Sunday, June 29, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Black Gold
So someone tried to jack me this week.
More specifically, they tried to jack my gas.
Seriously, I thought stuff like only happened on the mountain roads of Guatemala, or in the Florida Everglades. When you think of people sticking hoses into gas tanks and siphoning fuel into a bucket, it brings up imagery of some moonshine era long ago.
Not 2008, Manhattan.
Here I was, all set early in the morning to head up to the lake, drop my kayak and get in some paddling before the weekend crowd starting invading. I had just over a quarter tank of gas and probably could have made it there and back without filling up, but i figured why take the chance? I stopped at a gas station which happened to be full service - and the guy tells me my gas cap was missing.
WTF?
I shrug; it's a gas cap, I can replace that easily enough. He tries to fill the tank, but after another quarter fill the nozzle is snapping like the tank is full. I'm looking at my guage, it's obviously at a half-tank.
Again. WTF?
So now I'm thinking, something's screwy here. It's 7:30 in the morning, I decide it'll be better if i stick around and talk to the mechanic when he comes in at 8. He's a little late, but that's fine. He takes a look, decides he can't really figure out what's going on unless they drop the tank and look inside. For that, he needs his crew - who come in at 9.
Wonnnnnnnderful.
They show, they pull the tank, and figure that someone busted the tank assembly inside while trying to force a hose down it. They've got to get the replacement parts, and get me a new cap - this time with a lock on it.
By the time all is said and done, it's after 11am and I'm just too tired and annoyed. Between labor, parts and gas I've spent over $200, gotten nothing I had planned accomplished, and pretty much wasted my morning.
And why? Because someone decided gas was so expensive, they needed to siphon off some of mine.
I swear, I'm going to set up cameras somewhere just so I can catch one of these morons. I'll spend the $50 it'll cost just to douse his arse in gasoline, and roast marshmallows on him after I light his butt up.
It just sucks, realizing that the gas in my tank was worth more to someone than trying to actually steal the truck.
Welcome to America, 2008.
More specifically, they tried to jack my gas.
Seriously, I thought stuff like only happened on the mountain roads of Guatemala, or in the Florida Everglades. When you think of people sticking hoses into gas tanks and siphoning fuel into a bucket, it brings up imagery of some moonshine era long ago.
Not 2008, Manhattan.
Here I was, all set early in the morning to head up to the lake, drop my kayak and get in some paddling before the weekend crowd starting invading. I had just over a quarter tank of gas and probably could have made it there and back without filling up, but i figured why take the chance? I stopped at a gas station which happened to be full service - and the guy tells me my gas cap was missing.
WTF?
I shrug; it's a gas cap, I can replace that easily enough. He tries to fill the tank, but after another quarter fill the nozzle is snapping like the tank is full. I'm looking at my guage, it's obviously at a half-tank.
Again. WTF?
So now I'm thinking, something's screwy here. It's 7:30 in the morning, I decide it'll be better if i stick around and talk to the mechanic when he comes in at 8. He's a little late, but that's fine. He takes a look, decides he can't really figure out what's going on unless they drop the tank and look inside. For that, he needs his crew - who come in at 9.
Wonnnnnnnderful.
They show, they pull the tank, and figure that someone busted the tank assembly inside while trying to force a hose down it. They've got to get the replacement parts, and get me a new cap - this time with a lock on it.
By the time all is said and done, it's after 11am and I'm just too tired and annoyed. Between labor, parts and gas I've spent over $200, gotten nothing I had planned accomplished, and pretty much wasted my morning.
And why? Because someone decided gas was so expensive, they needed to siphon off some of mine.
I swear, I'm going to set up cameras somewhere just so I can catch one of these morons. I'll spend the $50 it'll cost just to douse his arse in gasoline, and roast marshmallows on him after I light his butt up.
It just sucks, realizing that the gas in my tank was worth more to someone than trying to actually steal the truck.
Welcome to America, 2008.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
But does she do windows?
ROME (Reuters) - An Italian man was arrested on suspicion of kidnapping his ex-girlfriend from a pub, taking her home and forcing her to iron his clothes and wash the dishes, police said Monday.
The 43-year-old man dragged the woman out of a pub in the port city of Genoa, shoved her into a car and took her to his home where he made her iron and wash dishes after threatening her, they said.
Police arrived at his house after being tipped off by a friend of the woman who watched the scene at the pub.
The man, who was apparently furious at his ex-girlfriend for leaving him, was arrested on charges of kidnapping, police said.
Personally, I think he just really, really needed his laundry done.
The 43-year-old man dragged the woman out of a pub in the port city of Genoa, shoved her into a car and took her to his home where he made her iron and wash dishes after threatening her, they said.
Police arrived at his house after being tipped off by a friend of the woman who watched the scene at the pub.
The man, who was apparently furious at his ex-girlfriend for leaving him, was arrested on charges of kidnapping, police said.
Personally, I think he just really, really needed his laundry done.
Monday, June 16, 2008
A Coke & A Siam
Just as long as they don't fill it with that green jelly drink (nam quiew?), I'm okay with that.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Iron Men
I don't want to take anything away from Oscar Pistorius. I think he's an inspiration to amputees - and really anyone trying to overcome a disability - everywhere.
But I'm not certain how I feel about his participation in professional sports.
For those of you not in the here and now, Pistorius is making history by becoming the first double-amputee allowed to compete and qualify for the upcoming Beijing Olympics in track. Understand, we're not talking about the Special Olympics - this is the real deal, racing against full-bodied athletes.
