The detectives stared at the man in the chair through the two-way mirror. He looked very tired and nervous. A rookie would think he was ready to crack and barrage him with questions until he broke into a river of confessions. The more seasoned officers knew that someone who was in this fragile of a state could just as easily fall to the side of shocked silence or gibbering nonsense as a useful confession. So when they entered the interview room the questioning followed this line:
"Had you ever gone to a Black Friday sale before?"
"No, no, no, no. It always seemed silly to deal with those crowds."
"So why did you decide to go today?"
"I hadn't been able to sleep that night, so when I glanced at the clock and saw it was already 4 am, I figured, why not go and see what all the fuss is about. It might be fun to mingle with the masses." His voice had steadied somewhat though he continued to unconsciously scratch at his neck and scalp.
"Where did you go? What did you buy?"
"I went to Best Buy. They were selling Smallville seasons for $9 dollars each. I hadn't watched it in years and years, so I grabbed them?"
"How Many?"
"Nine seasons."
One of the detectives smirked. "That's a lot of hours of TV. Where are you going to find time to watch all those."
"I get my time from the same place as everyone else gets theirs."
They were finally starting to get somewhere. The detective leaned forward, "And where is that then?"
"From the future."
The detectives looked at each other. There was that name again. It had come up over and over again in this investigation, but no one could tell them much about it. Or whether it was an it or a person or a place. "Well, look, there's a lot of old television shows I would like to have more time to watch, could you tell us where this future is, so we can get some more time?
"That's not how it works, the future will find you. You don't have to go looking for it, you'll just eventually end up there."
"Look, we hear you know a woman who can tell the future. We need to know what kind of things she has been telling it."
I kind of like this story and I'll probably add more to it later, but for now it was just a long walk around the park to get to this punchline.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Falling and Love
She coughed and rubbed her eyes and it seemed to take far to long for the dust to finally settle. When it did, she looked up at the hole she had fallen through and could not believe she had fallen so far. How could she still be alive? The answer began to dawn on her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she found herself looking up into an enormous face that could have filled up a billboard. But the face wasn't on a billboard, it was on a head, and the head was on a neck, and the neck was on a body, and the body had arms, and the arms had hands, and one of the hands was holding her up.
She screamed then, not because she felt it was the responsible thing to do at the time; rather, the scream had come naturally to her and no other ideas had presented themselves so the scream was the default response. The huge face winced and the huge hands set her down, and then they covered up the huge ears until her screaming stopped.
The echos of her scream finally faded away, but this took some time as they were in a rounded cavern the size of a football stadium and all the noises seemed to bounce around forever. It all seemed too much to take in, the giant room and the giant thing which looked less like a giant human and more like a giant bear with human proportions and digits. Though he sounded human enough when he said,
"Thank you for stopping."
"Thanks you for not killing me." It seemed like the appropriate thing to say and, like the scream, it had also come naturally.
"Why would I want to kill you? Have you done something to me?"
"No, it just seemed like sort of the thing a monster would do to a little girl."
"Oh, I didn't know you were a little girl." He thought for a moment before continuing, "I didn't know I was a monster." And because he had heard of little girls and that they were often silly things he was sceptical of her claim. "How do you know I'm a monster?"
"You look a little like the monsters in my books."
He knew about books. He had heard the birds talking about books. People used to try to catch the birds and eat them, but now they just waited around and watched them and tried to find them in their books.
"And these monsters, they kill little girls?"
"Yes, they kill everyone or chase everyone until a hero kills them."
"All the monsters do this?" He had always been wary of sweeping generalizations.
"Well, I suppose not all of them. I guess sometimes they fall in love like in Beauty and the Beat, and then they are good. Or sometimes they are funny like in Shrek and he fell in love too."
"Oh, so to be a good monster you have to fall in love?"
She thought about this for a while and couldn't think of any monsters who turned out to be good and didn't fall in love. In fact, most of them fell in love with princesses.
"Yeah" she said, "I guess it's pretty important to do that."
He had been in love a long time ago, before he came to his cave. Before there were little girls or even that many birds on the outside. He hadn't thought about it in a very long time, but now that he did he could feel a little bit of the way he used to feel.
"I was in love once, I may still be in love with her a little."
"That's good." She said with huge volume of relief in her voice. The monster was surprised that something that small could seem to be filled with that much relief. "Was she a princess?"
"No, I don't think she was a princess. At least she never mentioned it."
"Was she beautiful?"
"I loved to look at her. And she was very soft."
The little girl looked at his bear-like fur and could easily believe that something it loved would be very soft.
"I would like to hear about her, but I should be getting home. Can you you lift me out of the hole?"
"The ceiling is too high, even for me. But I can carry you to another opening, and while we walk I will tell you about her."
And maybe he did.
She screamed then, not because she felt it was the responsible thing to do at the time; rather, the scream had come naturally to her and no other ideas had presented themselves so the scream was the default response. The huge face winced and the huge hands set her down, and then they covered up the huge ears until her screaming stopped.
The echos of her scream finally faded away, but this took some time as they were in a rounded cavern the size of a football stadium and all the noises seemed to bounce around forever. It all seemed too much to take in, the giant room and the giant thing which looked less like a giant human and more like a giant bear with human proportions and digits. Though he sounded human enough when he said,
"Thank you for stopping."
