Needless to Say...

...I have a sick masochistic fascination with needles.

Damn You Candy Companies!!

So Hershey's recently put out a new product - it's a baggie of breath-mints. The problem is that it looks like baggies used to carry cocaine.

There has been some outrage over this product due to it's similarity to drug packaging and news sites are showing pictures comparing the two. I guess this is problematic because a child who is used to having breath mints in a little blue baggie might stumble upon a baggie of llello, eat it, and suffer harm or die.

As some have already pointed out, there is a bigger issue here: where the hell is this situation going to take place? What child lives in a environment where they could find a little blue baggie of blow? People don't usually misplace large bags of drugs, so any parent who is worried that after a all-night binger their kid will consume the rest of their drugs probably has more to worry about than Hershey's packaging.

I Know I Don't Post Anything with any Content Anymore...

...but I was perusing Sarah Brown's site and ran across this video by a band named Menomena and couldn't help but share it with anyone who still occasionally visits this site:

Skateboards: The Unknown Danger

I was skating to the 7-11 that is all of 1 block from my condo tonight. Mind you, I have been using a longboard for years now. I'm no Tony Hawk, but I can usually get to my destination on said longboard without too much of a problem.

But not tonight.

Somehow, my peddling got a bit too excited and my body gained too much momentum and I found myself moving faster than the board beneath my feet. As you might have by now assumed, this means that I surpassed the 45 degree [estimate] point and my board stayed at the pace I was previously moving (better read as: my board was moving at X speed and my body was moving at Y speed, where Y= very fast and X= not very fast).

Needless to say...I hit the pavement, did a stuntman roll, and lost some (read: a lot) of my epidermal layer.

Now I'm bandaged up like the Invisible Man when he's wanting to be seen by others.

Case in point:

Remind me to never join the X-Games.

P.S. I know it says "PANTIES" on the computer screen behind my aching hand, but I promise I was just reading a webcomic that has some strange links to other (more bizarre) webcomics. The first person who tries to be witty and makes a joke about my web-surfing destinations gets a slap in the face.

Does anyone else find this strange?

Marketing For Dummies

I was browsing the internet, as I am often to be found doing, and I ran across an ad for durian. If you don't know, durian fruit is this massively popular fruit in India (and possibly some other countries) that tastes, to almost anyone who did not grow up eating it, like rotten garbage with some extra rotten thrown on top. The smell is so foul that hotels have big "no durian fruit" signs and they often have special charcoal filtering systems in case someone sneaks one into the hotel and eats it. They are said to have mystical qualities and people go crazy for them. There have been murders over durian fruit sales.

So you can imagine my surprise at seeing an ad for this fruit that was aimed at Americans. As I checked out the ad, here is what I saw:
Take a look at all the claims this ad makes and then stop and think. Notice something a little bit odd? In one category we have mood elevator and cause of feeling younger. Sort of like an anti-depressant that makes you happier. Next we have energizer, to which we will add helps you lose weight since diet pills also usually give you energy. Next we have sexual stimulant. Next we have relaxant. Next we have...um...helps you make lots of money?

I have such a hard time thinking that people would buy this, but I guess they do.

How can one item make you happier and peppier AND help you with sexual problems AND help you fall asleep? My only guess is that it pumps you full of a speed-like substance which makes you happier which allows greater sexual performance which tires you out and makes you sleep well. And then it gets you lots of money. Or something?

Plus, we have to remember that this is a fruit. A natural, organic item. One that has not been scientifically engineered to perform a multitude of opposing functions in the human body.

The only way to achieve all those results with modern science is a drug cocktail kinda like this:
-Seroquel for happiness
-Sibutramine for pep and weight loss
-Yohimbine for aphrodisiacal qualities
-Nembutal for sleep

I don't even know where I'm going with this. I could end with the sad state of marketing ethics in our country, or how people forget to use their brains when something is promised to make them rich, or how lacking in true marketing skill most internet salesmen are...but instead I'll leave the moral up to you.

I will say one thing, however...if you ever get your hands on a durian, stay the heck away from me.

Club/Bar Stereotypes - Part Deux

I did my first post about club stereotypes 4 years ago, and it's about time for a new one. There are just so many odd people at clubs that they simply need to be written about. Serious movie script fodder in my opinion.

The "Lesbians"
These are the girls who show up in slutty outfits and are not lesbian in the least, but they know guys and they know that dancing together will get them the attention they crave so much. A simple kiss on the lips and every guy in the club will be all over them for the rest of the night.

The Bros
This is the group of guys (always at least 3) who show up in baggy jeans, baggy t-shirts (often with fraternity Greek plastered on them), baseball caps, and really bad tattoos (usually barbwire and more fraternity Greek). They slam beers, talk about "bitches", and brag about all the "game" they have even though they never get any girl's attention.

The Out-Of-Place Guy
This guy always comes alone and looks so out of place you can't help but stare. His outfit will vary depending on the club. The basic formula is:
Given:
X=Any given club
Y=Very specific style
G=out-of-place-guy
Y*=the opposite
Then:
E(x)(g)[X(Y)^G->G(Y*)]
In layman's terms: For all clubs and all out-of-place guys, if a club with a specific style, and out-of-place guy, then out-of-place guy will wear the exact opposite of whatever that specific style is. (Sorry, logic class ruined me). IE: If we're at a Mexican cantina-style club with jeans and t-shirts as the style, this guy will be wearing a dress shirt, dress pants, a tie or suspenders, and oftentimes one extra feature such as a toupee, a pocket-protector, or a bolo tie.

The Bitches
This is the group of girls who dress up nice and go out to the club to "have a good time," but "have a good time" to them means eyeing guys across the room, maybe even getting some free drinks, and then snubbing them with "yeah right" looks and going back to their safe little group of girls.

The REALLY Drunk Girl
First you see her with some guy you assume is her boyfriend, and she's grinding up against him so much you hope she's taking birth-control. All of 10 minutes later you see her with some other guy doing the same routine. Not 10 minutes later, yet another guy. She eventually comes up to you and attempts to "seduce" you with her stumbling, yelling of "WOOOOO" at an ear-piercing pitch, and breath smelling of vomit.

The Sad Guy
This is the guy sitting in a dark corner by himself with such a look of depression that you want to give him a hug. He is usually lured to the club by friends trying to make him happy after a breakup/death in the family/etc, but his friends ditch him for a group of hot girls leaving him to sit there feeling even more pitiful.

The Cougar
This is the older lady (her age can be figured out by taking the median age of the club-goers and adding at least 20) who usually comes alone and is dressed way too young for her age (and usually too young for her body as well). Her one goal is to get a young, inexperienced guy who is too drunk to realize that she is old enough to be his mom.