So how is this double-amputee able to achieve this? He's using specially designed prosthetic legs, which allow him to compete on a level with other athletes.
Oscar was originally banned from using his prosthetics, based on an Olympic rule which prohibits the use of technical aids by athletes.
However, in appealing the ruling (which, incidently, the law firm I work for handled) he won his case and the ruling was overturned, clearing the way for him to work towards his Olympic dreams.
Now understand - I'm not against him competing, and I think it's admirable that he's overcome his handicap to an extent that he's capable of competing at Olympic levels; it's fascinating, from a purely scientific view, and heroic.
It's reminsicent of a former Major League Baseball player, Jim Abbott - born without a right hand, he learned to pitch lefty and taught himself how to switch his glove quickly from his stump to his left arm, making himself into a capable fielder. He won a gold medal on the US Olympic Team in 1988, and as a New York Yankee, Abbott pitched a no-hitter against the Cleveland Indians in 1993.
But he did it all with skill, not attachments or prosthetics.
The Cheetah® Flex-Foot is a J-shaped, high performance carbon composite prosthetic sprinting foot, designed to store and release energy in order to mimic the reaction of the anatomical foot/ankle joint of able bodied runners. From the manufacturer's own website:
This is the very heart of the issue. The Cheetah prosthetic is basically a giant spring, giving the wearer a distinct advantage over those runners who have to rely only on their natural leg muscles. I've personally seen the difference carbon flex limbs are capable of; as a former competitive archer myself, I watched the industry move from wood-foam core limbs for bows to carbon-composite limbs, as they allow more flex in a lighter limb, which allows for more power.
It begs the question: is Pistorius a faster runner WITH the prosthetic limbs, than he would have been had he been born with two strong legs? Is his speed as much a product of his prosthetics, as his training and determination? There are other amputee athletes who compete, but none of them are double amputees; many point out that it is their HEALTHY limbs that hold them back, as they are forced to alter their running stance to compensate for the extra speed kick they receive from their prosthetic limb. It's comical that this reminds me of how, as a child, I'd wonder how the original Bionic Man of television, Steve Austin, was able to run as fast as he did - in the original season, he only had one artificial limb and I wondered how his human leg was able to keep up.
Pistorius has two such limbs, and his peers have already voiced complaints that his double prosthetics give him added height, and that added height translates to a longer stride - which as a runner, further translates into increased speed and less energy expended to achieve the same speed and distance. Able-bodied athletes have complained that he does not suffer the stress on his knees and calves that they do, instead relying exclusively on his hips to power his strides. Pistorius himself admits
In this age of doping and performance enhancing in professional sports, Pistorius' tale is potentially a Pandora's Box. It's bad to take HGH to improve your performance and strength, but it's okay if you use technology. If an amputee pitcher used a prosthetic limb to learn to throw a ball, is it wrong if he's throwing strikes at 98pmh? Is it cheating, if an amputee wide receiver or running back has a form of the cheetah limbs?
I'm torn.
But I'm not certain how I feel about his participation in professional sports.
For those of you not in the here and now, Pistorius is making history by becoming the first double-amputee allowed to compete and qualify for the upcoming Beijing Olympics in track. Understand, we're not talking about the Special Olympics - this is the real deal, racing against full-bodied athletes.
So how is this double-amputee able to achieve this? He's using specially designed prosthetic legs, which allow him to compete on a level with other athletes.Oscar was originally banned from using his prosthetics, based on an Olympic rule which prohibits the use of technical aids by athletes.
However, in appealing the ruling (which, incidently, the law firm I work for handled) he won his case and the ruling was overturned, clearing the way for him to work towards his Olympic dreams.
Now understand - I'm not against him competing, and I think it's admirable that he's overcome his handicap to an extent that he's capable of competing at Olympic levels; it's fascinating, from a purely scientific view, and heroic.
It's reminsicent of a former Major League Baseball player, Jim Abbott - born without a right hand, he learned to pitch lefty and taught himself how to switch his glove quickly from his stump to his left arm, making himself into a capable fielder. He won a gold medal on the US Olympic Team in 1988, and as a New York Yankee, Abbott pitched a no-hitter against the Cleveland Indians in 1993.But he did it all with skill, not attachments or prosthetics.
The Cheetah® Flex-Foot is a J-shaped, high performance carbon composite prosthetic sprinting foot, designed to store and release energy in order to mimic the reaction of the anatomical foot/ankle joint of able bodied runners. From the manufacturer's own website:
The shape, which somewhat resembles the hind quarter of a Cheetah - hence the name - acts like a spring and shock absorber. The "J" curve is compressed at impact, storing energy as well as absorbing high levels of stress that would otherwise be absorbed by the user’s knee, hip, and lower back. At toe-off, the "J" returns back to its original shape, releasing a percentage of the stored energy and propelling the user forward.
The foot is designed to have more layers of carbon at higher stress points, such as the apex of the "J" curve, and less carbon where more flexibility is needed, such as the toe portion. Importantly, the Cheetah Flex-Foot has no heel component. This ensures that the reaction of the foot accurately mimics that of an able-bodied runner by keeping the user on the "balls of their feet," as well as producing a quicker reaction from the loading response as compared to traditional prosthetic feet.
