes to the realization that these shadows are not reality. There is something else, something he cannot see. So he works his way out of his chains and turns around. Before him is a long and treacherous tunnel, the end of which is engulfed in a bright light that moves in the strange patterns he saw reflected on the walls. His heart leaps again. This is true reality. The shadows on the wall were a mere reflection.

He climbs towards the light, slipping here and there and sometimes having nasty falls. But he keeps going. Always, he keeps going, setting the moving light as his. The moving objects become clearer as he approaches. And as he reaches the entrance to this cave, this darkness that once defined every aspect of his reality, he finds crowds of people, former prisoners like himself, dancing in the bright sunlight.

The difference between the darkness of the cave and the bright reality of the former prisoners is an apt metaphor, I think, for the difference between humanity as God intends it and humanity as it is. The prisoners have only known their darkness and their solitude. They may even be perfectly happy in that existence. But there is something greater, and that thing is inconceivable to the prisoner as he sits in the cave with the blindfold over his eyes. He was meant to be in the light, but he cannot comprehend it. He was meant to dance, but he cannot move his legs. He was meant to experience the joy of interaction with others and with God, but all he knows is solitude.
Socrates goes on to say that the only way to free these people is to go down into the cave, help them remove their blindfolds and bring them into the light. The only way to reach those people is to meet them on their level, in the lonely, dark cave.

Now let’s look at the Bible again. Humanity is in the cave. We cannot conceive of life as god intended it. All we know is our current existence. We cannot bring ourselves out of this because we cannot conceive of anything different than what we already know. God saw this and said, “I have to meet them where they are,” He acted relationally. He became human. He faced the darkness of the cave.

He had to be fully God because that was the only way he could be the definition of justice and thus provide the standard by which sin is judged. And he had to be fully human because that was the only way he could pay the price that was demanded for justice. He had to be both, because otherwise there would be no way to remain fully loving (omnibenevolent) all powerful (omnipotent) and completely just (omnijust? Is that even a word?), which are several of the defining characteristics of his nature, and still have a relationship with us in a way that we could understand.

Yes, there are parts of it I do not understand. But that’s what makes it all the more real. We’re talking about the nature of God here. If I were capable of understanding everything there was to know about him, he would cease to be God and become something less than human. Given that I understand parts of it (the thought aspect of a relationship) and that I have experienced others (the emotional aspect), it makes perfect sense that there would be things I didn’t understand. As with any relationship there are things we don’t understand. The fact that it is moreso in our relationship with Jesus only further supports his existence and both his divinity and humanity.

The Bible tells the story of God’s relationship with man, and Jesus in his complete humanity and divinity, is the fullness of that expression. "

What the ... ?

2006-04-05T12:48:00.000-05:00

Showering after sex washes away the AIDS, and marriage makes rape okay!" says (former) heir apparent to the office of South African Prime Minister. [source].

Great. Just Great

2006-04-03T13:57:00.000-05:00

This is exactly how I hoped The Reds would start their season. It's gonna be a long summer.

Is the Republican Party a Theocracy?

2006-04-03T13:23:00.000-05:00

Moo Cow over at Dilatoryaction posted this in response to a Washington Post article outlining the many ways in which the Republican party has become nothing short of a Christian theocracy. She shares a simplistic and admittedly wacky version of a few Christian beliefs, assumes that all religious conservatives believe this way, and concludes that today's Republican party is disgusting based on this evidence.

A quick and easy response would be to claim that I am equally as disgusted with the Democratic party, which is merely a front for Socialist/Communist organizations who wish to bring the downfall of Capitalism and Democracy. I am joking, of course. But seriously. Since when did pointing out the worst members of an opposing political party become the standard for political discourse? You can provide many examples of conservatives who act like idiots, and I can counter with just as many stories of Democratic morons. This doesn't mean that everybody on the opposite side of the fence believes that way. How's about a little bit of common sense for a change?

Yes, there is a contingent of conservatives whose opinions on the Middle East are a bit nutso. But I'm not too sure that calling the Republicans a theocratic party is correct. I don’t believe that politics or religion can be so easily categorized and labeled. The contingent - and that's all it is: a contingent - openly uses religion as a means of wooing voters and staying in power. This, however, is distinctly different from a Christian theocracy. This group isn't interested in proffering any particular set of beliefs outside those which will keep them in power. They pay attention to those aspects of Christianity which speak of the power of Christ and his followers, but leave out the parts that speak of a necessary humility in action. They speak of the need to ward off evil and fight the hand of Satan, but they neglect the beatitudes which speak of the need to pay particular attention to the poor and the broken and the downtrodden. In short, they are modern day Pharisees intent only on attaining and keeping power at all costs. To claim that this is merely a theocracy is dangerous in and of itself because it assumes first that there is no Christianity outside that which you (and I as well) find contemptible, it assumes that all Christians are as easily manipulated as the suburban left behinders you mentioned, and it dulls the poisonous affect of the actions of these political bastards into “just another group of blind, religious nuts” as opposed to the truth, which is much more malevolent.

I, too, was raised in a Southern Baptist church, and while there were some things that I liked, on the whole it was far too legalistic. There were a whole lot of rules and not a lot of grace. That’s why I go to a hippie church, where we believe in the credo that God loves you no matter how f'ed up you are, and that we should make every effort to be all kinds of groovy to everybody we meet.

The problem for some sections of the Democratic party is that they have seemingly adopted a religion of their own. Their hurry to disassociate themselves from the wacko evangelicals has resulted in a tacit acceptance and predominance of secularism above all other forms of religious thought. There is almost no room in the Democratic party for a person who believes in God. We Christians who actively work to make the world a better place for the poor and who oppose governmental interests in foreign nations that support genocide and who argue for reasoned discourse in all matters of political and religious thought, even those with which we disagree, are laughed out the door not because we disagree with the larger percentage of the party platform, but merely because we believe in God. This from the party that preaches cultural diversity and tolerance.