All in all, if you like people-watching, head to a club/bar and take notes. Unless of course you are one of the stereotypes...in which case, go on and do your thing and I'll be there to smirk at you.

Anyone feeling generous?

If everyone pitches in a few dollars, you guys can get me a subscription to make full-length slideshows at Animoto for my birthday!

Woo!

Mid Twenties...Here I Come

Wow, I just wrote this huge self-pitying weblog about how hard it is to do anything on ones birthday and how birthdays used to mean so much more when we were kids. Phew. Glad I caught that one before it was published.

In other news, it's my birthday in roughly 5 days! Weeeeeee!

If anyone wants to try and do dinner or something some time around the 7th (probably after) I'd be up for it. Mass amounts of tests and papers prohibit much celebrating, but I can take a night off, right?

Kiefer Sutherland is a Pirate...

...and that would explain everything.

Technology's Hostile Takeover

Remember in The Brave Little Toaster how all of The Master's technological properties loved him and couldn't wait for him to come back so they could bask in the glow of, um, his ownership of them? Wait...was this movie about slavery? Anyway, not my point. So there were good electronics and bad electronics (all the evil, modern devices) and it was an entire world of sentient electronic devices (aside from the heated blanket who could, unexplainably, move the blanket parts of himself even though they weren't mechanical) who had dreams and hopes and desires.

It has come to my attention that the world of sentient electronics around me is more of the evil kind then the 'I can't wait til Grant gets home!' kind. Why? Everything mechanical/electronic around me is breaking.

About six months back my laptop stopped working. I had to send it in which delayed my school work and caused much inconvenience.

A few months back both of my external hard drives stopped working. For no reason. And they have all my movie-stuff on them.

My cell phone's qwerty keyboard is failing one key at a time. Every time I try to write "you know" it ends up as "you kow."

My truck, which I thought just needed an oil chance, actually needed over $700 of repairs for a new water pump, timing belt, set of spark plugs, etc.

My laptop died on me again, and right at a time when I desperately needed the notes from it to study for a huge test. I subsequently nearly failed said test. Thanks computer.

And those are just the bigs ones. I didn't mention my desk lamp's bulb blowing, my laptop charger only working part of the time, my cell phone's battery only charging about halfway, my video camera's battery only charging about 1/8th of the way, my halogen lamp killing bulbs only weeks old, and inexplicable internet failure only when I actually desperately need it like when I'm trying to sign up for classes.
Just letting everyone know that if you own good electronics, and they come looking for you and end up at my condo, my electronics will probably start singing a badly synthesized 80's-style song to them about being cutting edge...and then try to kill them.

You Can Stand Under My Umbrella

With the MTV Movie Awards now over (no, I didn't watch it, I was busy working 30 hours a week and calling it part time), I thought I might do a little bragging. Rihanna, a newish pop singer who is actually surprisingly good won best single and best video (the highest award at said event).

The cool part is that my sister Ashley helped out with the video.

Due to time constraints in video shoots, they needed a body/dance double for an effect where Rihanna is dancing while waves of liquid splash across her while she stays dry. So my sister was Rihanna's double who did the dance dressed in a black bodysuit while people threw buckets of water on her.

It's pretty cool to know that my sister was deemed a good enough dancer to 'appear' in a video that is taking the pop-world by storm (oh wow, that was not meant to be a water pun).

Here's a screen capture of the effect:













And here's the video in case you're interested:

When It Rains, It Poors

I was in Fullerton, walking through the bar-hopping hot-spot as Reggae, House, Latino, and Top-40 pumped from the respective dive-bars. I shook hands with a former employee and discussed how life was. His Boston accent, brute manner, and Italian style hadn't changed. I noticed a woman sitting on a bench by herself. She wore a rasta-style hat, beatnik sunglasses, and a crazy amalgamation of army issue clothing. She held a huge tub of ice cream in her hands. I walked up and asked what kind of ice cream she was eating. She paused for nearly 15 seconds, looked at the label, slowly cocked her head up at me and slurred "I dunno...but it's good!" I smiled and wondered if I should offer her some cash. Before I could get any further in thought she looked up at me again and mumbled, "Hey...do you have any acid connections?" I furrowed my brow and asked her to repeat the question. "Can you get any acid?" I laughed a little until I realized she was serious. "No...sorry," I said, and walked away.
::
::
"That fag!" This was said with such animosity that the four of us in the cheese prep area actually stopped what we were doing and looked at him. He was talking about a table that totally screwed him on tip even after saying everything was great. We don't really know each other, so nobody is sure if he is homophobic, insecure, or just using a common term that some people are offended by. "You shouldn't use that word," one of the girls nearby said. A huge conversation started about what is appropriate usage of "controversial" terms. Nobody would listen to my philosophical take on intention and how one can use a derogatory term if it is often aimed at their own race/sex/sexuality/etc. Instead it broke down into an emotional tirade about how she has lots of homosexual family members and how we need to be sensitive to what people find offensive. I was very tempted to start using derogatory terms about Puerto Ricans and then explain that I'm 25% Puerto Rican. That would probably cause more of a stir than I want to deal with at a new job.
::
::
A drug dealer listens in on a conversation about youthful mistakes in the area of thievery. "I hated my job," his buddy says, "so I stole hundreds of dollars worth of tires for my friends." The drug dealer responds with, "Yeah, well that doesn't justify it. That's horrible." I laugh as he texts some friend with when he'll be by to sell them some yay.
::
::
"Well, I don't know...is that acceptable?" I'm listening in to a conversation from my hiding spot at a corner desk. Nobody pays attention to me. "We're talking about the context of marriage here, right?" This is coming from the badly dressed (ok, so they're all badly dressed) guy eating a Cup O' Noodles. "Yeah," comes the response, "oral sex is still wrong." The guy with the shaved head speaks up, "Totally, the point of sex is procreation, and oral sex is aimed purely at the physical." The first guy pitches in, "Unless, maybe...maybe if you don't finish during the act. If you use it as part of the procreation thing but you don't finish with it you aren't using it for purely physical reasons." Seriously. I can't believe I'm hearing this.
::
::
Oh yeah, Miss Teen South Carolina is ridiculously dense, renegade citizens are using YouTube to destroy bad cops, Splenda is poisoning people with Sucralose, Jaguan Kim is converting people to an incoherent physicalist view of the mind/body problem, and Bob Barker is failing miserably at controlling the pet population.

Sigh...the world is a complicated place.

A total eclipse of the suuuuun, er...mooooon!