This is the very heart of the issue. The Cheetah prosthetic is basically a giant spring, giving the wearer a distinct advantage over those runners who have to rely only on their natural leg muscles. I've personally seen the difference carbon flex limbs are capable of; as a former competitive archer myself, I watched the industry move from wood-foam core limbs for bows to carbon-composite limbs, as they allow more flex in a lighter limb, which allows for more power.
It begs the question: is Pistorius a faster runner WITH the prosthetic limbs, than he would have been had he been born with two strong legs? Is his speed as much a product of his prosthetics, as his training and determination? There are other amputee athletes who compete, but none of them are double amputees; many point out that it is their HEALTHY limbs that hold them back, as they are forced to alter their running stance to compensate for the extra speed kick they receive from their prosthetic limb. It's comical that this reminds me of how, as a child, I'd wonder how the original Bionic Man of television, Steve Austin, was able to run as fast as he did - in the original season, he only had one artificial limb and I wondered how his human leg was able to keep up.
Pistorius has two such limbs, and his peers have already voiced complaints that his double prosthetics give him added height, and that added height translates to a longer stride - which as a runner, further translates into increased speed and less energy expended to achieve the same speed and distance. Able-bodied athletes have complained that he does not suffer the stress on his knees and calves that they do, instead relying exclusively on his hips to power his strides. Pistorius himself admits
In this age of doping and performance enhancing in professional sports, Pistorius' tale is potentially a Pandora's Box. It's bad to take HGH to improve your performance and strength, but it's okay if you use technology. If an amputee pitcher used a prosthetic limb to learn to throw a ball, is it wrong if he's throwing strikes at 98pmh? Is it cheating, if an amputee wide receiver or running back has a form of the cheetah limbs?
I'm torn.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Food In The Raw
My friends like to make fun of me when we go hiking & overnight camping, because I always seem to bring too much stuff. I start bringing out odd packages & storage containers, and they shake their heads with wonder...at least, they do until dinnertime.
While they're roasting Oscar Meyer weiners or eating cold sandwiches, I'm eating jambalaya over rice, with garlic bread on the side. For breakfast they're gnoshing on cereal bars, I'm scrambling fresh eggs and flipping pancake (true story!)
The keys are: not letting yourself settle, and preparation. I tell everyone - a ziplock freezer bag is your best friend. A little cooking the night before will leave you warm, full and satisfied by the campfire.
I admit I was a bit lazy this time. The Mexican Chicken soup for dinner was canned, but the trick is to take it OUT the can before you go. Empty it into a baggie, put itinside another, and freeze it. Bingo, 1/4 the weight, fits inside your backpack the same - and ready to eat once you pot it over a fire.
My breakfast was also lazier than normal, but it's been a while since i've done a full pack and didn't want to overdo it. I usd simple packs of instant oatmeal, but brought along a little cinnamon and some "crunch" dried fruit. Added to the oatmeal, the fruit rehydrates - and you've got a tasty, fruity breakfast.
I also have these packs of Internatonal Coffee Cafe Mocha instant drinks. Pour into a mug, add hot water.
Because there ain't no Stabucks out here, and a brother needs his java in the morning.
In The Heat of the Moment
Understand...I am a rational man. I'd had a small fire, just enough to cook with. I was done. A fire served no purpose. I had a lantern. I had a flashlight. Lighting a fire would be...would be...
Of course I lit a fire. I couldn't help myself, something primal in me literally screamed for a fire. My cro-magnon ancestors demanded a fire, and by the gods I would give them one!
I have enough wood collected to build a log cabin, but even as I sit here typing this I'm wondering...
...is it enough?
It IS primal. We as Men - and that's gender specific - are bred to NEED a fire. We are physically incapable of being around the implements needed to start a flame, and not actually do so.
The proof can be found at every BBQ around the globe, Put more than one male near a pit or grill, and all will gravitate towards it. We all must participate, offering our opinions on how it should be done.
"Stack them like a pyramid! " "No, stagger them!" "Add leaves for kindling" "Grass, throw some grass on there!"
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Brainfart: This is Why We Do It
Brainfart: On The Road
Monday, May 19, 2008
Or, Maybe Little Precious Is a Wii Bit Fat
Those silly, silly Brits are at it once again. And thank the GODS they started it, because you know damn well it would have happened here in the Colonies eventually.
For those of you living under a rock for the past half a year or so, Nintendo has come out last week with a new game called "Wii Fit", which really is more of an exercise videogame than it is an entertainment game. It's designed to get you off your ass and, I don't know...exercise, I guess.
Hence, I suppose, the name "Fit" in the game's name.
My sarcasm is dripping with overflow here because the British media is, itself, overflowing with joy - telling the oh-so-sad tale of a young girl, a mere 10 years of age, whose precious psyche will forever be scarred by this horrible Japanese game which has, apparently, decided that the waif is somewhat on the porkier side of "not-fit".
Meaning she's a fatty.
This is just one article, but there are plenty; they're loving this story, and can't seem to get enough of it.
The short version.
Young miss exhales with joy as Parental Units bring home the overhyped Nintendo "game", which I should emphasize once again is advertised as a "fitness" game. To get you into shape.
Young miss boots up the game, stands on the boogie board provided, and goes through the mild exercises the game puts you through to determine your initial fitness level.
The game calculates, factoring in her age, weight, height, and of course her ability (or apparent lack thereof) to perform the few menial balance and agility tests it has asked her to do.
The game responds. "Holy mother of god, get off my board before you break it in half, you chubby whale!"