I agree wholeheartedly that some contingents of the Republican party have aligned themselves with some bad folks in order to obtain power, and i believe that this problem is much worse than most conservatives would like to believe. The sad truth is that the Democrats are just as bad. And the nature of politics today is such that you either accept each and every tenet of your respective party, or you are an evil person worthy of the worst sort of humiliation. There is no reason. There is no discussion. There is only popularity and polar opposition to generalized ideas that nobody can accept in total unless they check their brains at the door.

This is why I voted for Curt Schilling in the last election. I figured that, all things being equal, I’d rather have a president who can throw a good fastball than the two clowns who ran. I don’t know who I plan to support in ’08, but the early money is on Dontrelle Willis.

I hear he has a wicked splitter.

Opening Day

2006-04-03T09:30:00.000-05:00

Today is opening day for Major League Baseball. In celebration of that, here’s a story about the great American pastime. Parts of it are true. Parts of it are fiction. I'll leave it up to you decide which is which. Enjoy!

* * * *

There’s a field down by the Mill Creek where we used to play ball. It was not unlike many you’d find scattered across the United States. There was a large worn patch in the center where the pitcher stood, an outfield fence comprised of a collection of bushes and neighborhood backyard fences, and three small craters for the bases connected by a path of dirt that had been trod over so many times throughout the years, it seemed not to fade even through the toughest of winters

It was here that my friends and I spent the majority of our time as children. We were always there. During the summer, of course, we’d be at it from sunup to sundown, sweating it through the hottest parts of the day, always trying to squeeze in an extra inning or two before the sun finally caught up with the western horizon. When school was in session, we’d hurry home, do whatever chores there were to do, and then we’d hurry to the field. I even remember playing once on Christmas morning. My friend Adam called everybody to tell us he’d got a brand new glove, and we thought there was no better time like the present to test it out.

There were no particular teams, no umpires, and the score always seemed to change from inning to inning whether or not there were actually any runs. We didn’t care. We were playing ball and that’s what mattered. And we were always on the lookout for another player. So when, late in the summer of 1990, Chris Stoppard asked us if he could play, we agreed.

Chris was the new guy in town. He was a little taller than the rest of us, and from the looks of him, I’d guess he was a good twenty or thirty pounds heavier as well. He made up for this advantage, though, with a complete lack of athleticism. If having two left feet is the curse of the clumsy, this guy must’ve had three. Normally we’d love to have a new kid play – the more the merrier and all – but you could just tell by the way he walked, the way he moved, that God hadn’t graced him with the skills necessary to handle a bat much less run down the occasional fly ball.

He’d moved into the old duplex on Bachman Rd. about mid-July. We’d all seen him around the neighborhood at least once or twice, sitting out on his porch in the evening or walking his dog around the block, always making sure not to let it take a dump in the Meadows’ yard. Mrs. Meadows was proud of her landscaping and was always on the lookout to test the strength of her broom handle on some punk kid who made an errant step in the wrong direction.

As July turned to August, he started hanging out around our field. At first, he just sat with his dog in the shade behind third and watched. But, after a while, he grew bold, sitting behind the fence and even talking to some of the players as they warmed up. He didn’t have any friends; that much we knew, because anybody that was anybody was already at our field. Like most people in our neighborhood, both of his parents worked full time jobs, so all he had to keep himself company that summer were his dog and his thoughts.

That and his three left feet.

On this particular day, we were short a player. Josh Paoletti, a short, toe-headed kid from Bayham Drive, was sick with the flu. His older brother Jeff had spent most of the summer working at a Boy Scout Camp but had to come home early when he threw up in the pool, and the whole family ended up getting it. We stood around home plate, trying to decided whether to call Tim from Pritchard St. or play with a ghost man, when Chris spoke up.

“You…you guys mind if I play?” He sounded like a little kid asking his mother for a cookie he knew he’d never get.

I hesitated, hoping I’d imagined it. We were genial enough in most situations, but this was baseball. This was serious business to the kids from Burley Circle. After a full minute of silence, I answered him. “Can you hit?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can you field?”

“Yeah.”

I looked around at the other guys, hoping for some excuse to turn him away, but when I found nothing, I told him to grab his glove and come on.

The first couple innings went by easily. Both teams scored a few runs here and there, and besides Scott Woods twisting his ankle on a slide into third base, it was an uneventful game. After he shanked a few easy grounders, it was obvious that Chris had lied about his abilities, so we stuck him in right field and hoped that anything in his direction would be short enough for the Brandon at second base to get on a long run. Things seemed to be going along nicely, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t stay that way. When you’re dealing with kids, social dynamics have a way of changing on a dime.

Sean Hinken was pitching for the other team, and while he was a great guy off of the field, on the field, he as nasty as they came. He constantly talked trash about whoever was batting, calling them names to their faces and making announcements to the infield about how they didn’t need to worry about fielding anything from this guy.

“Don’t worry about this one boys,” he’d say. “This guy couldn’t hit the nuts off of a dead dog. The inning’s as good as over.”

What really got you, though, was that he had the skills to back it all up. He was very good at making a person take a wild swing at an inside fastball or a nasty splitter. He’d then follow it with a big, “Shitchyeah!” which made it that much worse.

When Chris came up to bat in the sixth inning, Sean threw a bean ball right at his head. Of course it hit him, and of course we all charged the mound.

“What’re you doing, fatass? You threw it right at his head.” said Adam.

“He was crowding my plate.” Sean replied with a grin. “I had to show him who was boss. Got tired of watching him strike out each time. You guys are making it too easy for me. I gotta challenge myself somehow.”

Adam leapt at Sean, who sidestepped just in time to watch Adam go face first into the dirt on pitcher’s mound. The fight would have gone further if Brian Woods and I hadn’t held them back.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” said Adam.

“I’d like to see you try,” said Sean.

“I wouldn’t,” somebody yelled in the background, “you'll probably lose your foot.” We all laughed at that except for Sean, who turned and threw the ball in the direction of the voice, and ended up hitting Scott Woods in the temple. Scott just wasn’t having a good day.

The joke brought a little bit of lightheartedness back to the game, but the tension still remained. Each at-bat was more important than the last, and we argued over every close play. Neither team wanted to lose the game at this point. It was honor. It was bragging rights. It was war, as much as can be had with fifth graders, anyway.