So you might have heard of the 'double moon' rumor, or the 'mars will be as big as the moon' rumor, or the 'Grant is actually a ninja' rumor, but they're all false. Except maybe the third one. People have been going off about Mars coming so close to the moon that it will be just as large and this only happens once every couple thousands years or so. As far as I can tell with extensive (read: 2 minutes worth) research (read: Google), Mars might be close, but that's not what is in the nights sky tonight. Or so the internets tell me. And the internet is always right. Always.

NASA is saying that what you might have seen is just a total lunar eclipse...which is still pretty dang cool. If we were Mayans a couple thousand years ago we might be sacrificing women and children so the moon gods bring the light back to us. I like to follow tradition, so if you don't hear from me for a few years, I'm hiding out in South America under the alias 'Queso.'

Anyway, here's a horribly unsteady shot of the very beautiful lunar eclipse. I apologize for my tripod-less shot and hopefully you got to see it for yourself.


In other news...a person's head is not a suitable substitute for a tripod. Trust me.

Oh my gosh. I just found this picture in my media folder. I think it's thanks to Christina that I have it. Seriously...how did people at Chapman not think I was doing drugs?

Quote of the Day

You see, wire telegraph is a kind of a very, very long cat. You pull his tail in New York and his head is meowing in Los Angeles. Do you understand this? And radio operates exactly the same way: you send signals here, they receive them there. The only difference is that there is no cat.

- Albert Einstein

For those of you who didn't know, I didn't exactly like my old job. A laundry list of complaints including, but not exhausted by, such issues as:

-not enough glasses for the restaurant
-not enough silverware for the restaurant
-not enough napkins for the restaurant
-constant shortage of common foods
-ridiculous tips from uncultured (or obstinate) customers
-passive aggressive punishment if one even thinks about a) vacation time, b) time off for medical procedures, c) leaving the restaurant, d) breaking any one of a myriad of unspoken rules one is simply expected to know

So I took the only course of action I could think of to remedy this: quit and join a corporate giant. Huzzah!

I'm now at an upscale fondue place (*leaving out name due to stories of people being fired from corporate jobs as a result of blogging about said jobs) and I'm, to use some 90's slang, stoked.

So...if you're in Brea and have a few hundred dollars to blow between you and your friends, forget rent and utilities, eat some fondue at my restaurant!

Oh, and there are possible job horror stories to come (as a replacement for any blog topic of any real substance). Enjoy!


p.s. Did some layout changes to get my archives back. Looks like I lost all my comments again unless I can figure out a way to get them back. We'll see.

Simon...Theodore...Alvin...Grant

It's been almost 48 hours since I had my third molars sliced-n'-diced out of my mouth. I've taken 10 Hydrocodone over the last 48 hours. Everything is nice and dream-like...except for my mouth. It feels like I was punched in the jaw repeatedly. The first day I thought, "Oh, I don't look so bad! In fact, you can hardly tell I had anything done!" But now, well...just look and see for yourself:



Note:
Eyes - Glazed over from pain-killer-induced state of lesser pain.
Cheeks - Strangely deformed into what I assume I would look like if I were fat.
Cheekbones - Somewhat nonexistent.
Smile - Lacking...well, that's just because I can't really smile without it hurting.

And just to put some icing on the cake, I considered the possibility that only I would notice a big difference until I ran into my friend Carly at Blockbuster. I mentioned my cheeks and she said, "Oh, I thought you were chewing on something really big." Then she followed that up with a text that said, "You don't look THAT fat." Heh...sigh.

Losing Some Wisdom


I went to an oral surgeon today for a consultation. After a panorama x-ray I was placed in a small room where I was told to watch an informative video which looked like it was made in the early 80's. I learned the technical phrase 'soft tissue impaction' before the doctor showed me a $75 picture of my teeth. Apparently I don't have upper wisdom teeth, which is nice. I set up a time to go in and get knocked out. I'll wake up an hour or so later with a sore jaw and lack of ability to eat anything harder than yogurt. And I'll be paying someone over $1,000 for this. Probably the only cool thing about it all is the creepy picture I got of my x-ray. I considered asking if I could keep it, but I don't think they would have let me. So...if anyone sees me during the week of July 23rd, please don't punch me in the jaw.

The Internet Scares Me Sometimes...



That's a screenshot I found while googling "Grant Paige."

Apparently the internet knows I'm a Chuck Palahniuk fan and thinks that me being a fan will get others to be fans as well.

Let's have some more fun with google, shall we? We shall!

Top Search Results for: "Grant is..."

-Grant Is Florida's Only Candidate to Replace Billy Donovan ...
That I am! If anyone can do Billy Donovan's job better than Billy Donovan, it's me.

-Grant is in mess of beans - USATODAY.com
I'm assuming that a 'mess of beans' is a bad thing. I'm not sure I understand British insults (which I assume this to be), but still...harsh.

-Grant is in his prime in Two Weeks
Nice! I guess in two weeks I'll be better than I ever was! Then again, does that mean in two weeks and one day I'll be going downhill?


Top Search Results for: "I want Grant..."

-I want Grant to have the best education possible and I want him to get the best possible value for his education.
How kind. I want that too. Good thing I'm going to Talbot!

-I want Grant to review the last seven years as far as the Coffmans are concerned
That sounds like a lot of work...and I don't even know who the Coffmans are! They had better appreciate this!

-I want Grant, I want his partner and I want my money back. And once I've got all three, I'm going to get me a replacement for the heart I lost
Hmm...how to interpret this. Either they want their heart back from the transplant I got a year or so ago, or I and my partner broke their heart? And wait, in either case, how did I end up with their money? And where did that money go? Oh, it probably went towards my PS3.


Top Search Results for: "Grant is my..."

-In conclusion, these are the reasons why my Uncle Grant is my favorite relative
I am an uncle, but the kid doesn't even really know me. Sorry to the kid's other relatives! I didn't mean to steal the spot of 'his favorite.'

-grant is my idol he’s from bramton he’s even cooler. also one of the best skaters crazy with nollie sh*t
That first sentence doesn't make much sense, but they're right...I can nollie like nobody's business!

-Grant is my hero. I think what he's accomplished in his career at Duke and with the Pistons is amazing
I'll be signing my Piston's rookie card for all my friends at our next get-together. Only $5.


Ok, wow, that was pointless and not nearly as funny as I planned. But now I can't erase it. I just can't. Please forgive me.

And no one seems to know just where the party is
But that’s okay cuz we’re all sorted out for E’s and Wizz

1 to 2 to 3 to 4 to 5 to 6 to 2 to 1.

Sunday
G: Wait, what did we just do?
M: I have no idea.