Child runs off to Mums, crying hysterically. Mums is outraged that anyone would tell her nummykins she's fat, and bakes the young tot a blackberry pie to soothe her bruised psyche. Reporters swarm eagerly, racing to be the first to tell this dastardly tale.
Of course, I exaggerate. As did, obviously, the press. And this family.
The game does not scream you are fat. It will not poke fun of your Homer Simpson-like beer belly. It does, however, provide you a scale with which to judge your initial degree of fitness, giving you a starting point to improve upon over time.
The girl's father says: "She is a perfectly healthy, 4ft 9in tall 10-year-old who swims, dances and weighs only six stone," said the father, who did not want to be named for fear of embarrassing the girl further.
"She is solidly built but not fat. She was devastated to be called fat and we had to work hard to convince her she isn't.
So. At a conversion rate of about 14pounds to a stone, she's...84pounds, give or take a cupcake or two. I really have no concept of what 84pounds is actually like...but I went searching. Of course.
Things that also weigh 6 stone include:
The PHANTOM THREE-WHEEL SCOOTER has a weight capacity of 300lbs, and gets 15miles on a single charge. This sucker comes apart for easy storage, and yes that is indeed a headlight you see included in the package. Vroom vroom, baby!
If the scooter's not your bag, this HI MOUNTAIN JERKY SMOKER is a compact 24" tall, 19" deep with one oven rack and two smoker screens. It's stainless steel top and interior walls make for quick and easy cleaning. Mmm-mmm, I can smell that squirrel jerky roasting all the way from here!
Maybe...you're more the audiophile, hmmm? These REGA FLOORSTANDING SPEAKERS stand just about 40 inches high (just over 3ft) and 15 inches deep. I'd tell you all about the craftsmanship but who cares, it's a $4000 speaker; it better be made well.
So what does all this really say? It says that a 10yr old girl the size of a small jerky smoker got all teary because her video game called her a tubbo.
Perhaps...I dunno. I'm going out on a limb here. But maybe. Just maybe.
Maybe she's, just, you know, a *bit* overweight? Which, I'm betting, is why Daddykins and Mumsy bought little princess the goddamn FITNESS GAME IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE?!
Holy shit, Batman, what the hell is wrong with you people?!
"Obesity experts" are upset that the game could "damage a child's image of themselves". Obesity experts?
Fat people. Fucking chubbos are upset that junior porkers might actually figure out that they ARE fat, and GODS HELP US do something about it?!
Go eat a fucking double cheeseburger, you fat bastards. These are the same people who probably sued McDonald's for making them fat; yeah, like it's SOOOOOOOO hard to JUST order the grilled chicken salad. I mean, really - you HAVE to have the supersized fries. Oh and it's only a quarter more for the Jumbo sized Coke, so why exercise self control and get the bottled water? Apple pies are TWO for a dollar, of course I don't want just one - and skipping them completely? Out of the question!
...all of this...and the damn game doesn't even tell the kid she's fat. It's a BAR on a SCALE that says she MIGHT be a bit overweight, and HERE'S SOMETHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.
Evil fucking game, that is. Right satanic. Blimey.
<>
For those of you living under a rock for the past half a year or so, Nintendo has come out last week with a new game called "Wii Fit", which really is more of an exercise videogame than it is an entertainment game. It's designed to get you off your ass and, I don't know...exercise, I guess.
Hence, I suppose, the name "Fit" in the game's name.
My sarcasm is dripping with overflow here because the British media is, itself, overflowing with joy - telling the oh-so-sad tale of a young girl, a mere 10 years of age, whose precious psyche will forever be scarred by this horrible Japanese game which has, apparently, decided that the waif is somewhat on the porkier side of "not-fit".
Meaning she's a fatty.
This is just one article, but there are plenty; they're loving this story, and can't seem to get enough of it.
The short version.
Young miss exhales with joy as Parental Units bring home the overhyped Nintendo "game", which I should emphasize once again is advertised as a "fitness" game. To get you into shape.
Young miss boots up the game, stands on the boogie board provided, and goes through the mild exercises the game puts you through to determine your initial fitness level.
The game calculates, factoring in her age, weight, height, and of course her ability (or apparent lack thereof) to perform the few menial balance and agility tests it has asked her to do.
The game responds. "Holy mother of god, get off my board before you break it in half, you chubby whale!"
Child runs off to Mums, crying hysterically. Mums is outraged that anyone would tell her nummykins she's fat, and bakes the young tot a blackberry pie to soothe her bruised psyche. Reporters swarm eagerly, racing to be the first to tell this dastardly tale.
Of course, I exaggerate. As did, obviously, the press. And this family.
The game does not scream you are fat. It will not poke fun of your Homer Simpson-like beer belly. It does, however, provide you a scale with which to judge your initial degree of fitness, giving you a starting point to improve upon over time.The girl's father says: "She is a perfectly healthy, 4ft 9in tall 10-year-old who swims, dances and weighs only six stone," said the father, who did not want to be named for fear of embarrassing the girl further.
"She is solidly built but not fat. She was devastated to be called fat and we had to work hard to convince her she isn't.
So. At a conversion rate of about 14pounds to a stone, she's...84pounds, give or take a cupcake or two. I really have no concept of what 84pounds is actually like...but I went searching. Of course.