Chris stood in the background the whole time, watching us with a bit of a smile on his face. I think he was just glad to be there.

We started the ninth inning down by three runs. After Tim and Andy went down on routine groundballs, we got a rally going, and scored two to bring us within a run with two men out and one man on. The tide was turning, and I thought we might just pull it off until I saw the next batter. Like the Mighty Casey from Mudville, Chris Stoppard approached the plate, bat in hand.

Sean breezed the first two pitches past a visibly nervous Chris, then missed outside and then in the dirt to bring the count to two balls and two strikes. As he walked back to the mound he was laughing and making his usual snide comments, but you could see the sweat standing on his fat forehead. He’d missed two straight pitches to a guy who, by all rights, should have struck out on three. There was no way in hell he was gonna miss again. No way.

“Keep your eye on the ball, Chris,” I yelled from second base. “Just watch the ball and swing as hard as you can. You can do it!”

I was excited, because if Chris could just hit it, I'd score. Then we could either hope for a single from Adam or at least a trip into extra innings with the top of our order due up the next time around. Things would be okay if only he could just hit the ball. The chances of this happening were slim, of course. He would likely either miss completely or hit a dribbler back to the pitcher’s mound, which Sean could toss to the first for the final out and the victor.. Our game would end, and that night we’d have to listen to Sean go on and on about how much we sucked. That was an idea that didn’t sit well in my mind. It didn’t sit well at all.

But a peculiar thing happened. Shawn, not wanting to walk the worst player on the field and risk giving Adam a chance to win the game, threw what is known in baseball circles as a “meatball.” It’s a pitch right down the middle of the plate that even moderately skilled players could crush into the stratosphere. Chris, knowing that Sean would not miss again, closed his eyes and swung as hard as he could. So much for keeping your eye on the ball, I thought.

To everyone’s surprise, especially the one holding the bat, the ball flew out towards center field. Sean had just enough time to say, “What the…” before the ball was bouncing next to the sunflowers in the Jones’ yard. I took off for third, rounded into home, and turned to watch Chris. He must have been surprised at his success, because he was just rounding first as I scored, and I’m not exactly a speed-demon. I saw two things very clearly at that moment. The first was Aaron Stewart getting to the ball in center, and the second was the look of determination on Chris’s face. He meant to go all the way, his athleticism (or lack thereof) be damned.

“No, Chris. No!” I yelled. Why couldn’t he just be content with a triple? At least then we’d have a chance at winning. He must not have heard, though, because he hit third and kept coming. Meanwhile, Aaron, who had a very good arm for a ten year old, had already released the ball.

“Slide!” I yelled, “Slide you bastard!”

In the movies and on television, you always root for the loveable loser, the kid who never gets the girl and always gets picked last for dodgeball. In the movies and on television, the loser always has his moment in the sun. He always hits the game winning homerun, and both teams carry him off the field on their shoulders. One of the difficult things about growing up, though, is the knowledge that movies and television all too often depict life as it should be, not life as it is. More often than not, the losers don’t quite make it. More often than not, they get the shit kicked out of them

I knew we were in trouble before it happened. Chris must have thought he’d hit the ball farther than he did, because I don’t think he was expecting a play. And judging from the look on his face, you could tell he didn't know how to slide, either. Still, the determination was there. He probably hoped that whatever god had graced him with momentary athletic prowess would continue the blessing for another minute or two and allow him this one moment of glory.

As Chris lowered the top half of his body to make the final descent towards home, his left leg remembered its old tricks, and got in the way of his right. Instead of a slide, Chris tumbled over himself, and rolled. The hem of his pants caught on a tree root, and when he stopped rolling, Chris’s pants were a good five or six feet behind him. In that instant, you could see his face change from unbelievable joy to inexplicable horror. He sat there in his underwear two feet short of his goal as the catcher tagged him out.

Nobody said anything for a minute or two. Not even Sean. We watched in silence as Chris stayed there, almost bare-assed, and tried our best not to laugh. No laugh, no matter how hearty, is worth that humiliation. Kids, however, are not adept at controlling their emotions, and the small spits and spirts of laughter quickly turned into a snicker, a grumble, and an all-out riot. We felt sorry for the guy, we really did, but seeing him there in his underwear halfway between third and home was just too much. Amidst the laughter, Chris stood up, put on his pants, and quietly walked away from the field. He never asked to play again, and his parents moved away at the end of the summer. Apparently his father was in the military.

I think I saw Chris again about a year or two ago. I was watching my nephew play a little league game in the new park behind the shopping center. The one with the brand-new chain link fences and the stands behind home plate. Our field has since succumbed to the passage of time. A city building project diverted the creek through the middle of the field, past second base, and into where Mrs. Jones used to keep her prized sunflowers. I sat with my sister behind third base, watching her son pitch in the last inning of a close game. As I looked across the field, I noticed a tall man get up to watch his son bat. When he stood, his foot caught in the chair and he spilled a bit of his drink on the lady in front of him.

The pitch came in. I watched the little kid smack a hard liner just past the center fielder’s glove. He rounded the bases like a gazelle, and, despite his coach’s warnings, took a turn at third and headed for home with the same intensity I had seen on Chris that day so many years ago. The relay from the shortstop was right on, but it didn’t matter. The kid beat it by a full step. He didn’t even have to slide.

The bench exploded with cheers, and everybody ran out to greet him, but the kid ran past his teammates, and headed straight for his father. The man who may or may not have been the three-footed kid I knew several years ago picked up his son, hugged him, and carried him to the parking lot on his shoulders with his team following in his wake.

Sometimes the losers win after all. Life’s funny like that.

Just to get up that hill

2006-03-29T10:27:00.000-05:00

I'm working really hard today.

Update...

Update again! America's future, folks, wasting time rhashing '70s sitcom theme songs. If it's wrong, I don't wanna be right.

Do you know where my keys are?

2006-03-28T11:44:00.000-05:00

How sad is it that, in the play my friends and I are currently working on, I am nowhere near finished memorizing my lines, despite the fact that I wrote the damn thing and have been reading and re-reading (and re-reading again) each and every line since last October? And the final nail in the coffin of my memorization skills? I can recite, from memory, each and every line from Back to the Future parts 1 - 3.