Saturday
*24 Hours Earlier*

G and M perused the room and did a final mental checklist to make sure nothing was left behind. Sleeping bags, pillows, ice chest, light-up bunny ears, juice drinks, and tickets, all in tow. It’s 3pm in Brea and they are about to set out on what has, up until now, been perceived as a somewhat normal event.

39.6 miles later (after getting lost avoiding accident-caused traffic) G and M arrive in LA and head in to meet B and A. They grab a quick bite to eat and pack up the truck: tent, changes of clothes, fruit, granola bars, LED lights, ID’s, and lots of cash. At 6pm it’s time to head out.

A quick stop at 7-11 to get the last of the necessities: party ice.


The girls waited patiently while B and G assured chilled drinks for the group.


31.5 miles later, G, M, B, and A are getting close. The info line wasn’t exactly clear as to where they were supposed to go. The tickets cryptically stated it was at “Secret Street” in LA. “Secret Street” was known to the in-crowd as Raver Ranch. Miles after all cell reception was lost, a left-hand turn onto an unmarked dirt road and a one-mile drive (on a road long ago abandoned by any beautification efforts) was all they had in the way of directions. Getting excited, they were peering ahead with confusion as a closed and locked gate blocked their way. Raver Ranch was not open.

On the confused ride back down the ragged road, they saw M2 sitting in the middle of the road in his beast of a car. Stories were exchanged, confusion was shared, and u-turns were made. A large and somewhat scary man pulled up on his golf cart and told them they were on private land. After they found out he was a security guard for Raver Ranch, he informed them that the event was moved to San Diego. Not exactly close to Sylmar.

G, M, B, A, and M2 drove miles back to civilization in order to get cell-reception in order to call the info-line. Hopes were dashed, tickets were being handed out at another location.

Confusing directions make it seem like they will never find the place. A possibly wittily chosen route had them turning on E Street.

81.1 miles later, they arrived at Rancho Eduardo’s cantina. Salsa, tengo, and merenge poured out of the mostly empty building. The crowd was not inside, it was snaking around the building. The crowd was not Spanish musica and cervesa lovers, it was 14 year old children to 30-something adults in bright colors, with stuffed animals, handing out candy, and waiting impatiently.

Mushrooms were offered and concealed drug-deals made while hundreds of kids slowly inched forward. Cops roamed around yelling that everyone needed to stay in a single-file line. About an hour later, G, M, B, A, and M2 finally made it to the front. A lone girl sits in a booth looking pissed off at the world and handing out directions. Wristbands were received and directions to the event were given. One set of directions per car.

44.5 miles later, they exit the freeway and start driving down a very long, very dark road into the middle of desert and farmland. Had the group had a topo of where they were going, they would have seen this:



It is 12am and a rush of anxiety fills them. A left here, a right here, another left or two and they turn on a dirt road heading into a very dark night. A lone man emerges out of the dust while waving a flashlight. He asks for their directions as proof of who they were and says, “Hurry, follow that car.”

Red taillights peek out of the billowing dust a couple hundred yards ahead as G steps on the gas and starts driving into nothingness. Miles pass as they converse about where they are. Best guess: a dried out lakebed. Dust flies and the night is smotheringly black. There is no depth perception to be had and the taillights ahead are harder and harder to follow. Miles pass and it feels more and more like an alien landscape. Finally, feint blue lights pulse somewhere up ahead. They accidentally pull up to a group of trailers, thinking it is the event.

M: Hey, is this the rave?
X: Um, no, this is a music video shoot.
M: Oh.

G, M, B, A, and M2 finally pull up to tons of parked cars in the middle of a dried out lakebed and they smile since they finally found it. They jump out of the truck and get ready as people wonder through the parked cars with flashlights.

X: *in the distance* X, K, mushrooms! X, K, mushrooms!
G: Are they yelling out drugs they are selling?
B: Um, yeah, I think so.

Three pods of DJ equipment pump out happy hardcore, trance, and house respectively while people dance, lie on the ground, make out, stare at the lights, and wonder off into the desert to find some privacy. The group dances in the middle of the desert surrounded by uniformed insanity. Fire poi, light shows, and menthol-filled painter’s masks all around, there is nothing else in the world but this. People hold up white t-shirts with giant sharpied X’s on them while people ask for some light from those around them so the drug exchange can take place easier.

Then off in the distance flashing blue, red, and white lights fade in and out through the dust. But these aren’t some lost ravers, they are cop lights. Frantic 13-year-olds, wide-eyed with fear, scramble to their cars. The lights and music die as suddenly as they began. Cops roll through the crowd as people scream “F’n COPS!” and “DON’T LEAVE, STRENGTH IN NUMBERS!”

A mere 2 hours after G, M, B, A, M2, and a host of other friends arrived, it is over. Quick plans are made and they all hop in their cars and head off into the impossibly dark desert night. It’s B’s birthday and they aren’t ready to give up yet.

94.5 miles later, they arrive at Avalon for the next best thing, After Hours. It is 4am and this party, a legal one, goes till 9am. The bar shelves are stocked with water and Red Bull, the only legal drinks left. Cowboy hats are lost, light shows are given, and the party goes on. G plays bongos in the open-air top floor while people who were at the desert rave show up. Looks like this is the last refuge of the restless and broken-hearted.

G and B are at the bar, getting a water, when a random patron orders a beer. Confusion passes between G and B until they realize that it’s legal alcohol hours again, it’s after 6am.

Exhaustion flows through the group as they decide to head out. A short walk to the car reveals a thick coat of dust covering the truck. People are driving to work and the city is waking up.


8.2 miles later and G, M, B, A, and M2 are at B and A’s place. M2 pets the cats, grabs a juice, and takes off. A few sleepless hours pass and G and M decide to head back home. It’s time to call it, well, not a night, it’s time to call it quits.

39.6 miles later G and M are almost home.

G: Wait, what did we just do?
M: I have no idea.

So 339 miles and 24 hours later, G and M find themselves at their starting point. They have come full circle on what is surely the most strange and possibly most memorable outing they have ever taken.

P.S.

V-Tech vs. Vindictive, Vociferous Vehements
(This is a bit dated, but still appropriate in my opinion)

“The problem with today’s youth and their violent outbursts is [____*]”

*Violent video games
*Violent movies
*Violent music
*Violent society

Please. Passing off blame on any one source as a hope for retributive justice is a sad attempt to justify actions that are obviously far beyond the reaches of pop-psychology, Dr. Phil, and angry bystanders.

Man is a fallen creature…and if you can prove me wrong that man is fallen and depraved I would love to hear it.