"Thanks you for not killing me." It seemed like the appropriate thing to say and, like the scream, it had also come naturally.
"Why would I want to kill you? Have you done something to me?"
"No, it just seemed like sort of the thing a monster would do to a little girl."
"Oh, I didn't know you were a little girl." He thought for a moment before continuing, "I didn't know I was a monster." And because he had heard of little girls and that they were often silly things he was sceptical of her claim. "How do you know I'm a monster?"
"You look a little like the monsters in my books."
He knew about books. He had heard the birds talking about books. People used to try to catch the birds and eat them, but now they just waited around and watched them and tried to find them in their books.
"And these monsters, they kill little girls?"
"Yes, they kill everyone or chase everyone until a hero kills them."
"All the monsters do this?" He had always been wary of sweeping generalizations.
"Well, I suppose not all of them. I guess sometimes they fall in love like in Beauty and the Beat, and then they are good. Or sometimes they are funny like in Shrek and he fell in love too."
"Oh, so to be a good monster you have to fall in love?"
She thought about this for a while and couldn't think of any monsters who turned out to be good and didn't fall in love. In fact, most of them fell in love with princesses.
"Yeah" she said, "I guess it's pretty important to do that."
He had been in love a long time ago, before he came to his cave. Before there were little girls or even that many birds on the outside. He hadn't thought about it in a very long time, but now that he did he could feel a little bit of the way he used to feel.
"I was in love once, I may still be in love with her a little."
"That's good." She said with huge volume of relief in her voice. The monster was surprised that something that small could seem to be filled with that much relief. "Was she a princess?"
"No, I don't think she was a princess. At least she never mentioned it."
"Was she beautiful?"
"I loved to look at her. And she was very soft."
The little girl looked at his bear-like fur and could easily believe that something it loved would be very soft.
"I would like to hear about her, but I should be getting home. Can you you lift me out of the hole?"
"The ceiling is too high, even for me. But I can carry you to another opening, and while we walk I will tell you about her."
And maybe he did.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Splitting Hairs
Recently, Dr. Qui Peng of Georgetown University’s School of Medicine and Dr. Laura Naylor of the Mayo Clinic isolated a bacterium that had been causing severe respiratory failure in those who had inhaled it. These bacteria fed almost exclusively off of filamentous biomaterial such as the material that makes up our hair. 85% of those who suffered from the respiratory failure were hairdressers.
The bacteria eats into the center of the hair beneath the Dermic coat and Hyaline layer so few are exposed to it until the hair is cut open. The bacteria becomes especially potent when exposed to an oxidizing agent or an alkalizing agent. These agents are present in virtually all permanent hair color products.
Fortunately for the reticent, when this bacteria is inhaled through the nose it is effectively disposed of through the nasal cavity's ciliated pseudostratified columnar epithelium. However, when inhaled through the mouth, more of the bacteria is transferred to the lungs where it will eventually cause respiratory failure. Unfortunately so many hair dressers spend so much time talking and so few of them are trained in ventriloquism the probability of stylist being exposed increases with every question answered and asked.
Attempting to treat the infected has proven difficult. It was established that the spread of the bacteria and it's effect on the lungs could be mitigated if the patient could be made to stay quiet and very still. Though few doctors have been able to apply this treatment to their infected hair stylist patients given their natural predilection to conversation and hand movement. Many of the patients have literally talked themselves to death.
Funding for this research was provided by a grant from the John Paul DeJoria foundation whose mission statement is "To Provide better care for haircare professionals".
The bacteria eats into the center of the hair beneath the Dermic coat and Hyaline layer so few are exposed to it until the hair is cut open. The bacteria becomes especially potent when exposed to an oxidizing agent or an alkalizing agent. These agents are present in virtually all permanent hair color products.
Fortunately for the reticent, when this bacteria is inhaled through the nose it is effectively disposed of through the nasal cavity's ciliated pseudostratified columnar epithelium. However, when inhaled through the mouth, more of the bacteria is transferred to the lungs where it will eventually cause respiratory failure. Unfortunately so many hair dressers spend so much time talking and so few of them are trained in ventriloquism the probability of stylist being exposed increases with every question answered and asked.
Attempting to treat the infected has proven difficult. It was established that the spread of the bacteria and it's effect on the lungs could be mitigated if the patient could be made to stay quiet and very still. Though few doctors have been able to apply this treatment to their infected hair stylist patients given their natural predilection to conversation and hand movement. Many of the patients have literally talked themselves to death.
Funding for this research was provided by a grant from the John Paul DeJoria foundation whose mission statement is "To Provide better care for haircare professionals".
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Dial M for Memories
It's been a while since I've watched Law and Order or Boston Legal so please forgive any errors in terms or rules of procedure
Defense The prosecution has failed to provide any evidence of my client's guilt. I move for an immediate dismissal.
Judge I am inclined to grant the motion. Does the prosecution have anything it would like to add?
Prosecutor The prosecution calls to the stand... The Defendant's Mattress!
(Gasps are heard throughout the courtroom)
Defense Your Honor, I object to this witness. A mattress cannot be made to testify against its clients.