What the hell?

-------------------------------

(interior of a garage. We see a collection of clocks which show the time as 8:10. A radio blares to life)

Radio Announcer: October is inventory time at Stafford Toyota, and ...

(the radio cuts out and the camera pans across a few more clocks and several complicated pieces of household machinery. We come to a television set, which turns on to a news show, starring the lady who played the mother in "Just the Ten of Us")

Lady: ..The Senate is expected to vote on this today. In other news, officials from the nuclear researchfacility have stated that a case of missing plutonium was, in fact, stolen from their vault two weeks ago. A Libyan terrorist group has clained responsibility for the alleged theft, however, officials now assume ...

(the camera pans across a coffee machine which turns on and begins brewing coffee, despite the fact that the pot is not there. The camera continues, crossing several more clocks and stops next to a leverl arm, which beings moving resolutely. The arm makes loud, mechanical noises as it swings left, grabs a can of Alpo dog food, and swings right to a can opener, which opens the can. The arm swings back to the middle, leaving the lid affixed to the can opener. The arm rotates 180 degrees, turning the can upside down, which empties its contents into a dog bowl labeled "Einstein," that is overflowing with what appears to be several day's worht of uneaten dog food. The arm rotates back to its original position, moves left, and drops the empty can into a trash bin. We pan left even furhter to the door, which opens. We see a pair of white tennis shoes holding a doormat aloft. A key drops to the concrete and the mat covers it. The feet enter the room and we hear our hero, MARTY MCFLY, speaks).

MARTY: Hello, Doc?

-------------------------------------------------------

I am a loser, aren't I?

Weekend

2006-03-24T13:41:00.000-05:00

Have a great weekend. And remember. If you can see Chuck Norris, Chuck Norris can see you. But if you can't see Chuck Norris, you are mere seconds away from death.

Before and After

2006-03-22T13:31:00.000-05:00

It’s cold outside today. It’s the second day of Spring after a long but relatively mild winter, and the wind that blows across the Oval cuts through my jacket to the interior no matter how closely I press my arms against my side. The sky is light blue and the sun is bright, but for some reason it feels grey. The songs on the radio play a kaleidoscope of dark hues as the clock tower beats a long, slow knell in the distance.

Potential bad news on the horizon for some friends. One of those moments that splits life into the period of time known as Before and that which comes Afterwards. If you’re reading this, and if you're the sort, spend a moment in prayer asking that everything would come out alright.

And if it doesn’t, ask that they would find comfort in the afterward.

coolness

2006-03-20T16:06:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting here in what is soon to be a classroom at the large state university in Ohio where I work, when I glanced to my left and happened upon a collection of bound Atlantic Monthly magazines from 1860 - 1890. This means that somewhere within the dusty pages at my left exists a first run printing of The Adventures of Mark Twain in its original, serial form.

Once again. Something you woulnd't find in a normal corporate office.

Happy Monday

2006-03-20T11:36:00.000-05:00

Here it is 11:30am and I just now got back to my office after a morning of running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I had a morning meeting with Team Cynical™, wherein the interim manager attempted to extol the virtues of MSI packet updates as opposed to having students manually install them (at every machine across campus). Naturally, Team Cynical™ was completely comfortable with the old method, which takes several weeks to do and is unpredictable in efficiency, and felt that that the new system, which is already in place in other labs across campus and which takes a total of maybe a half hour, would not work because “we haven’t done it before.”

It’s a wonder anything gets done.

After the meeting I got to sit down with somebody to learn how they do imaging for a particular workgroup. This is how it works: put disc in machine -> run program -> wait -> restart machine -> tada! New image! Seriously, it’s like they think I’m an idiot or something. But that’s Team Cynical™ for you.

After that, I procured some AV hardware for a professor who is planning a “graphics intensive” class next quarter and wanted my assistance testing everything out before the quarter starts. Basically, he plans to use PowerPoint presentations. That isn’t really “graphics intensive” in my book, but I don’t get upset over semantics. The guy needs help and I am more than willing to fill that role. Besides, it means I get to traipse across campus twice a week to set things up for him, and Spring Quarter is a damn fine month to be outside.

Later this afternoon, I plan to design some more blog layouts for faculty members at the main library of the large state university in Ohio where I work, and then I’ll probably write up that proposal for a new style of Library Catalog I outlined last week in my meeting with the assistant director of the large state university in Ohio where I work.

No work Mondays are a thing of the past. And you know what? I’m glad.

Hypocritical

2006-03-20T00:38:00.000-05:00

We had the grove this evening, and for all intents and purposes, things went well. Chad and I were lazy this week, choosing to go with the same format of the previous gatherings. We re-ran several old bumps, so I only had to write one this time around. I was starting to get scared, thinking that we might run out of material, when Chad happened upon a treasure trove of at least three bumps I had written back in February and never used. I added six more to these during the week, which means that all we have left to do for this entire series are a few small things. This should give me time to get some real work done on memorizing lines for the play, writing those three or four skits I’ve been planning to write, and maybe get started on The Book™. I figured since all the cool kids were writing books these days, I might as well join the fray. It’ll never get published (because it has to be written first, and that is likely to never happen), but it makes me feel intellectual and somewhat bohemian to perpetually be in the process of crafting the next great American novel.

After the grove, a large group of us (probably everybody that was there this evening), retired to a local pub and eatery to hang out, relax, and celebrate [enter couple here]’s good news (I don’t want to spoil it if you haven’t heard). While we were there, I had the chance to sit down and talk with Bill, Katie, Nate, and Mike. Bill does the sound for the grove, Katie is in charge of all the kids, Nate doesn’t do anything (because he sucks!), and Mike is the young adult pastor at my church. That means he does a bunch of pastor-y things.