People have, within them, tendencies that will take shape in some form or another. Some sue any and every establishment they can. Some destroy lives for monetary gain. Some use people to no end and destroy them emotionally for the rest of their lives.

And some bring guns to school.

There’s this theory called the Cumulative Case. You know how hardcore Christians think that if they can prove the unreliability of one thing, like carbon-14 dating, that they can disprove evolution?

Once more….please.

Look at ancient society. They didn’t have movies, video games, underground rap, or any of the new “blameworthy” causes of the destructive nature of man. Instead they had the Coliseum, Circus Maximus, witch hunts, killing of the un-subservient slave, and any number of means to enact their horrible inclinations to take down human life at any chance they got.

Case 1: You can likely find a common thread of video games, etc, among every single school shooting. But think about it. Most of them are young males. You will be hard pressed to find ANY young male who has not been bombarded with these every-day (though modern day) parts of our society. How can one possibly say it is one of these factors?

Case 2: Compare this to the epidemic of obesity. Sure, you can blame it on the ease of fast food, latchkey kids who don’t have adult supervision, lack of exercise due to growing entertainment that involves no physical activity. Does that mean these factors are to blame? No. Sure they contribute, but there are SO many factors that play into it.

The Cumulative Case theory says that you have you take all available factors into account and then apply them to the current situation to make a case. Family, influence from friends, a screwed up psyche, or a myriad of other possibilities. Put them all together and you have a case.

I’m sick and tired of blame being put on anyone and everyone but those who deserve the blame.

Jeffrey Dahmer, one of the scariest cases of a psychopath in our recent history, has some of the most eloquent monologues about how he considers his actions:

"Something stronger than my conscious will made it happen. I think some higher power got good and fed-up with my activity and decided to put an end to it. I don't really think there were any coincidences. The way it ended and whether the close calls were warning to me or what, I don't know. If they were, I sure didn't heed them… If I hadn't been caught or lost my job, I'd still be doing it, I'm quite sure of that. I went on doing it and doing it and doing it, in spite of my anxiety and the lack of lasting satisfaction… How arrogant and stupid of me to think that I could do something like this and just go about my life normally as if nothing ever happened. They say you reap what you sow, well, it's true, you do, eventually … I've always wondered, from the time that I committed that first horrid mistake, sin, with Hicks, whether this was sort of predestined and there was no way I could have changed it. I wonder just how much predestination controls a person's life and just how much control they have over themselves."

Oh yeah...definitely the fault of video games.

Irrational as his actions were, they were rational to him at the time. How can people not understand that man is a fallen creature that acts upon selfish, irrational, and extremely motivated means?

If the V-Tech Killer had not shot himself…if he had gone to jail…if he had gone to death row…the whole case would be extraordinarily different. If he had come to “justice,” there would be little debate taking place.

People are screwed up. That’s all there is to it.

Are the extortionists, identity thieves, tax-evaders, and heart-breakers any different? Hardly.

The more we blame everyone else for our own mistakes, the more morality, ethics, and consciousness lose ground where they should be flourishing. There is right and there is wrong, otherwise this tragedy would not have struck such a chord with the American public.

It’s time to stop accepting faux-causes and taking away blame where it belongs.

Thou Shalt...

Top Ten Phrases Uttered By Me or About Me that I Hope to God Never Literally Come to Fruition:

1. That's really hitting below the belt.
2. He's only got one leg left to stand on.
3. He's half the man he used to be.
4. I'll keep my eyes peeled.
5. He has some skeletons in the closet.
6. I'm in a pickle here.
7. Oh it went in one ear and out the other.
8. He's talking out his ass.
9. I know I'm beating a dead horse here.
10. You scared the crap outta me!

Brandon wakes up with a pounding headache and a sore jaw and tired legs spasming uncontrollably and an accurate sweat-outline of his body soaked into his sheet like a police chalk outline of a homicide victim.

"Noorahhghghg" is all he can utter in a guttural, raspy voice.

He thinks through his last couple nights.

Friday was a teener of coke (cut with way too much laxative), a 6-pack of beer, 2 packs of cigarettes (parliaments in case public use of said coke was necessary), 2 Soma, and sleep. Well, "sleep" is more appropriate since it was more like 30 minutes of sleep followed by 30 minutes of anger over waking up. Rinse and repeat.

Saturday was a couple beers, some ok MDMA (cut with too much speed), 2 Redbull Vodkas (Grey Goose, of course...Gordon's would only have added to the hangover), 8 bottles of water, some good music at an ok club with a self-absorbed DJ, numbers from 3 girls (who will never be called, of course), two more pack of cigarettes, a bump of coke to kill the high at 4am, 2 Xany bars to induce sleep (well, "sleep", since it was just like the night before), and a couple of horrible dreams involving demon-salmon growing legs and taking revenge on all mankind due to the destruction of the fresh water salmon population.

"The argument that farmed salmon is the same as fresh-water salmon is using equivocation in a sad attempt to convince the green peace people to allow fresh-water salmon to be eradicated...and all in a vicious and greedy attempt to make more money."

Brandon pauses, grimaces, and then wonders why he is arguing for naturalists everywhere even when nobody is around. It's thoughts like that that kept him from sleep. Pointless thoughts. Well, maybe not pointless, but pointless at 5am.

A thumping sound and human voices rise him from bed. He walks over and puts his ear to the wall and hears the oh-so-common sound of his next door neighbor having sex. He laughs quietly as he remembers the lady who sold him the condo fervently reminding him that he would hear no "street noise". Apparently street noise is a big no no if you want to sell your condo fast. Funny that she didn't mention the paper thin walls providing not only little warmth on the cold, desert nights, but a voyeur's dream when it comes to neighborly activity.

With a little bit of shame (but not too much as to make him change his actions), he keeps his ear to the wall to listen to the moans and grunts coming from next door.

He tries to remember the last time he had sex. It was a one-night stand with a girl who's name he can't remember and who's face is a vague blur. Long black hair, almost black eyes, and a figure reminiscent of the 20's corseting craze.

"Funny how you end up where you are" he tells himself as he calls his dealer and plans on not sleeping for the third night in a row.

The Way I See It #666

I'm beginning to hate Time magazine but it is, at very least, good fodder for my recent trend of angry blogging. Megan sent me a link to a Time article about one man's qualms with Starbucks. Since I'm an ex-barista, I thought I'd give it a read and see how much truth could be squeezed from his writing. Sadly, he takes the oh-so-common non-understanding outsider position of the loveably hate-worthy green coffee giant.

So I'll respond.