Judge Though the mattress and the defendant have been sleeping together, they are not married so their communication is not considered privileged. That said, while there are many instances of evidence being take from off or out of a mattress I have never heard of one willing to testify against a client. Tread carefully counselor.
ProsecutorWill you please state your name and occupation for the courtroom?
MattressMy name is Mattress, and I am a professional mattress.
ProsecutorAnd do you have any specialties that make you unique?
MattressI am a memory-foam mattress.
(Gasps are heard throughout the courtroom. The defendant lowers and shakes his head)
ProsecutorSo you could tell us things about the defendant that a normal mattress would not have ever known, or at least would not be able to remember, is that correct?
DefenseObjection! Leading the mattress! I mean the wittress! I mean the witness!
JudgeObjection sustained. You will abstain from fluffing the testimony of the mattress. This is your last warning.
ProsecutorI withdraw the question. Mattress, can you tell us what makes a memory-foam mattress unique?
MattressI remember the positions of the people who sleep on me, and the distribution of their weight, so eventually I conform to their preferred sleeping positions. After the same person sleeps on me long enough I begin to remember their memories and conform to those memories so recollection is easier for them when they're laying on me.
ProsecutorDo any of the memories added after October 25th stand out?
MattressHe returned to bed much later than usual the night of October 25th. Really it was more like early morning on the 26th. He was acting really strange. He didn't slip into his normal indent on the right side of the bed, but lay on his side on the left side for a while. I knew he would wake up with a backache if I let him stay there, so when he had fallen asleep I settled him over into his usual spot. After a while his memories started to foam up so I could start to take them in. He had knocked the pillow off the bed, so the memories were even more clear than usual.
That night he had met a woman for dinner who I recognized from other memories. After dinner, they walked to his bank where she worked. The bank was closed, but they walked round the back and used a card she had to get into the back offices. They went into an office with the name Steve Melvin on the door, and he picked a lock on the desk and took out a key. A hallway from those offices led to another room she scanned her way into. It was full of safety deposit boxes. He had a box at this bank, but it had been in a different room accessible from the main lobby. There were two key holes in one of the boxes and he put in the key he had just taken out of the desk and she took a key off of a chain around her neck. They took out a small case, but never opened it so I don't know what was inside. They walked out the way they had come in and got into a cab parked a few blocks away.
They drove about 15 miles South on I-5 until they came to a rest stop. He said he had to use the bathroom and didn't take the case, but when he passed her line of sight he walked on to the other side of the rest stop and got into a different car. He waited there for about a minute and a half until he heard 3 gunshots then he drove off North on I-5.
Prosecutor (Holding up a photograph of a dead woman in a car.) Is this the woman and the car from his memory?
The mattress starts to cry. It looks down at its left side where, if you knew what you were looking for, you could see the indentation of a woman who slept on her left side and had the most beautiful memories the mattress had ever remembered.
Defense The prosecution has failed to provide any evidence of my client's guilt. I move for an immediate dismissal.
Judge I am inclined to grant the motion. Does the prosecution have anything it would like to add?
Prosecutor The prosecution calls to the stand... The Defendant's Mattress!
(Gasps are heard throughout the courtroom)
Defense Your Honor, I object to this witness. A mattress cannot be made to testify against its clients.
Judge Though the mattress and the defendant have been sleeping together, they are not married so their communication is not considered privileged. That said, while there are many instances of evidence being take from off or out of a mattress I have never heard of one willing to testify against a client. Tread carefully counselor.
ProsecutorWill you please state your name and occupation for the courtroom?
MattressMy name is Mattress, and I am a professional mattress.
ProsecutorAnd do you have any specialties that make you unique?
MattressI am a memory-foam mattress.
(Gasps are heard throughout the courtroom. The defendant lowers and shakes his head)
ProsecutorSo you could tell us things about the defendant that a normal mattress would not have ever known, or at least would not be able to remember, is that correct?
DefenseObjection! Leading the mattress! I mean the wittress! I mean the witness!
JudgeObjection sustained. You will abstain from fluffing the testimony of the mattress. This is your last warning.
ProsecutorI withdraw the question. Mattress, can you tell us what makes a memory-foam mattress unique?
MattressI remember the positions of the people who sleep on me, and the distribution of their weight, so eventually I conform to their preferred sleeping positions. After the same person sleeps on me long enough I begin to remember their memories and conform to those memories so recollection is easier for them when they're laying on me.
ProsecutorDo any of the memories added after October 25th stand out?
MattressHe returned to bed much later than usual the night of October 25th. Really it was more like early morning on the 26th. He was acting really strange. He didn't slip into his normal indent on the right side of the bed, but lay on his side on the left side for a while. I knew he would wake up with a backache if I let him stay there, so when he had fallen asleep I settled him over into his usual spot. After a while his memories started to foam up so I could start to take them in. He had knocked the pillow off the bed, so the memories were even more clear than usual.
That night he had met a woman for dinner who I recognized from other memories. After dinner, they walked to his bank where she worked. The bank was closed, but they walked round the back and used a card she had to get into the back offices. They went into an office with the name Steve Melvin on the door, and he picked a lock on the desk and took out a key. A hallway from those offices led to another room she scanned her way into. It was full of safety deposit boxes. He had a box at this bank, but it had been in a different room accessible from the main lobby. There were two key holes in one of the boxes and he put in the key he had just taken out of the desk and she took a key off of a chain around her neck. They took out a small case, but never opened it so I don't know what was inside. They walked out the way they had come in and got into a cab parked a few blocks away.