Things that also weigh 6 stone include:
The PHANTOM THREE-WHEEL SCOOTER has a weight capacity of 300lbs, and gets 15miles on a single charge. This sucker comes apart for easy storage, and yes that is indeed a headlight you see included in the package. Vroom vroom, baby!If the scooter's not your bag, this HI MOUNTAIN JERKY SMOKER is a compact 24" tall, 19" deep with one oven rack and two smoker screens. It's stainless steel top and interior walls make for quick and easy cleaning. Mmm-mmm, I can smell that squirrel jerky roasting all the way from here!Maybe...you're more the audiophile, hmmm? These REGA FLOORSTANDING SPEAKERS stand just about 40 inches high (just over 3ft) and 15 inches deep. I'd tell you all about the craftsmanship but who cares, it's a $4000 speaker; it better be made well.So what does all this really say? It says that a 10yr old girl the size of a small jerky smoker got all teary because her video game called her a tubbo.
Perhaps...I dunno. I'm going out on a limb here. But maybe. Just maybe.
Maybe she's, just, you know, a *bit* overweight? Which, I'm betting, is why Daddykins and Mumsy bought little princess the goddamn FITNESS GAME IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE?!
Holy shit, Batman, what the hell is wrong with you people?!
"Obesity experts" are upset that the game could "damage a child's image of themselves". Obesity experts?
Fat people. Fucking chubbos are upset that junior porkers might actually figure out that they ARE fat, and GODS HELP US do something about it?!
Go eat a fucking double cheeseburger, you fat bastards. These are the same people who probably sued McDonald's for making them fat; yeah, like it's SOOOOOOOO hard to JUST order the grilled chicken salad. I mean, really - you HAVE to have the supersized fries. Oh and it's only a quarter more for the Jumbo sized Coke, so why exercise self control and get the bottled water? Apple pies are TWO for a dollar, of course I don't want just one - and skipping them completely? Out of the question!
...all of this...and the damn game doesn't even tell the kid she's fat. It's a BAR on a SCALE that says she MIGHT be a bit overweight, and HERE'S SOMETHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.
Evil fucking game, that is. Right satanic. Blimey.
<>
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Prime Directive
For all of you non-Trekkies out there, I'm going to ask for you patience for a moment while I clarify exactly what the Prime Directive is.
In the fictional universe of Star Trek, the Prime Directive, Starfleet's General Order #1, is the most prominent guiding principle of the United Federation of Planets. The Prime Directive dictates that there can be no interference with the internal affairs of other civilizations, consistent with the historical real world concept of Westphalian sovereignty.
In human-speak, that means: Fuck off, space traveler. Mind your beeswax. We'll handle our business, you handle yours.
That said...human beings, as a collective and as individuals, will find any excuse to LET SHIT HAPPEN. I don't care how absolutely fucked up a situation is, I guarantee you there will be some fool with a Handycam there filming the whole thing, going "Croikey, would ya look at thet!" We'll watch another Rodney King get his ass whipped something fierce, and when it's all said and done the person will hold up his hands and scream out the Prime Directive.
"Wasn't my business."
Case in point. Because I know, you knew, something sparked this shit.
A friend of mine (thanks, Tippers) forwarded an article that she assumed we'd all find interesting, which I indeed - did. The headline of said article was worded thusly:
Seal caught on tape molesting a penguin
Scientists study rare example of interspecies sexual harassment
Oh yes. It went there. This shit was on MSNBC.com, peoples! It went on:
There was more, of course, but I don't really give a fig; I've got enough to work with right here.
These so-called scientists sat there, for 45 MINUTES, watching a 250lb seal try to anally rape a 30lb penguin.
45 minutes.
All in the name of science.
Now...even the worst stoner, high as a fucking kite, would find this hilarious. As do I.
For maybe...5 minutes, max.
Then - and call me crazy, but really I do feel this to be true - at some point, my FUCKING CONSCIENCE would have kicked in and I'd have tried to stop this from happening. Thrown a rock, splashed some water, yelled "Get the fuck off him, you child molester!" Anything. Because AS a guy, the last thing I want to sit there and watch is some other creature get turned into a prison bitch.
My subway ride to work is 25 minutes. A TiVo'd episode of Lost is 45-50 minutes. So let's put that into some perspective, shall we?
For the length of an episode of Lost, all commercials nicely removed, you ALSO have the option of watching a seal rape a penguin.
45 minutes, folks.
Can I just say, ahead of time...that if ever, EVER, you see me getting anally raped by a 250 seal....stop it. Please. Throw a fucking rock at my head, shoot me and put me out of my misery, do something. Anything.
Because the needs of the one, outweighs the needs of the many.
In the fictional universe of Star Trek, the Prime Directive, Starfleet's General Order #1, is the most prominent guiding principle of the United Federation of Planets. The Prime Directive dictates that there can be no interference with the internal affairs of other civilizations, consistent with the historical real world concept of Westphalian sovereignty.
In human-speak, that means: Fuck off, space traveler. Mind your beeswax. We'll handle our business, you handle yours.
That said...human beings, as a collective and as individuals, will find any excuse to LET SHIT HAPPEN. I don't care how absolutely fucked up a situation is, I guarantee you there will be some fool with a Handycam there filming the whole thing, going "Croikey, would ya look at thet!" We'll watch another Rodney King get his ass whipped something fierce, and when it's all said and done the person will hold up his hands and scream out the Prime Directive.
"Wasn't my business."
Case in point. Because I know, you knew, something sparked this shit.