He starts by saying that Schultz (the owner) was recently lamenting over lack of coffee-smell emanating throughout the store due to flavor-lock bags. He then says the romance is gone because of non hand-ground beans and other issues I'll get to later.

Then he says (to mash all his problems up together): "If I may be so bold, Howard, smelling the coffee isn't the problem — it's getting to it." It takes too long to get coffee because the lines are too long, there always seems to be one less employee working then necessary to handle the rush, but that is hardly the local manager's fault because more employees couldn't fit because of all the cd's and books and "crap" they are trying to sell.

He then says it's not the automatic machines fault because French and Italian cafes use them, and it's impossible to get a seat because of the WiFi Squatters.

Then the argument is that even McDonald's, in recent Consumer Reports, has better rated coffee. And it is too complex to order a drink and there are too many complicated ways of ordering and now they serve breakfast sandwiches as well as other snacks instead of just coffee and it's not that they need more ambiance but...

...more machines, more sales terminals, and when it comes to coffee, "just grind some" he says.

Did that seem disjointed?

It was.

The author of this article doesn’t stick to one topic long enough to actually make a point. He just takes as many stabs at the establishment as possible hoping that one of them strikes a chord with a reader and that reader will say “Oh! Yeah! I agree with that point!”

Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and say that his key point is that Starbucks used to be a great place to go in and grab a “killer cup of coffee” and now it is a poorly run corporate monster that has lost its ability to function smoothly and get coffee to its customer quickly.

Onto some quick answers to this authors qualms:

First off, it is unclear whether the beginning problems (not grinding beans, etc) are issues that Schultz has with the company, or the author has with the company.

Next, if the lines are too long, go somewhere else. Who is forcing you to go to Starbucks in the first place? And that tired quip everyone keeps making about being able to stand on one corner and see two Starbucks? Why don’t you walk to that other Starbucks? Why do you think there are so many? To alleviate long lines. The DMV has lines a thousand times longer than any Starbucks, but you have to go to the DMV. So go ahead and bitch about the DMV, but not only do you not need coffee, but you don’t need Starbucks coffee, and you don’t need that Starbucks’ coffee. So get over the lines.

And the other “crap” they sell? Who cares? Do you get angry when you enter a Target because “Ohmigosh they carry toiletries and DVDs? Make up your mind!” Has anyone griped about Phillip Morris for dipping their greedy fingers into Kraft and a hundred other non-tobacco companies in case cigarette sales go down? No. It’s called smart business. And though it was likely just a mock problem, the “crap” isn’t blocking any more employees from working since all that “crap” is in the lobby, not behind the counter. So if you don’t want anything but coffee to be sold, good luck finding a place that sells only coffee.

Then he mysteriously brings up the automated machines again (which makes me think that the original quote is from Schultz?) and leaves it at that.

As for not being able to get a table because of WiFi squatters? Not only are they not getting a work space for the price of a latte (you have to pay to use the WiFi that Starbucks offers), but do you write articles about how horrible it is that you can’t get a seat at the local famous actor hotspot restaurant? No. In fact, you might never get a seat in that restaurant, but that’s just how it works. Plus, first the author complains that almost a third of the times he shows up to Starbucks he doesn’t even have the 15 minutes to wait for his coffee, but then he turns around and complains that he can’t get a table. Well, which is it? Do you want to rush in, grab your coffee and leave, or grab a coffee and lounge around the shop?

As for McDonalds having better coffee according to Consumer Reports? I won’t even go into the fact that most of the public doesn’t even have a palette that can distinguish between merlot and cabernet, let alone dark roast versus light roast. This random fact has two possible outcomes: one, either it’s right (McDonald’s coffee is better), or two, it’s wrong (Starbucks has better coffee). If the prior is true, then why do people still go to Starbucks and pay 5 times the price? And if you chock it up to trickery and good advertising, then Starbucks is doing something right by getting people to buy worse coffee for more money. Starbucks hasn’t changed their coffee except for one major way: now they use flavor-lock bags. So the author, who seems to have loved the old Starbucks coffee, either has such a poor palette that he should just go to McDonalds, or he likes the taste of stale coffee better than fresh coffee since Starbucks coffee is the same beans and the same process as before, just more fresh due to a revolutionary air-lock system.

As for the complicatedness of ordering? The 10,000+ possible combinations? Just because one company (Microsoft) offers few products (very arguable) and does well, does not mean that every company should follow suit. If Starbucks limited its menu, people would complain that there is not enough personalization. Take In N’ Out and people’s lack of being content over the simple menu. Now it’s fries animal style and a three by three with no bun and a mixed milkshake. People want more choices. This is not something you can complain about. Is it too hard to order? Awww. I’m sorry. But if you go to Philly and order a cheesesteak from a roadside eatery and you order wrong they send you to the back of the line. You have to order exactly right or you don’t get food. At least Starbucks tries to help you with all the choices they allow you to make.

How are breakfast sandwiches a problem? I must admit it is very strange, but it’s not a problem. I used to work at a tiny, family owned coffee shop that probably made less than $800 a day and guess what, we made sandwiches. If people want something, a smart businessperson will offer it to the people.

So the answer? The author says more machines, more sales-persons, and to grind some coffee. I won’t even get into the details of the machines that actually do grind coffee as you order it and the only difference being that it is not done by hand (which, if anything causes more disparity and worse coffee). But more machines and more workers is not a solution.

Let’s work the author’s one attempt at a thread through this whole thing (how long it takes to get coffee) through his complaints.

If he is complaining that all the cd’s and breakfast sandwiches and choices are slowing down the people in front of him and making it take too long (which I’m guessing is his point, since certain points like the WiFi Squatters have nothing to do with how long it takes to get coffee) then point taken. But more machines and more sales-people means a bigger store, more rent, more cost for the extra employees, more cost for the extra managers and assistant managers needed, more cost for the machines and the service of said machines, and what does that all equal? A need to sell more “crap” to make up for all that cost which will slow the lines down even more

If the line is too long and you are that horribly disturbed by this establishment, then go somewhere else. There are obviously (judging by the massive lines you hate so much) more than enough people who are willing to wait in 15 minute lines, trudge through the cd’s and crap, wait for the person in front of them to order a breakfast sandwich, have a mental breakdown due to too many choices, and pay too much for coffee worse than McDonald’s.

but I know that won’t happen since the people here aren’t exactly the kind you’d walk up to and ask for directions. Or the time. Or even a piece of gum. I’m talking to C and I’m getting the vibe, though not from her, that I’m acting too excited about our talking. The truth is that she’s a nice person and I’m having a great time talking and this is fun and this really has nothing to do with flirtation. This isn’t an after the after-after hours kind of thing where it’s no longer about even upholding the facade of interest but about sloppy, drunken sex and deep morning regret.