They drove about 15 miles South on I-5 until they came to a rest stop. He said he had to use the bathroom and didn't take the case, but when he passed her line of sight he walked on to the other side of the rest stop and got into a different car. He waited there for about a minute and a half until he heard 3 gunshots then he drove off North on I-5.
Prosecutor (Holding up a photograph of a dead woman in a car.) Is this the woman and the car from his memory?
The mattress starts to cry. It looks down at its left side where, if you knew what you were looking for, you could see the indentation of a woman who slept on her left side and had the most beautiful memories the mattress had ever remembered.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Lawless Victory
My Mother came from Argentina and my Father came from Australia. We all know Australia as a penal colony of the United Kingdom; populated by old-timey English criminals and enormous rodents. And my Mother, though she came from Argentina is actually of German decent. German residents of Argentina are well known as remnant Nazis. So here I was born in the heartland of America with the blood of Nazis and petty thieves; and yet, bam I became a citizen of the greatest country in the world.
I bring this up because there was a lot of talk in the last election campaigning from several prominent politicians and pundits suggesting that we repeal the 14th amendment. As a civics refresher, the 14th amendment guarantees (among other things) that if you are born in the United States then you are a citizen of the United States, regardless of your parent's nationality. Or as they put it:
I not only worry about the next generation of first generation citizens, but also for myself, as there is no reason to think that they wouldn't make the repealing of the amendment retroactive. To protect my self and others I propose the introduction of Buffer Amendments. We introduce one each election cycle that says that no amendment can be repealed unless this amendment is first repealed. And no more than one amendment can be repealed at a time. So we keep hammering these buffers into the constitution until the xenophobics (those afraid of foreigners and warrior princesses) start repealing them, then we push back and forth in a mighty battle for citizenship.
Now, at this point some of you are saying to yourself, "This sounds remarkably similar to the system that protects our world from demon invasion by requiring that the demons defeat earth's warriors in trial by Mortal Kombat (spelling?) for seven years in a row." And while I am not prepared to address that concern at this time I will say that there is merit to the analogy and if we had appointed Lord Raiden as Secretary of Energy a decade ago we would be paying much lower energy bills today.
I bring this up because there was a lot of talk in the last election campaigning from several prominent politicians and pundits suggesting that we repeal the 14th amendment. As a civics refresher, the 14th amendment guarantees (among other things) that if you are born in the United States then you are a citizen of the United States, regardless of your parent's nationality. Or as they put it:
All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.
I not only worry about the next generation of first generation citizens, but also for myself, as there is no reason to think that they wouldn't make the repealing of the amendment retroactive. To protect my self and others I propose the introduction of Buffer Amendments. We introduce one each election cycle that says that no amendment can be repealed unless this amendment is first repealed. And no more than one amendment can be repealed at a time. So we keep hammering these buffers into the constitution until the xenophobics (those afraid of foreigners and warrior princesses) start repealing them, then we push back and forth in a mighty battle for citizenship.
Now, at this point some of you are saying to yourself, "This sounds remarkably similar to the system that protects our world from demon invasion by requiring that the demons defeat earth's warriors in trial by Mortal Kombat (spelling?) for seven years in a row." And while I am not prepared to address that concern at this time I will say that there is merit to the analogy and if we had appointed Lord Raiden as Secretary of Energy a decade ago we would be paying much lower energy bills today.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Ad Nauseam
One of the greatest moments of my life was writing a bit of silliness that included the Jeep Compass and then having Jeep Compass ads appear on my blog. Every now and again you may notice a line or reference that doesn't fit into a post. 7 times out of 10 that's just me enjoying an inside joke with myself. But every now again it's me trying to get google to send me a particular advertiser.
With the elections upon there must be better political ads out there than what I'm currently seeing on my site. So by way of summoning the ads from the great beyond I begin my incantation:
Mama Grizzly and Baby Grizzly were walking quickly through the woods. They were late to the tea party and were quite embarrassed as they were to be the honored guests. But Mama Grizzly had been up late discussing income taxes, liquor laws, and other issues with Mr. Fox.
Mama Grizzly liked Mr. Fox, he always agreed with her and paid her very well. Though his house was always full of foolish blonds who reminded her of an unpleasant experience she had had years ago when she had come home to find a blond girl sleeping in her house. Papa Bear had sworn he had never seen her before in his life, but Mama had noticed a few too many blond hairs around the house before and this was the final straw. She took baby bear and moved back in with her mother, reassuming her maiden name, Grizzly.
Sorry, I have to end the story right there because being on the subject of smart ads this is too apropos too pass up. When I was making sure I was spelling "Blonds" correctly (get off my back I'm always afraid of the silent e) I noticed these interesting related searches when you type "blonds" into dictionary.com
I worry about the young generation. I never had to deal with those sorts of distractions when I looked things up in the dictionary.