A friend of mine (thanks, Tippers) forwarded an article that she assumed we'd all find interesting, which I indeed - did. The headline of said article was worded thusly:
Seal caught on tape molesting a penguin
Scientists study rare example of interspecies sexual harassment
Oh yes. It went there. This shit was on MSNBC.com, peoples! It went on:
One summer morning, scientists observing elephant seals on a beach on Marion Island near the Antarctic spotted a young male Antarctic fur seal subduing a king penguin.
At first we thought it was hunting the penguin, but then it became clear that his intentions were rather more amorous," de Bruyn recalled today via email.
The roughly 240-pound seal subdued the 30-pound adult penguin by lying on it. The hapless bird of unknown sex struggled, rapidly flapping its flippers and attempting to stand and flee, without luck.
The seal then alternated between resting on the penguin and thrusting its pelvis at the bird in vain attempts to insert its penis for 45 minutes. Natural, unsuccessful sexual escapades by this variety of seal with members of its own species may last as long as this penguin assault did, "but yes, it is quite a long time and thus unusual," de Bruyn told LiveScience.
The seal then abruptly gave up, moving to sea and completely ignoring the target of its affections. The penguin apparently did not suffer any injury. The scientists detailed their findings in the May issue of the Journal of Ethology.
There was more, of course, but I don't really give a fig; I've got enough to work with right here.
These so-called scientists sat there, for 45 MINUTES, watching a 250lb seal try to anally rape a 30lb penguin.
45 minutes.
All in the name of science.
Now...even the worst stoner, high as a fucking kite, would find this hilarious. As do I.
For maybe...5 minutes, max.
Then - and call me crazy, but really I do feel this to be true - at some point, my FUCKING CONSCIENCE would have kicked in and I'd have tried to stop this from happening. Thrown a rock, splashed some water, yelled "Get the fuck off him, you child molester!" Anything. Because AS a guy, the last thing I want to sit there and watch is some other creature get turned into a prison bitch.
My subway ride to work is 25 minutes. A TiVo'd episode of Lost is 45-50 minutes. So let's put that into some perspective, shall we?
For the length of an episode of Lost, all commercials nicely removed, you ALSO have the option of watching a seal rape a penguin.
45 minutes, folks.
Can I just say, ahead of time...that if ever, EVER, you see me getting anally raped by a 250 seal....stop it. Please. Throw a fucking rock at my head, shoot me and put me out of my misery, do something. Anything.
Because the needs of the one, outweighs the needs of the many.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Brainfart: Street Heat
Friday, May 09, 2008
Brainfart: The iScooter
All I Need Is a Dollar And a Dream, Right?
Someday, the world will acknowledge my innate godhood. For now, I'm content to bask in the glow of my own creative brilliance.
Back to the Ziggurat idea. I'd played around with this concept of LCD/Plasma faux windows for the interior, where instead of having actual windows I'd instead install video cameras on the outer walls of the structure and feed the live outside images to digital screens throughout the interior, which would give the appearance of being windows. I could look outside in real time, but never concern myself with someone else looking in.
By pure random chance - or the mind of a burgeoning god, I haven't decided yet - I stumbled across this website for a company called the Sky Factory (www.theskyfactory.com). What do they make?
Fake, luminous, skylights/windows.
How fantastic a concept is this? They basically build a lighted panel into your ceiling, install a special photographic panel, and cover that with an overlay. Flip a switch and presto! you're looking out at a great image of the world, any image of your choosing!
They can also design it in any pattern of your choosing, whether you want an entire ceiling panel or a round, gothic skylight. Which you absolutely KNOW yours truly would have to have. I loved that giant window they had in the movie "The Crow"; I've sworn that if ever I had the money, that would become my bedroom window. With this concept, I can have it and not worry about who's looking in, about needing curtains, or even where to place my bedroom - who cares whether or not the room is looking out over a particular view, when I can decide myself what image shows up on the display?
There's one design that I absolutely love on their website, it's sort of a ceiling/gutter skylight concept that follows the curve of a hall, along the ceiling; it just looks fantastic, providing a "natural" light while enhancing the design of the hall itself. I'll have to throw that in as well, I like the idea of curving halls within a pyramidal structure. I may even do that for the basement of the house; let's go with the underground feeling, but give it a sense of being above everything by hinting at nothing but sky being above it. I love the duality of it. [UPDATED NOTE: oooo! oooo! What if...instead of sky...it's an UNDERWATER display?! Holy school of fish, batman! How fuckingly awesome would that be? Hell it'd be like a better version of the old fish screen saver; imagine the occasional WHALE swimming overhead, casting a virtual shadow as it moves? Goddamn, I'm good.]
Now of course, their design s isn't quite MY design idea; theirs involves static images, a sort of mylar/film singular image that is installed into the window and becomes your permanent view. My idea would be to take their design and replace the lighting fixture with the digital wiring needed, and instead of the film photograph I'd replace that with an LCD or Plasma screen. I could even have a central computer system, where I could change the "weather" at will throughout the house - deciding on a clear night sky full of stars, perhaps, or a bright sunny day. Tie it in with the central air conditioning, and change the heat - and "wind" - to go with it. Add in scents to mimic the ocean, or fresh-cut grass, or the muskiness of a jungle or forest, or a garden...the possibilities are near-endless.
Oh and yes, they do have wall windows as well. These frames are about as fugly as hell, but the word "custom" is all over the place with these guys and believe me, I'm all about the customization.