In the course of the conversation, I mentioned something about this blog ‘o mine (because my life is so exciting that I actually have to tell other people about it in order to fill the vast lapses of quietness that exist in my conversations), and Mike asked for the address of my site. I gave it to him of course (which means, if he’s really bored, he’s reading this … and thinking “I thought I was bored until I started reading this. Now I understand the depths of boredom. And, lo, I am depressed.”), and I followed this statement with the caveat, “you’ll have to watch out for all the swear words in there.”

One of the things that I have never understood is why so many people believe they have to handle Christians with kid gloves. Every once in a while, friends of mine will catch themselves swearing or making references to what they believe are unchristian things. They inevitably apologize, thinking I was horribly offended. For some, this apology is genuine, but for others it is thinly veiled condescension. I want to grab these people by the shoulders, shake the shit out of them and say, “I can recite ‘Pulp Fuction’ from memory and have done so, unprovoked, in large crowds for no good reason. I’m the guy who, in college, guzzeled five (or maybe 6 ..or 7?) beer bongs in a row and then attempted to chase down a team of midgets dressed as oompa loompas. And I would have succeeded, too, if my friends hadn’t tackled me in the middle of the street. So don’t pretend that your pathetic use of the word ‘bitch’ is going to offend my sensitive little Christian ears, alright!!”

It doesn’t make me mad. It just confuses me. It’s like people think Christians live in a bubble universe, plugging their eyes and ears to the world around them. Some do, but not all; and certainly not me (for the most part). They think we are so shocked by Reality™, that any encounter with such with either send us into a rage of self righteous indignation or cause us to spontaneously combust in a cloud of sawdust and holy water.

I strive to be as honest and authentically human with everyone I meet; not merely a collection of loosely-related morals that others define as Christian. And yet there I was this evening, pretending as though a few semi-creative uses of profanity might make Mike’s head explode. As if he’s never heard anybody say “fuck” before (that’s impossible. He’s met Chad). He’s a pastor, not an idiot, and he likely has to deal with a lot more Reality™ than I do on a daily basis. I’d like to believe I was being genuine, but the truth is probably different. The truth is that I exhibited my own bit of idiotic condescension. And that pisses me off.

No, I probably shouldn’t swear as much as I do. But I have not yet mastered the ability to correctly express the rage I experience when I accidentally hit myself in the face with a large shovel. And “fiddlesticks” just doesn’t make the grade in that scenario, mister.

I hope I don’t do that again. It really makes me mad when I do stuff like that. And if Mike or anybody else thinks less of me for this fault, that’s a good thing. They probably had too high an opinion of me to begin with.

The Economics of Dummies

2006-03-15T17:49:00.000-05:00

I realized something the other day. I drink way too damn much pop. I’d guess that I spend roughly eighty to one hundred dollars per month on soda alone, and that doesn’t include what I drink when I go out to dinner with friends (which I also do way too damn much). These numbers come directly from the Sasquatchinc Thin Air Statistical Generator™ by the way. So I had an idea. I am going to scale down the amount of pop that I drink by one half for two months, and then try again to cut it out completely after two months. During the scale down process, I plan to purchase only generic brands so as to further save money.

Here’s the kicker. Rather than spend that extra money on some other completely worthless endeavor (like movies or charity), I plan to invest it in international currencies. But rather than purchase Yen and Franks willy nilly, I plan to employ the Graham value added method of investing with my own relative GDP analysis thrown in on top for good measure (not from the Thin Air Generator, by the way). This way, I get to analyze things like political upheaval, social acceptance of capitalistic endeavors and other social things I don’t understand as opposed to balance sheets, cash statements, and other accounting tricks I never cared to learn.

It’s almost like a game! Except here there’s a chance I might actually make some money in the process. And even if I don’t, so what? It’s better than pouring it all down my throat in the form of the sweet, divine nectar of Diet Mountain Dew. And in the process, I finally get to put my other degree (International Strategic Management) to use.

Whether that use can be categorized as “good” remains to be seen. Given that the degree in question is from the prestigious University of Cincinnati school of business, it probably won’t be.

Excitation

2006-03-13T12:39:00.000-05:00

Are you as excited about the new week as I am?

Public Indecency

2006-03-10T15:30:00.000-05:00

Good news everyone. The library system of the state university where I work has agreed to let me take part in their weekly read aloud event at the end of the month. Basically, they invite staff and faculty to read their favorite works to large (or sometimes not so large) crowds of people who have nothing better to do on a Thursday afternoon. This is part of an effort to get people interested in the library. You'd think a college library wouldn't have to do that. But you'd be wrong; terribly wrong.

I'll be reading "Young Goodman Brown" by Nathaniel Hawthorne on March 30 from roughly 3:00 - 3:30pm. However long it takes to slaver through the thee's and thou's and t'weren't's. If you're interested in joining the tens of people who might walk by on their way to the computer labs, let me know and I'll give you the exact location of the main library of the large state university in Ohio where I work.

Come, watch as I assault the masses with my dulcet tones! Huzzah!

A womb in my coffee

2006-03-10T14:56:00.000-05:00

“I’ll take a large house,” I said to the attractive young woman behind the coffee stand. I visit this stand a couple of times a week and each visit finds a new woman working the station; she is nearly always tired and is, without doubt, lost in the juxtaposition of education and American consumerism. Each of these women is attractive however - terribly attractive - and this is likely the primary reason the stand remains in business. Because it certainly isn't the quality of their product.

“Would you like a little womb in yo coffee?” she asked politely.

“Please?” I asked.

“Ok,” she said and proceed to the back. I had to stop her for two reasons. The first is that the phrase, “Please” uttered in the questioning fashion is a habit of those from the Cincinnati, Ohio area. The upturned phrase means “I don’t understand what you are saying,” not “I agree with your statement. Please proceed.” The other reason was, of course, that I in no way wished to have a womb placed lovingly in my morning coffee.

“I’m sorry miss,” I said. “I didn’t mean to say that I wanted a … well … what was it you said?”

“I asked you if you wanted womb,” she said, starting to get mad. The line piled up behind me and her homework, a play by Thornton Wilder, sat unread in the background next to the espresso machine.

“I hate to sound like an idiot,” I said, “but why would I want a womb in my coffee?” She blushed and lowered her head in the universal fashion of those who are unpracticed at being embarrassed in front of large groups of people.