I’m standing in the middle of the room, probably looking lost, when R comes up to me and says something. But either he is talking too softly or the ambient noise in the room is too loud. Maybe it’s both. He speaks and it comes out as nothing.

______ or ________

That’s all I hear. Or.

Mute voice falling on deaf ears.

_______ or whiskey?

How do I answer a question (or what I assume is a question reflecting on the inflection at the end of his sentence) that I don’t know all the options of? I shrug and say something to make him go away.

Whiskey

I suddenly wonder if he was simply having a hard time making up his mind about what sort of liquor to imbibe or if he was offering to buy me a drink. If that latter, I wish I had not said whiskey.

My head jolts up during the crack of a cue against a ball. C smiles at me while M and A talk, drink their beers, talk louder. I blink a few times since my contacts are now dry. In true, slightly drunken form, I toss out a comment to nobody and everybody.

I can’t get a Deathcab song out of my head
Oh my gosh! Me too!
So much so, that I just had a dream with the song playing in the background
Yeah?
It was a dream about sausage -the food- not the...

I trail off realizing that differentiating between the edible substance and the euphemistic symbol will only untruthfully dig me into a ditch I don’t want to explain my way out of.

The dream wasn’t even really about sausage. I dreamed I was driving home with her, that Deathcab song playing from somewhere like we were in a music video. Nothing specific happened, there was no flash of light, no long thought out conclusion, I just knew. It was over. Something about the way we were talking. Then in true dream-style I skipped to after I dropped her off and I was walking down an alleyway (to get home?) and there was something about sausages and cigarettes but I can’t remember what and that’s not even what the dream was about and then the crack of a pool ball woke me up.

Billy Jean came on over the crappy speakers and I did a few Michael Jackson-esque moves to make my friends laugh while secretly watching a guy do a bump of China White out of the filter end of a Parliament. I considered moonwalking. Changed my mind. I can’t moonwalk. Then I notice people getting tense. I think it’s the music.

Why is Michael Jackson making people tense?

I have an overwhelming desire to change the song. I want to hear that Deathcab song even though it won’t leave my head and playing it again will likely make things worse. I can see the jukebox across the room and all I need to do it put in two quarters and I can override the autoplay feature.

But there’s a problem.

A man who I immediately assume is the devil incarnate is getting into a fight with four other men. He’s wearing a blood-red shirt, a black tie, and a black suit. His shoes are impeccably shiny. I shake my head at the cliche. The devil should have a better sense of fashion.

He is so fast and so good at fighting that it’s not like watching those kung-fu films where you can hardly follow the guy’s fist or feet, but exactly the opposite. Everything moves slower. He uppercuts a guy into the air, then seems to walk, nonchalantly, to the next guy, who has yet to even catch up visually to the devil-man. He jumps into the air and crushes him with the heel of his foot. He then walks back over and before the guy he uppercutted even hits the ground, he kicks him, mid-chest, which pushes the guy across the room and into the other two guys he is fighting.

All of this is happening in front of the jukebox.

All I want is to change the damned song.

Then I woke up.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force...Assemble!

I was given a suggestion to talk about THIS ARTICLE rather than the current heated debate about morality and ethics. Well, I guess it still has to do with both, but it sure is a whole lot funnier.

Here's a joke for you:

How many people does it take to recognize a supposed bomb is just a bunch of light bulbs?

Give up?

The police, Counter Terrorism, The Joint Terrorism Task Force, and Homeland Security (as well as fire departments and bomb squads).

Turner Broadcasting recently began an advertising campaign which included light-bright-like signs of Err from ATHF flipping everyone the bird. These were placed in at least 5 major cities on walls, bridges, signs, etc. Multiple weeks after they were hanging there, someone in Boston called one in as a bomb. All hell broke loose and $75,000 later (including costs to blow up at least one of the signs in order to suppress the "actual explosion") they realize it's an advertising campaign.

The problem is that they keep calling it a hoax, and that the attorney general made a bunch of comments about how the act was meant to cause fear and intimidation and the devices (which they keep calling packages?) were meant to look like bombs.

I'll let you decide if this looks like a bomb:



The strangest part is that they (the news) keeps calling this a "hoax." A hoax is something intended to deceive or defraud. If the original intent of the signs was advertisement, which it obviously was, than this was not a hoax meant to cause fear.

I don't know about you, but I have never been drawn in to use a product because they intentionally made me fear for my life (and I mean really fear, not roller-coaster fear).

Basically, the city went a little bit overboard, caused more panic than would have been caused if they had handled it differently (or done a tiny bit of research before jumping in head first) and tried to make everyone think they had no choice.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm glad the city responded so swiftly to what was seen as a potential bomb threat, but what's next? Someone is going to call in a phone booth as a potential bomb because someone has etched "F___ America" onto the glass?

I never thought I'd say this, but if the older generation were either more in tune with the younger, or would listen more to the younger, Boston probably could have saved $75,000 which, you know, might have been useful to use towards schools and such.

Yep, They're Coercive

The more I hear of supposedly reputable sources such as Time magazine which, despite claiming to be unbiased (as all news sources impotently claim), blatantly (though with the pretense of being sneaky) throwing their agenda around in a way which convinces the average American that their view is the only sensible one, the more I want to a) bash my head in against a wall, b) stand on a roof with a megaphone shouting "Why don't you try reading, doing your own research, and making an actual informed decision?!?", and/or c) become a hermit who sits alone all day writing about the absurdities of our race.

Seeing as how I've already got a head start on "c", I'll just stay on that track.

Time magazine recently put out an article about 8% of rams being homosexual. They explain that scientists never doubted homosexuality's existence in the animal kingdom, show that the difference between heterosexuality and homosexuality is a mere biological variation of the brain, and show that "curing" homosexuality is an absurd notion that needs to be dismissed.

You might be wondering why I have a problem with this article. It seems harmless, right? It's just talking about gay sheep, right? Wrong.

This article reads, at first, like a simple interesting finding about a small percentage of sheep being gay. Then it moves to talking about evil scientists who are butchering sheep to see if they can create drugs or procedures that ensure heterosexuality. Then it goes on to insist that homosexuality is a mere biological difference. Then it takes a twist, oh my! If these scientists find out more about homosexuality (and, as the author assumes, prove that it's nothing that the gay person can fight) then we will spend less time "nourishing Old Testament anachronisms about sex." It concludes with a heroic stance of a gay man who touts hope for gays all over the world to actually be accepted and not rejected by their very parents, rouses the troops by showing homosexuality persisting even through the likes of Hitler and the evil Nazi regime (as well as Will and Grace, we can't forget that), and ends with a smug don't worry, we can't be stopped.