With the elections upon there must be better political ads out there than what I'm currently seeing on my site. So by way of summoning the ads from the great beyond I begin my incantation:
Mama Grizzly and Baby Grizzly were walking quickly through the woods. They were late to the tea party and were quite embarrassed as they were to be the honored guests. But Mama Grizzly had been up late discussing income taxes, liquor laws, and other issues with Mr. Fox.
Mama Grizzly liked Mr. Fox, he always agreed with her and paid her very well. Though his house was always full of foolish blonds who reminded her of an unpleasant experience she had had years ago when she had come home to find a blond girl sleeping in her house. Papa Bear had sworn he had never seen her before in his life, but Mama had noticed a few too many blond hairs around the house before and this was the final straw. She took baby bear and moved back in with her mother, reassuming her maiden name, Grizzly.
Sorry, I have to end the story right there because being on the subject of smart ads this is too apropos too pass up. When I was making sure I was spelling "Blonds" correctly (get off my back I'm always afraid of the silent e) I noticed these interesting related searches when you type "blonds" into dictionary.com
I worry about the young generation. I never had to deal with those sorts of distractions when I looked things up in the dictionary.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Star Lite
"I will be a star one day, you know?"
He had not known this. He turned to look at the woman (or girl; depending on whether you asked her mother or an anthropologist) sitting on his couch and leaning on him (or cuddling; depending on whether you are novice or journeyman cuddler). He did not know who she was. He had felt something against him as he watched the movie but hadn't realized it was a person until it had talked. And so he did the only thing a reasonable person would do in such a situation. He asked,
"Who are you?"
Her face bet on a trifecta of looks. First surprised, then a little offended, and then comprehension as she saw the deeper intent of his question. A deeper intent he had not at all intended.
"I guess I'm a person who always finds herself alone. No matter where I go or how many people are around me."
"Well, you're not alone now." He pointed out, though he felt that he shouldn't have needed to as the fact was quite obvious. But this most obvious of statements seemed to have a profound effect on her and if you were trying to figure out whether or not they were cuddling before you could pretty much knock that off right now because now she was quite clearly embracing him.
At that proximity and with the only light in the room coming from the TV it was tough to tell whether or not she was attractive. She certainly smelled attractive. And the part of her cheek he could feel on his own felt like an attractive cheek. Nevertheless, it was an unfamiliar smell, and an unfamiliar cheek, all belonging to the unfamiliar woman on his couch.
When she loosened the embrace and settled back into her previous position, (now the cuddle taxonomists may resume their work) he tried another question.
"How did you get here?"
Again she decided the obvious aim of the question was out of the question and she thought for a while about the answer.
"Some good decisions, some bad decisions. But mostly I got here by trying to become a star."
"What kind of star?" He could already rule out red dwarf. Her skin was slightly tan and he could see her feet stretched out to the other end of the couch.
"I'm a journalist, but not the kind who goes out and finds stories. The kind who takes any story and tells it so everyone will want to know about it because of the way it's being told and the person who is telling it. A television journalist."
He thought of Sunday School and those old Tell A Vision journalists from the scriptures. He did not think of these people for any particular reason. It was just too good of a pun to pass up. The pun must have been so good that it had been telepathically communicated to her, because she started to laugh.
"Though no one is going to see me if I can't get up for work tomorrow. I should go."
She got up and turned on the light and began to gather what must have been her things because he didn't own a purse or fur lined coat. In the light he could see that she was gorgeous. And so he did the only thing a reasonable person would do in such a situation. He asked,
"When will I get to see you again?"
"Well, obviously every weekday at 5:18 and 6:18 on channel 4. I still do the entertainment update."
How had she gotten here? Did she need a ride home?
"Do you need a ride home?"
She gave him a quizzical look
"I drove you here, remember? I've got my car."
"Oh...Do I have your phone number?" At least this would give him some options for the future.
"You should, but look I'll leave my card here, meet me at work tomorrow for lunch. Like noon or noon thirty."
She may very well have kissed him before she left. She may have decided that someone whose main job is to be on TV in the early evening doesn't have to go to bed that early, so she stayed a while longer. But I ended the story about two sentences or so ago. So It's not really up to me.
He had not known this. He turned to look at the woman (or girl; depending on whether you asked her mother or an anthropologist) sitting on his couch and leaning on him (or cuddling; depending on whether you are novice or journeyman cuddler). He did not know who she was. He had felt something against him as he watched the movie but hadn't realized it was a person until it had talked. And so he did the only thing a reasonable person would do in such a situation. He asked,
"Who are you?"
Her face bet on a trifecta of looks. First surprised, then a little offended, and then comprehension as she saw the deeper intent of his question. A deeper intent he had not at all intended.
"I guess I'm a person who always finds herself alone. No matter where I go or how many people are around me."
"Well, you're not alone now." He pointed out, though he felt that he shouldn't have needed to as the fact was quite obvious. But this most obvious of statements seemed to have a profound effect on her and if you were trying to figure out whether or not they were cuddling before you could pretty much knock that off right now because now she was quite clearly embracing him.
At that proximity and with the only light in the room coming from the TV it was tough to tell whether or not she was attractive. She certainly smelled attractive. And the part of her cheek he could feel on his own felt like an attractive cheek. Nevertheless, it was an unfamiliar smell, and an unfamiliar cheek, all belonging to the unfamiliar woman on his couch.