“What is it?” I asked.

She squared her shoulders, closed her eyes, and fashioned her mouth in the shape of the letter R. Then she spoke.

“ROOM,” she said, blushing futher. “Would you like a little ... ROOM in yo coffee? Foh milk?”

We shared a couple seconds of laughter with each other and with the rest of the people in line. I apologized for my misinterpretation, and the blush left her face almost as quickly as it had come.

“Sowwy,” she said.

Racism

2006-03-08T13:20:00.000-05:00

In response to the recent announcement that George Bush signed an executive order allowing a Center for Faith-Based and Community Initiatives in the Department of Homeland Security, Pam Spaulding of Pandagon had this to say:

"My question — how soon before some of the all-too-familiar black pastors step up to the trough with some proposals for Dear Leader so they can cash in on this tip?"

I don't like it either, Pam. But at least I'm not racist about it!

Weekend

2006-03-03T16:37:00.000-05:00

It's the weekend! Let's party like the cool kids!

Funny.

2006-03-01T14:45:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the comedy just writes itself:

"Colon family upset over exploding toilet."

Bad Fiction and Good Steak

2006-03-01T00:22:00.000-05:00

We had play practice this evening, and every time I spoke I couldn’t help but think that my play feels like a glorified soap opera. Or worse. Just a regular soap opera. I get the impression that while the thing might not suck completely, there are large portions of it which indeed blow chunks. But I felt the same way about the last play during rehearsals and people ended up liking it. At least that’s what they told me. So who knows? Maybe I’m just hypercritical.

Afterwards, several of us retired to a local pub and eatery to consume mass quantities and discuss whatever happened across our minds. Abbie was there, along with Silas and Ben. The Poindexters (who did an amazing job performing a Sara Groves song at this past weekend’s Grove, by the way. You should check it out as soon as Chad gets off his lazy ass and posts the show).

We had a halfway decent discussion going this evening. For a while, we discussed postmodernism in literature as described by T.S. Elliot in his essays on literary criticism. I’d like to be smart and claim that it was I who brought this to everyone’s attention, but I can’t. Tim’s the smart guy of the group, and he deserves all the credit.

Shortly thereafter, Tim brought up a recent story about an Austrian man who was convicted of denying the holocaust and sentenced to three years in prison (I think). He asked us what we thought of this conviction, and each of us had our say. I think it is definitely a tough line to paint. One the one hand, you have people screaming about the necessity of free speech, regardless of how stupid that speech is. They say the government has no right to infringe upon people’s right to speak their minds. But on the other hand, you have those who claim that potentially damaging speech can and should be infringed. These are the people who would be quick to point out the “screaming fire in a movie theater” example of where free speech actually causes harm. If you go too far and limit speech the point where nothing offensive escapes, you become a politically correct totalitarian state. But if you go the other way and allow anything and everything in all circumstances, you inherently infringe upon a great deal of other rights, qhich brings in the question of how important free speech is relative to other rights such as equality, the pursuit of happiness, and the right to life. I said that when questioning how to limit speech, you have to look at a person’s intent. If somebody questions the holocaust, are they doing so to make an academic point in pursuit of truth or do they merely hate Jews? If it is the former, then I say allow it. The latter, however, should result in prosecution. Yes, intent is a difficult thing to prove, but I think that if we plan tot take error into account with this, I would rather err on the side of the individual since it’s a government that gets away with something can cause a lot more damage than an individual. Plus, I’m an anti-authoritarian hippie. Like I said, it’s a fine line and if there is a definitive way in which a statute of this ilk can work, I don’t see it. I think the points beyond which I have already described lie in what I like to call “lawyerly territory,” and by that I mean they rely heavily upon what is legal versus what is right or true. Most people, including me, don’t care about law to that extent. Tim, however, plans to go to law school. So this is probably why he asked the question.

Next, Ben brought up a movie he saw not too long ago in which the main characters invited different people over to their houses for a night of drink and discussion. If they disagreed with the person’s philosophy, they killed them. Abbie mentioned that it sounded a lot like Arsenic and Old Lace to her, and I had to agree. Ben continued, asking what was apparently one of the questions from the movie.

If you could go back in time and kill Hitler when he was still just a failed artist in Vienna, would you? Would you try to convince him to change his ways? Or would you merely leave him alone (and perhaps attempt to purchase an early Picasso painting for the return trip). This sparked the only real “debate” of the evening in which Abbie, Tim, Silas, Brit, and I all agreed that we would not kill Hitler and Ben said that he would.

Tim went off on the philosophy of history he discovered in War and Peace which states (more eloquently than me) that history is not a series of events and people driven by singular, important men but rather men driven by events and people. He said that the thrust of the novel (one of them, anyway) was that Napoleon was not actually a necessary character in the Napoleonic wars. He said that large events such as this, or World War II for example, would have taken place regardless of those who appear to have steered them. The reason, he said, was that man’s free will wasn’t as all-encompassing as many of us thought. It is hindered by our nature and our character, and our ability to change vents, much like the case with Napoleon, is limited as well. If not Napoleon, then somebody else (perhaps a descendant of Robespierre). If not Stalin, then perhaps Trotsky or Kamenev. If not Hitler, perhaps Goebbels. Or worse, perhaps the growing anti-Semitism in Germany spreads to all of Europe, the United States doesn’t pull itself out of depression and in 1960 we fall to a European Union that actually “succeeds” where Hitler failed.

The possibilities are endless. It reminded me of a movie I saw not too long ago, The Fog of War. In it, Robert Macnamara, the former Secretary of Defense under JFK and LBJ, spoke about those who question whether we were right to firebomb Dresden or drop the bomb on Hiroshima. He speaks about those who say we never should have been involved in Viet Nam. He argued that the motivations and actions the underlie war, and by extension all of history, are so muddled and confused that it makes little sense to claim that we were always in the right and They were always in the wrong. We were both right and we were both wrong. He wasn’t arguing for postmodernity either. He was saying that truth lies under a fog, and we have no way of knowing the reality of our own history due to personal opinions, political agendas, obfuscation, and large gaps in information and that questions of that sort are useless. He said all that really mattered was our intent, whether we acted in line with our core philosophy, whether we were prepared to accept the consequences of those actions no matter what they are, and whether we were humble enough to learn from our mistakes.