Hell, depending on their patents - if I've got the mega-money to build the house, I've certainly got the bucks to finance a company to build these on my own. I may just market this myself.
Where's my lotto ticket?
Back to the Ziggurat idea. I'd played around with this concept of LCD/Plasma faux windows for the interior, where instead of having actual windows I'd instead install video cameras on the outer walls of the structure and feed the live outside images to digital screens throughout the interior, which would give the appearance of being windows. I could look outside in real time, but never concern myself with someone else looking in.
By pure random chance - or the mind of a burgeoning god, I haven't decided yet - I stumbled across this website for a company called the Sky Factory (www.theskyfactory.com). What do they make?
Fake, luminous, skylights/windows.
How fantastic a concept is this? They basically build a lighted panel into your ceiling, install a special photographic panel, and cover that with an overlay. Flip a switch and presto! you're looking out at a great image of the world, any image of your choosing!
They can also design it in any pattern of your choosing, whether you want an entire ceiling panel or a round, gothic skylight. Which you absolutely KNOW yours truly would have to have. I loved that giant window they had in the movie "The Crow"; I've sworn that if ever I had the money, that would become my bedroom window. With this concept, I can have it and not worry about who's looking in, about needing curtains, or even where to place my bedroom - who cares whether or not the room is looking out over a particular view, when I can decide myself what image shows up on the display? 
There's one design that I absolutely love on their website, it's sort of a ceiling/gutter skylight concept that follows the curve of a hall, along the ceiling; it just looks fantastic, providing a "natural" light while enhancing the design of the hall itself. I'll have to throw that in as well, I like the idea of curving halls within a pyramidal structure. I may even do that for the basement of the house; let's go with the underground feeling, but give it a sense of being above everything by hinting at nothing but sky being above it. I love the duality of it. [UPDATED NOTE: oooo! oooo! What if...instead of sky...it's an UNDERWATER display?! Holy school of fish, batman! How fuckingly awesome would that be? Hell it'd be like a better version of the old fish screen saver; imagine the occasional WHALE swimming overhead, casting a virtual shadow as it moves? Goddamn, I'm good.]
Now of course, their design s isn't quite MY design idea; theirs involves static images, a sort of mylar/film singular image that is installed into the window and becomes your permanent view. My idea would be to take their design and replace the lighting fixture with the digital wiring needed, and instead of the film photograph I'd replace that with an LCD or Plasma screen. I could even have a central computer system, where I could change the "weather" at will throughout the house - deciding on a clear night sky full of stars, perhaps, or a bright sunny day. Tie it in with the central air conditioning, and change the heat - and "wind" - to go with it. Add in scents to mimic the ocean, or fresh-cut grass, or the muskiness of a jungle or forest, or a garden...the possibilities are near-endless.
Oh and yes, they do have wall windows as well. These frames are about as fugly as hell, but the word "custom" is all over the place with these guys and believe me, I'm all about the customization.Hell, depending on their patents - if I've got the mega-money to build the house, I've certainly got the bucks to finance a company to build these on my own. I may just market this myself.
Where's my lotto ticket?
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
The Bottom Line
Lately I've found myself looking ahead at the road my life is on, and it's not a bad road - sure it has it's potholes and bumps. But there isn't much traffic, the weather's been good, the engine sounds good and my gas tank isn't on E.
So why is it I keep looking back, and wondering if I missed an important exist somewhere?
I know it's an odd metaphor, but really it fits. It's like I was driving and my exit was coming up, but then this 18-wheeler pulled up in the right-side lane and suddenly I'm in traffic and can't cut over, and before I know it I'm past the exit and still speeding forward. So you figure you'll go on up ahead to the next exit, except you're deep on the interstate and so far it's been a good five miles and still no exit is coming up. Even if you find one, you're not sure how to circle around and get back on the highway to the other direction; instead you end up back on the same road, going in the same direction, and you've given up trying to find that same exit.
Understand I'm not about to delve into some emo shit; I like my wrists un-slashed, thank you very much, and I'm all about living life - not mourning it. But there's still that sense of "wrongness", that Sliding Doors feeling like except for one little thing, my life would have turned out completely different. Maybe better, maybe not - but different. And "right", whereas this one feels uncomfortable like a suit that's a big irregular. It doesn't sit right in the shoulders, the cut across the chest seems off. It's a nice suit, but it isn't tailored for me.
Case in point. We had what we call a "C" level departmental meeting, meaning all the departments who fall under a particular Chief where gathered together to listen to the ED explain the rationale behind our company's recent merger, why things happened the way they did. Basically a "how we got here" overview of the last 5-8 years, which was pretty revealing.
The scream-and-shout moment in my psyche came when the ED was explaining how they needed to increase the firm's Profits Per Partner, aka the PPP. Very reasonably he went on to explain how that was first achieved by cutting costs across the board, then - of course - cutting staff. An example was given of various IT personnel throughout our offices, how there would often be three individuals in each smaller office serving various functions from network/infrastructure support, to applications management and training. Rather than keep these people - 3 per office, over say 25 offices, for 75 people - you eliminate them ALL. Keep one person for the US, one for Europe - and fly them out to the other offices in their particular region as they're needed. Instant savings.
It was also brought up how, if we (and by WE I mean the institution) manage to get our Associates to work an additional 2 hours per week - again, a very reasonable request on the surface - that would average out to an additional revenue of $10 million dollars a year.
Ten fucking million dollars, which would then be used to increase PARTNER compensation.