When she loosened the embrace and settled back into her previous position, (now the cuddle taxonomists may resume their work) he tried another question.
"How did you get here?"
Again she decided the obvious aim of the question was out of the question and she thought for a while about the answer.
"Some good decisions, some bad decisions. But mostly I got here by trying to become a star."
"What kind of star?" He could already rule out red dwarf. Her skin was slightly tan and he could see her feet stretched out to the other end of the couch.
"I'm a journalist, but not the kind who goes out and finds stories. The kind who takes any story and tells it so everyone will want to know about it because of the way it's being told and the person who is telling it. A television journalist."
He thought of Sunday School and those old Tell A Vision journalists from the scriptures. He did not think of these people for any particular reason. It was just too good of a pun to pass up. The pun must have been so good that it had been telepathically communicated to her, because she started to laugh.
"Though no one is going to see me if I can't get up for work tomorrow. I should go."
She got up and turned on the light and began to gather what must have been her things because he didn't own a purse or fur lined coat. In the light he could see that she was gorgeous. And so he did the only thing a reasonable person would do in such a situation. He asked,
"When will I get to see you again?"
"Well, obviously every weekday at 5:18 and 6:18 on channel 4. I still do the entertainment update."
How had she gotten here? Did she need a ride home?
"Do you need a ride home?"
She gave him a quizzical look
"I drove you here, remember? I've got my car."
"Oh...Do I have your phone number?" At least this would give him some options for the future.
"You should, but look I'll leave my card here, meet me at work tomorrow for lunch. Like noon or noon thirty."
She may very well have kissed him before she left. She may have decided that someone whose main job is to be on TV in the early evening doesn't have to go to bed that early, so she stayed a while longer. But I ended the story about two sentences or so ago. So It's not really up to me.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Post-Pregnancy Parlance
So, the post I wrote tonight was about new parents, and I think it is hilarious, but way too many of my friends and family who read this blog are new parents and would think it was too dark. That said, please enjoy a not-at-all-dark post written in haste about rainbows and sunshine:
The pretty pink puppy pranced and preened and pulled the purple pouch properly placed prehind the poncho.
"Why I do declare!" said the child-friendly southern character. "We shall all eat like kings tonight."
And they all returned to the cottage where they were encircled in the loving embrace of a family that totally had control over the child rearing situation and were not at all paralyzed by the fear that they do not know how to raise children and never had dreams that they had ruined their child's life that caused them to wake up screaming as often as their infant did. (whoops some of it snuck right in there).
The pretty pink puppy pranced and preened and pulled the purple pouch properly placed prehind the poncho.
"Why I do declare!" said the child-friendly southern character. "We shall all eat like kings tonight."
And they all returned to the cottage where they were encircled in the loving embrace of a family that totally had control over the child rearing situation and were not at all paralyzed by the fear that they do not know how to raise children and never had dreams that they had ruined their child's life that caused them to wake up screaming as often as their infant did. (whoops some of it snuck right in there).
Friday, April 30, 2010
Outlying
So, I haven't been taking the time to write well, but myself from past wrote me and said the blog should be updated twice a week, whether the post was ready or not. There was a reason for this at the time but I can't remember what it was. So there's no real writing today, just an outline:
Topic: Driving in the Rain
Possible titles: Slipping into 3rd, Hydro Racing, Wokking on Water (doesn't really fit this one, but it's such a good title I might need to write a post just to fit it)
True Message: Be careful when driving in the rain.
Humorous Theme: to Deliver Message: No one should get out of bed when it is raining.
Possible References: Noah's Ark, Leader of the Pack, Hurricane Katrina, Singing in the Rain, Mr. Limpet.
Topic: Driving in the Rain
Possible titles: Slipping into 3rd, Hydro Racing, Wokking on Water (doesn't really fit this one, but it's such a good title I might need to write a post just to fit it)
True Message: Be careful when driving in the rain.
Humorous Theme: to Deliver Message: No one should get out of bed when it is raining.
Possible References: Noah's Ark, Leader of the Pack, Hurricane Katrina, Singing in the Rain, Mr. Limpet.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
What? No Post? And so she died.
No post tonight. My cousin's wife just went into labor and I'm on brandy and cigar duty. Which I feel is not a real responsiblity as no one in the family drinks or smokes (although we do not yet know the baby's preference). But I wanted to be involved so I think they made up a job for me. I'm also bringing my hotplate so I can boil water in the waiting room. They still do that right?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
No Continuum For Old Men
“Where we’re going we don’t need Rhodes” the famous line by Doc Brown that caused a whole island of Greeks and thousands of puffed up scholars to bow their heads in disappointment. Some maintain that the line should actually be written “Where we’re going we don’t need roads”. And they defend this interpretation with various lines pulled out of context and a whole myriad of conspiracy theories with which I will not bore you. What I think we can all agree on is that the Back to the Future movies set the advancement of time travel back decades.
The common portrayal of time travel in our media is all wrong. You can’t achieve it with electrical circuits, complex equations, and discontinued car models. Time travel is an organic process and is one of the most basic functions of the human body. It is a coping technique developed by our ancestors millennia ago. Fight, flight, or flux.