The start of the article is fine. Go ahead. Talk about sheep being gay. Gay animals are an anomaly in the animal kingdom and heck, it's interesting to study. It takes a Greenpeace, PETA-esque twist and you think the article is going to be about how bad it is that sheep are being killed to understand the "gay-gene." Even that is more than acceptable.

Then it takes a twist that is too thinly veiled by a man who, in his own article, explains that he is gay and, therefore, shows his hand.

HOMOSEXUALITY IS JUST GENETICS!!! Hmm. Ok. This is a conclusion that an article assumes after one group found that homosexual sheep have differentiations in their brains when compared to heterosexual sheep. Never mind the difference in sheep and humans. That disparity can be overlooked. The more amusing aspect is that the genetics argument is still being used. So what? Who cares if homosexuality is genetically caused, psychologically caused, pathological caused, or caused by eating too many tomatoes before the age of 4...that has no bearing on the ethical and moral issue of homosexuality.

If we one day accept that homosexuality is morally and ethically acceptable on the basis that one is genetically predisposed to it, then we have allowed a slippery slope that accepts murderers, rapists, obesity, alcoholism, pederasty, incest, torture, etc, etc, etc. All of the atrocities just mentioned can easily be linked to genes. Does that make them ok? Can a man who rapes and murders toddlers sit on the stand and say, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it, I'm genetically wired that way"? No. The American people would laugh and then inject the lethal drugs themselves if they could. The issue at hand is not whether one has impulses towards something; it is whether it is right or wrong, harmful or helpful. Give up on the genes.

Even more infuriating is the line about anachronistic quips about sex from the Bible. First of all, the main Biblical argument used against homosexuality is from I Peter which, if you don't know, is in the New Testament. Go ahead, call every instance of the Bible condemning homosexuality an anachronism, it doesn't halt the case that homosexuality goes against a eudaimonistic God-centered life. Also, the only reason the Old Testament's view of sex is being called an anachronism is because people don't want to believe it. If one day our culture "evolved" to a position where murder was acceptable, someone would look back at the original laws of the US and say, "Whatever, those were just outdated views unenlightened by the modern information we have."

There are universals whether you want to believe that or not. You are under them whether you want to be, or do not want to be. Changing rules, laws, universals, because you don't like them, will lead to an anarchistic society of total destruction and inhumane living (until, of course, we destroy ourselves completely).

The end of the article finally gives way to what the author wants us to know: gays are not going away you damned right-wingers, so get used to it.

I'm sorry, but citing that homosexuals have survived Hitler is just a tad bit demeaning to the Jews who are actual survivors of Hitler. That would be like saying, "Despite Circus Maximus, homosexuality prevailed!" No, idiot, Circus Maximus is where Christians were killed for their beliefs. Homosexuality still being around after all this time is touted as a victory even though one could just as easily say, "Homosexuality, like murder, is still around after all this time." The author has given no reasons, no explanations, no proof that anything good has ever come from homosexuality and therefore his conclusion is hasty and immature.

If you want to write an article about homosexuality, how it will always prevail, how it is just genetic, and how hopefully one day everyone will accept homosexuals, then write that article...but don't hide it in a "science" story about sheep.


p.s. Let's not forget the photoshopped picture of the two rams looking lovingly into each other's eyes. Just another tactic. If they had shown this:


would you even have cared?

The Arbitrariness of New Years and Other Seemingly Made Up Words

Before we begin, it seems that nobody likes my new Caption Contest idea. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out the post below. Then follow the instructions. I've only had one submission so far, which hardly equates to a rousing competition full of intrigue and ninjas and stuff. Come on people.

Now...every year I recount my last years resolutions and see how I stacked up. It seems that last year I was a wee bit over exuberant in my predictions. That or I can pretend that my resolutions were actually for TWO years (giving me till the end of 2007). I don't like embracing my own failures, so I'll go with the latter option. Here's the list:

Grant's 2006 Resolutions

-go skydiving
--This is actually going to happen THIS year on Chad's 30th birthday. I'll make like Nostradamus and pretend I was foretelling my future one year in advance.

-read the 15 books of my collection that I have yet to read
--Yeah. Wow. I think I got through one. No, wait...I got through three, but one of which was actually an anthology of three books making it more like five. Oh man that's still a massive failure.

-get in better shape
--I totally did this. Then I gave it up. Now I'm doing it again. I never said "get in better shape and STAY that way" to I technically win this round. Take THAT past Grant!

-record a demo CD with Parachutes
--HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh my.

-get straight A's in my masters program
--Once more to technicalities. If we go by any normal grading scale I got a 97%, a 93%, and a 93%. Straight A's baby! If we go by the Talbot Grading Scale of Death...I got an A and two B+'s.

-have no more than one dilation you know where
--Of all the ones to succeed in, this one is the one I'm happiest about succeeding in.

-edit at least one semi-major project
--I did indeed edit a pretty major project. Not that any of you will get to see it. I like mystery.

-write more in my journal and on this site
--Journal: failed. On this site: somewhat successful. Woot!

-eat tomatoes without cringing
--Ooh! I've totally done this one! Not large chunks of tomato, but in small doses I can totally handle them now!

-get over the past
--This one was about a personal issue that I never expounded on but can tell you that I succeeded tremendously.

-not spend a single coin
--This one was SO close to failure. I spent a whole load of coins to make rent, but not till the 2nd of January. So for that year, I win!


As for my list of new resolutions, I need to think that through a little more unless I want to make myself feel like an utter failure again. Which I don't. I mean, you can make me feel that way if you like. Or you can just call me gay or something since a good portion of you enjoy doing so. Either way I want to refrain from self-deprecation.

Hope you all had a fantastic new years. I know I did. Here's to the best year yet.

Family Fun For Everyone!!!

Alright boys n' girls (all those in both or neither category are automatically excluded), a fun new game has been implemented into the 50Fifty experience for your enjoyment! Maybe even for your non-enjoyment or to your detriment, but I'm doing it anyway!

Your mission, should you choose to accept it (and you'd better) is to create a caption for the picture I provide you. All you have to do is e-mail me your response and I will read them all, choose the best, and provide the winner with some sort of prize! It could be a slice of Spam, or a brand new car! (though it will likely be the prior taking into account my newly acquired state of "flat broke")

Ready! Go!


When you come up with your oh-so-witty caption, e-mail it to:

greenmoose@gmail.com

I'll post the winner as soon as I get enough responses. Get to it! This could make you famous! Or infamous! Who knows?!?