I'm listening to this, eyebrows raised, nodding appropriately, but inside I'm screaming "OMG! You're telling me all those layoffs weren't because the firm was losing money, but because the Partners weren't making ENOUGH!?"
How in gods' name did I end up here? I'm not corporate! I hate corporate, despise the machine...but here I am, a cog in the wheel of the machine itself. And unfortunately I don't see myself leaving it any time soon, because being a typical American I like the lifestyle I've made for myself and leaving the machine would mean giving up all the creature comforts I've become accustomed to.
I'm a crackhead, and Corporate America is my dealer.
I'm not big on the whole Lotto thing - never have. It feels like cheating; I know that's weird, but fuck you I'm admittedly weird so get over it. Even stealing money, to me, means having had to WORK to get it - the planning, the actions, the getaway. It's twisted logic and questionable morals, but they're mine. So there.
But simply being handed money feels...just wrong. So I was never big on playing it.
I think that'll change. Because I feel like I deserve more, and yes again that's me being a typical greedy capitalist American, but so what. And yes, I did play the Mega yesterday. Obviously I didn't win, and there's this nagging little Capricornian gremlin on my shoulder screaming over the lost $4 I spent, but fuck him too. I'm getting off this highway, going off-road and blazing a new trail - one way or another.
So why is it I keep looking back, and wondering if I missed an important exist somewhere?
I know it's an odd metaphor, but really it fits. It's like I was driving and my exit was coming up, but then this 18-wheeler pulled up in the right-side lane and suddenly I'm in traffic and can't cut over, and before I know it I'm past the exit and still speeding forward. So you figure you'll go on up ahead to the next exit, except you're deep on the interstate and so far it's been a good five miles and still no exit is coming up. Even if you find one, you're not sure how to circle around and get back on the highway to the other direction; instead you end up back on the same road, going in the same direction, and you've given up trying to find that same exit.
Understand I'm not about to delve into some emo shit; I like my wrists un-slashed, thank you very much, and I'm all about living life - not mourning it. But there's still that sense of "wrongness", that Sliding Doors feeling like except for one little thing, my life would have turned out completely different. Maybe better, maybe not - but different. And "right", whereas this one feels uncomfortable like a suit that's a big irregular. It doesn't sit right in the shoulders, the cut across the chest seems off. It's a nice suit, but it isn't tailored for me.
Case in point. We had what we call a "C" level departmental meeting, meaning all the departments who fall under a particular Chief where gathered together to listen to the ED explain the rationale behind our company's recent merger, why things happened the way they did. Basically a "how we got here" overview of the last 5-8 years, which was pretty revealing.
The scream-and-shout moment in my psyche came when the ED was explaining how they needed to increase the firm's Profits Per Partner, aka the PPP. Very reasonably he went on to explain how that was first achieved by cutting costs across the board, then - of course - cutting staff. An example was given of various IT personnel throughout our offices, how there would often be three individuals in each smaller office serving various functions from network/infrastructure support, to applications management and training. Rather than keep these people - 3 per office, over say 25 offices, for 75 people - you eliminate them ALL. Keep one person for the US, one for Europe - and fly them out to the other offices in their particular region as they're needed. Instant savings.
It was also brought up how, if we (and by WE I mean the institution) manage to get our Associates to work an additional 2 hours per week - again, a very reasonable request on the surface - that would average out to an additional revenue of $10 million dollars a year.
Ten fucking million dollars, which would then be used to increase PARTNER compensation.
I'm listening to this, eyebrows raised, nodding appropriately, but inside I'm screaming "OMG! You're telling me all those layoffs weren't because the firm was losing money, but because the Partners weren't making ENOUGH!?"
How in gods' name did I end up here? I'm not corporate! I hate corporate, despise the machine...but here I am, a cog in the wheel of the machine itself. And unfortunately I don't see myself leaving it any time soon, because being a typical American I like the lifestyle I've made for myself and leaving the machine would mean giving up all the creature comforts I've become accustomed to.
I'm a crackhead, and Corporate America is my dealer.
I'm not big on the whole Lotto thing - never have. It feels like cheating; I know that's weird, but fuck you I'm admittedly weird so get over it. Even stealing money, to me, means having had to WORK to get it - the planning, the actions, the getaway. It's twisted logic and questionable morals, but they're mine. So there.
But simply being handed money feels...just wrong. So I was never big on playing it.
I think that'll change. Because I feel like I deserve more, and yes again that's me being a typical greedy capitalist American, but so what. And yes, I did play the Mega yesterday. Obviously I didn't win, and there's this nagging little Capricornian gremlin on my shoulder screaming over the lost $4 I spent, but fuck him too. I'm getting off this highway, going off-road and blazing a new trail - one way or another.
Life's like a road that you travel on
When there's one day here and the next day gone
Sometimes you bend and sometimes you stand
Sometimes you turn your head to the wind
There's a world outside every darkened door
Where blues won't haunt you anymore
Where brave are free and lovers soar
Come ride with me to the distant shore
We won't hesitate
Break down the garden's gate
There's not much time left today
Life is a highway
I wanna ride it all night long
If you're going my way
I wanna drive it all night long
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Brainfart: E=MC's Back
Apparently this is Musicology day, but that is why I call them brainfarts - you control what comes out, or what it smells like.
Forget Touch My Body, the song you'll be shaking your ass to in the clubs is I'm That Chick. You'll thank me later.
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