Think about one of the most tragic events of your life. Your body realized that your mind could not cope with all the emotion in that instant so it opened a portal in the space-time continuum and sent many layers of those emotions to your future selfs* to smooth the consumption of pain over time. This is why one event can make you feel sad for years and years after the event.
*Actually not “selves” here because I just decided that when talking about multiple instances of one’s own self the plural will be “selfs”.
It is a widely known (yet closely guarded) fact that most heart attacks are caused by a shock the mind or body experienced decades before. The body just sent too much of the original shock in one packet, so when the future self received it was overwhelmed. Because emotions have such little mass, they are easier to send into the future. Emails and blog posts also have small amounts of mass. I have some small mastery of time travel, so as a demonstration, while I wrote and posted this on Sunday evening per my goals, it will not display until Tuesday night.
One of the problems is that sometimes the emotion isn't the only thing that gets sent to the future. Sometimes memories get sent off too. So you might forget something until years later when the emotion hits. Once I forgot how to tie my left shoe. I went around for years with a shoe lace on my right foot and Velcro on my left until the day I remembered what it felt like when my dog died, and all of a sudden I remembered that the rabbit goes around the tree and through the hole, and from then on I could wear two big-boy shoes again.
Author's Note: That last paragraph is sort of funny, but doesn't really fit in with the theme of the piece.
Author: And you think an impromptu conversation between the author and his notes does?
Author's Note: I don't think so, but I think you'll put it in anyway. I think you do it everytime the content is about to get more personal than you want it to and you want a quick way to end the post.
Author: What do you know? You're just a note, you're not even a full post.
Author's Note: Hey man, words hurt. Especially if you are made of words. That would be like me throwing another person on top of you.
Author: I'm sorry man. You're great. You're a great note.
Author's Note: Would you say I'm really important?
Author: Yeah man, you're really important. I couldn't do this without you.
Author's Note: Would you say that I'm a "Key Note".
Author: See, that's why I love you.
The common portrayal of time travel in our media is all wrong. You can’t achieve it with electrical circuits, complex equations, and discontinued car models. Time travel is an organic process and is one of the most basic functions of the human body. It is a coping technique developed by our ancestors millennia ago. Fight, flight, or flux.
Think about one of the most tragic events of your life. Your body realized that your mind could not cope with all the emotion in that instant so it opened a portal in the space-time continuum and sent many layers of those emotions to your future selfs* to smooth the consumption of pain over time. This is why one event can make you feel sad for years and years after the event.
*Actually not “selves” here because I just decided that when talking about multiple instances of one’s own self the plural will be “selfs”.
It is a widely known (yet closely guarded) fact that most heart attacks are caused by a shock the mind or body experienced decades before. The body just sent too much of the original shock in one packet, so when the future self received it was overwhelmed. Because emotions have such little mass, they are easier to send into the future. Emails and blog posts also have small amounts of mass. I have some small mastery of time travel, so as a demonstration, while I wrote and posted this on Sunday evening per my goals, it will not display until Tuesday night.
One of the problems is that sometimes the emotion isn't the only thing that gets sent to the future. Sometimes memories get sent off too. So you might forget something until years later when the emotion hits. Once I forgot how to tie my left shoe. I went around for years with a shoe lace on my right foot and Velcro on my left until the day I remembered what it felt like when my dog died, and all of a sudden I remembered that the rabbit goes around the tree and through the hole, and from then on I could wear two big-boy shoes again.
Author's Note: That last paragraph is sort of funny, but doesn't really fit in with the theme of the piece.
Author: And you think an impromptu conversation between the author and his notes does?
Author's Note: I don't think so, but I think you'll put it in anyway. I think you do it everytime the content is about to get more personal than you want it to and you want a quick way to end the post.
Author: What do you know? You're just a note, you're not even a full post.
Author's Note: Hey man, words hurt. Especially if you are made of words. That would be like me throwing another person on top of you.
Author: I'm sorry man. You're great. You're a great note.
Author's Note: Would you say I'm really important?
Author: Yeah man, you're really important. I couldn't do this without you.
Author's Note: Would you say that I'm a "Key Note".
Author: See, that's why I love you.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Dream in the Afternoon
This is an excerpt from a dream I had after staying up all night reading short stories by Ernest Hemingway. It's not meant to be written in Hemingway's style, more in the style of one trying to recall a really depressing dream after a lot of really depressing stories.
The two men sipped their coffee or whiskey slowly as they watched the sun rise or set. They were either outside a cafe in Madrid or a hotel in Marrakesh. You know, some place that men stayed after the war. Men who were too changed to ever go back to the lives they led before. Men who wrote for the newspaper because writing was a masculine thing done by masculine men.
They were also raging alcoholics. They would have liked the idea of the AA meeting, but not the idea that no one drank at them. They liked the idea of men pouring out their feelings to other men, but only if they were both killing themselves with liquor.
They were each sleeping with the other one's wife. Somehow this was all the wives' fault. But maybe this wasn't an issue really because I think they were divorced. The waitress brought them some more of whatever it was they were drinking. They weren't really interested in her until they saw her wedding ring. She saw them noticing the ring and they all rolled their eyes. They all knew that now they would both fall in love with her and she would fall in love with both of them and there would be all kinds of sneaking around and probably someone ends up killing her husband. And in the end she just runs away and the men find themselves back at this table drinking again.