This thought reminded me of the line from that Rage Against the Machine song (which I have now forgotten) which states, “Who controls the past now controls the future. Who controls the present now controls the past.” The questions we should be asking are not whether we should or should not have done a particular thing. We cannot know what all went into making a particular decision or action. What we should ask is how we deal with the problems we currently face and are those decisions just.

So I said I would not have killed Hitler. Because my mind was blinded by the fog of time and of war and I had no way of knowing whether the outcome would have been better or worse. The outcome as it stands was good, even though millions had to suffer, and the world is a halfway decent place because of it. That is not to say that I agree with Hitler’s actions. It is to say that even clearsightedness in the past does not guarantee perfect vision for the future consequences. And what matters most is the morality of the present situation. To do otherwise would be to advocate relativistic postmodernism and I don’t want to do that.

Ironically enough, I am going to see Kurt Vonnegut, an alleged hero of postmodernism, speak tomorrow at the large state university of Ohio where I work. I say alleged, because I don’t believe he actually agrees with that interpretation of his thought. How anybody can read Mother Night or his essays in defense of socialism and believe that his approach to life is in any way relativistic is beyond me. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that, even though he is an avowed atheist and secular humanist, we will see him in heaven when all is said and done. If for no other reason than, after Carl Sagan's death, he stood in front of the American Humanist society and, in a deeply somber voice said, "Well ... Carl's in Heaven now."

But that is another discussion. And so on.

Question Mark

2006-02-28T09:16:00.000-05:00

I have no idea what to do today. So here's a picture of a rabbit with a pancake on its head.

More Confusion

2006-02-27T23:34:00.000-05:00

So it turns out that even though I was hired to do web development, supervise student technical assistants, and provide technological consultation to various faculty across campus, I am, in fact, not supposed to do these things. This is the word from top management. Also, I am not to have access to the database servers or the development servers. I am not to have sys admin rights to the computer labs, which I am now not supposed to be in charge of. This is not due to any mishap on my part. This was allegedly part of the plan all along. This leaves me with one major question: what the hell AM I supposed to do?

Nothing, apparently. Which is what I did all day and will likely do for the remainder of the week.

I am listening to this, by the way. It's really good. I should have majored in music or English or something artistic like I wanted to. C'est la vie. La vie n'est pas grande.

an update on goings on

2006-02-20T10:55:00.000-05:00

We had the first meeting for the play yesterday. Abbie printed off copies for everybody and we had a read through with all the cast members who could make it. There's something about listening to other people read the words you have written. Sometimes it comes out like you expected. Other times they mess it up completely. And sometimes, in rare instances, people take a different interpretation of your words and somehow make it better than you thought it could be.

The bad thing about a reading like this is that I always get terribly embarrassed. My face turned red, my hands started to shake, and I had to keep my head down to avoid looking at people. It's a strange combination of happy excitedness and strange fear. And its the same thing every time.

Christy's sister Aimee was there to read all the open parts and its amazing to see her at work. She is definitely a very gifted actor and its a shame she can't be a part of this. Assuming she would even want to.

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Today is Monday and for some reason I'm in a really good mood. It's cold as hell, but the sun is out, so the campus has a crispness to it that you can only see in winter. Normally I am not a big fan of the colder months, but today is an exception to the rule.

I just got out of a meeting with the main IT group, which I will call Team Cynical(TM). Team Cynical(TM) consists of computer guys in their mid thirties who couldn't quite hack it in the real world and have thus resorted to careers in academia. I don't like to use this popular maxim when it comes to teachers since I know several who could run circles around the majority of people in the "real" world (including my sister and this guy), but in the case of the non-educational roles, the description is apt. And, yes, I am well aware that the description covers my job as well. I tried for years to get a job in the "real" world and met only with frustration. Academia is not very challenging, at least not yet, but it is comfortable. So at least I have that going for me.

The majority of the meeting with Team Cynical(TM) consisted of them complaining about a faculty member's request to purchase a certain piece of unnecessary hardware. Yes, they are correct in their belief that the hardware is unnecessary and that her request is due primarily to her inability to understand basic technology. But here's the rub. The hardware only costs $20, and they'be been fighting it since the Fall. This lady is faculty. She will fight tooth and nail to get what she wants, because that is what faculty do. In speaking with jimi this weekend, I learned that part of a phd education is learning how to outlast the lessers when it comes to the acquisiton of resources. And if jimi's story is the norm, this lady hasn't even begun to fight.

It was neat to see the guys from Team Cynical(TM) in action, though. They elevated profanity to an art form. It was beautiful. One guy was not merely "working on the new application," he was "fucking up that shitty software that basdtard sonofabitch from the fucking rare books department had requested five fucking months ago." I'm a big fan of profanity, and even I had to sit back in awe of these people. Rather than come up with workable plans to complete the projects that had been given them, they chose instead to spend an abudnant amount of time complaining about how much work they had to do followed by an equally overabundant amount of time coming up with new ways to avoid this work in the future.

Perpetual procrasination is the name of the game, apprently.

I don't begrudge them, though. I've played that role in other positions; some of which you've read about here. But I don't want to be like that any more. So it's a good thing I don't have to work with them too closely. It is also a good thing that my boss and my boss's boss are apparently behind me 100%.

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I've got the itch again. I currently have a plethora of writing projects I'm working on. Two short skits, a little one act, and a monster of a play that would put my last project to shame when it comes to scope and complexity. Don't tell Christy or Abbie about that last one, though. They'll kill me if they find out!

There's also that book idea I've been mulling over for a while. Perhaps I should get started on that.

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Have you noticed that everybody seems to be in the process of writing a book recently? It's like its a fucking trend or something. This week its writing a book and next week it'll be investing in time shares. After that, maybe everybody will pick up nuclear physics as a hobby and then our energy problems will be no more!

Either that or somebody will accidentally explode a nuclear device in a large city and send the Ameircan way of life to a bitter and ugly end. Given our declining performance in math and science over the years, the former scenario seems much more likely.

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I wonder if the previous section has landed me on a government watch list. If so, goody goody. It means some poor schulb in the CIA has to read this blog over and over in search of scandalous material. And when he finally makes his report, he'll have to say, "All I found was crappy writing and lots of references to burritos."

I feel sorry for the guy. Or girl. Or whatever.

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Pitchers and catchers are currently working out at camps all over the United States. No, this is not a gay joke. This is major league baseball! Spring training is soon to start and that means real, live, American baseball is soon to follow. For those of you who dislike baseball, it all means warmer weather. So shut the hell up.

I'm not too keen on the Reds chances this year. I always said that the new owners would like to take a year to get to knwo the organization and learn the strengths and weaknesses from personal experience rather than reports from past coaches. And this is exactly what appears to be happening. I was sad to see Sean Casey go. I don't care if he wasn't the prototypical first baseman who mashes homeruns and lumbers around the bases so slow they have to time him with a calendar. He was a consistent 300 hitter and he made hitting a double to the gap in close, late inning games his speciality. He'll do well in Pittsburgh, especially since he'll likely hit in front of Jason Bay.

Yes, I was sad to see him go. But it was good to hear that the Reds had made the move in the hopes they could lure Matt Morris away from St. Louis. The deal eventually fell through and Morris went to Frisco, but it shows that the new management has recognized the team's bigesst weakness. Pitching. And, really, when you look at the lineup, there were only three big name players you could loose in order to make that deal. Adam Dunn, Ken Griffey Jr, or Sean Casey. Adam Dunn can play both outfield and first base, and he is still relatively young. His patience at the plate (evidneced by his high walk total) tells me that one of these days he's going to learn how NOT to strike out so damn much. When that happens, watch out. Griffey would not have garnered the kind of revenue the Reds needed in order to get a pitcher like Matt Morris, despite his resurrective 2005 season. Casey's glove was easily replacable and the Reds had a glut of outfielders. It was the smart move. Had they pulled it off, they Reds might actually have had a shot at contending this season. As things stand, they don't. But at least management is thinking about the right things. Finally.

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One of the fun things about MY library's proximity to the dance school is that, on days like today, I get to work to the sound of african drum beats that seep through the walls at strange intervals. You don't get this kind of fun in the corporate world.

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The return of baseball means that I get to take part in yet another failed season of fantasy baseball online. For the past few seasons I've been in a league with people who used to live on my floor when I was a CA back at Wright State University. It's a keeper league, which means that at the beginning of each season you get to choose 10-12 people from your previous roster to keep before the draft that kicks off the start of the season. This means that your ability to recognize talent early on will eventually pay off in perenial success. It also means that if, like me, you are a terrible judge of young talent, your team will be whipped like sick rats year in a year out. Here are a few of the marquee players I have traded away in the past two seasons for what I thought would either be young talent or veteran resurgents...Todd Helton, Bartolo Colon, Michael Young, Jake Peavy, Barry Bonds, Joe Mauer, and many many others. I take part in the league only to assure that somebody else will not finish in last place. But it's fun! So I keep doing it. And you never know. Maybe Barry Zito will finally pull his head out of his ass, and maybe Curt Schilling's foot won't fall off. You never know. It could happen.

One of my friends once said that the defition of faith was the ability to persist in belief when all the available evidence spoke otherwise. This, he said, is why faith is so close to (if not the same thing as) stupidity. I'm beginning to see his point; at least in this instance.

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Enough for now. There is work to do! Sorta.

update from the fat front

2006-02-15T12:32:00.000-05:00

I had a very groovy, very artistic post for you today. It had all kind sof funky linguistic rhythms and turns of phrase. You would have liked it. Unfortunately, I deleted it before I got the chance to post it. So you'll have to settle with this.

The Fat Project is now on day 46. This morning I arrived at the gym, expecting to see Nate's ugly face, but instead I saw an empty waiting room and a gym full of stupid college kids. I waited a while longer, but he never showed. Apparently Nate needs a bit more beauty sleep than the rest of us, because he called later to apologize, claiming he'd "accidentally" slept in.

Sure, Nate. We all know what's going on.

content in the knowledge that I could move much faster on my own, I proceeded onward, setting up shop at a bench next to a tiny girl who was struggling under 5 pound hand weights.

"Don't laugh at me," she said, a little embarrased.

"Don't worry," I said as I pulled out the 25 pound hand weights to start bench presses. For those of you who don't know, if you're a guy, 25 pound hand weights should never enter into the conversation when discussing pectoral muscles. Never. She smiled at me and then strained to push her weights skyward.

Things went well this morning, although not as well as I'd hoped. I bumped up a lot of my weights this time around and, as such, was unable to meet the requisite number of repetitions on the later sets.

Look at me ... talking like I know what I'm doing.

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the funny thing about losing weight is that you never know where you're going to notice the signs. Sure, you have the big signs like moving down a notch on your belt or waking up one morning to discover that you are literally half the man you used to be. But the little things that happen along the way - those daily occurances that confirm your overall success - are strange.

For instnace, when I lost 120 pounds back in 2001 - 2003, I noticed it in my legs and my forearms. I'd stand in the shower and marvel at muscle definition I have never before seen. I'd run my hands through my hair (this was back when I had hair), and notices muscles in my forearm. One morning, early on, i remember putting on my jeans and thinking, "these feel a bit loose." It never occured to me until later that this was probably the first sign that I had lost weight.

This time around, I'm noticing it in my hands. The skin around my fingers droops a little and the little v-shaped indentation between the thumb and forefinger is a bit more pronounced every day. My knuckles stick out more; especially the Muhammad Ali knucke. I've also noticed my neck getting smaller. The large signs are still there. Don't get me wrong. I lift up my shirt and the skin roll from previous fat projects (which shrank significantly, but never left) has begun to grow at an alarming rate.

It's strange, but I like it. It's good to be going in the right direction again.

Follow along as the sasquatch transforms himself from flabby freak to a still flabby but slightly smaller freak. The numbers and stats of his endeavor are located here.