Oh yeah, and at some point they go out on a safari. So this is probably in Marrakesh. They also have automatic pistols, but they're never loaded until they start drinking heavily. Probably one ends up shooting the other one and we never really know if its an accident or not. The whole world is an accident really.
Also, at some point some tourists come through and everyone really looks down on these people because the tourists think that life is pretty good and they think they're happy and they're totally oblivious to what is going on around them. Newspaper men are totally going to sleep with their wives.
The two men sipped their coffee or whiskey slowly as they watched the sun rise or set. They were either outside a cafe in Madrid or a hotel in Marrakesh. You know, some place that men stayed after the war. Men who were too changed to ever go back to the lives they led before. Men who wrote for the newspaper because writing was a masculine thing done by masculine men.
They were also raging alcoholics. They would have liked the idea of the AA meeting, but not the idea that no one drank at them. They liked the idea of men pouring out their feelings to other men, but only if they were both killing themselves with liquor.
They were each sleeping with the other one's wife. Somehow this was all the wives' fault. But maybe this wasn't an issue really because I think they were divorced. The waitress brought them some more of whatever it was they were drinking. They weren't really interested in her until they saw her wedding ring. She saw them noticing the ring and they all rolled their eyes. They all knew that now they would both fall in love with her and she would fall in love with both of them and there would be all kinds of sneaking around and probably someone ends up killing her husband. And in the end she just runs away and the men find themselves back at this table drinking again.
Oh yeah, and at some point they go out on a safari. So this is probably in Marrakesh. They also have automatic pistols, but they're never loaded until they start drinking heavily. Probably one ends up shooting the other one and we never really know if its an accident or not. The whole world is an accident really.
Also, at some point some tourists come through and everyone really looks down on these people because the tourists think that life is pretty good and they think they're happy and they're totally oblivious to what is going on around them. Newspaper men are totally going to sleep with their wives.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Commitment Issues
"Thanks" she said as I opened her car door. Was that surprise in her voice? Did people not open car doors anymore? Well, if that struck her as unusual this next part was going to leave her at a loss for words. I opened my car door for myself (see nothing unusual about me opening car doors), and I buckled my seat belt before handing her the pink ribbon pin.
"What's this for?" she asked, giving the surprised tone an encore performance.
"That's the pink ribbon, it's dedicated to raising breast cancer awareness and funding for breast cancer research."
"I know that, she said, but why are you giving me one?" She had given the surprised tone a break and was trying out an offended one.
"Our date tonight is one of their many sponsors."
"How can a date be a sponsor?" she asked, offense giving way to incredulity.
"All profits from this date will be donated to breast cancer research".
"We're going to dinner and a movie, how could we possibly make this profitable?" Having tried three separate tones already she mixed them all together for this question.
"Lots of ways, we could find stacks of cash under our chairs, get roped into a high stakes scavenger hunt, win an impromptu dance competition. The list goes on and on."
"Those don't seem very likely" she forecasted with little to no statistical background.
"Maybe not, but unlike other couples out this evening if we come into some money it goes to a good cause"
"What if dinner and a movie cost $50 dollars and you find $50 in the parking lot."
"Then the evenings a wash."
"And if you find nothing?"
"Then it's a $50 tax deduction"
"I don't think that's how that works." she advised, with no accounting or financial planning background. "We're not going to dinner or a movie tonight." Not even 15 minutes into our relationship and the unilateral decisions were already in play. "If we're going to be sponsors we're going to make some money".
"What did you have in mind?" I questioned in my customary monotone.
"I have an ex out of town with a fortune in baseball cards. We'll break in there, sell the cards downtown, and donate the money." She said this as if explaining the errands schedule, 'We'll go to the bank, then pick up milk, then drop by the redbox'. To emphasize the casual and final nature of this plan she rested her hand on top of mine.
As a connoisseur of absurdist humor I laughed, but my right arm which had been resting peacefully on the armrest and now played host to her left was confused as it was not usually a party to physical comedy.
As I prepared to turn left my right arm was abandoned as she grabbed the steering wheel and changed our course. "Right here" she said, "he lives on 7th street."
Either she was really committing to this joke, or I was going to have a pretty eventful post for tonight.
"What's this for?" she asked, giving the surprised tone an encore performance.
"That's the pink ribbon, it's dedicated to raising breast cancer awareness and funding for breast cancer research."
"I know that, she said, but why are you giving me one?" She had given the surprised tone a break and was trying out an offended one.
"Our date tonight is one of their many sponsors."
"How can a date be a sponsor?" she asked, offense giving way to incredulity.
"All profits from this date will be donated to breast cancer research".
"We're going to dinner and a movie, how could we possibly make this profitable?" Having tried three separate tones already she mixed them all together for this question.
"Lots of ways, we could find stacks of cash under our chairs, get roped into a high stakes scavenger hunt, win an impromptu dance competition. The list goes on and on."
"Those don't seem very likely" she forecasted with little to no statistical background.
"Maybe not, but unlike other couples out this evening if we come into some money it goes to a good cause"
"What if dinner and a movie cost $50 dollars and you find $50 in the parking lot."
"Then the evenings a wash."
"And if you find nothing?"
"Then it's a $50 tax deduction"
"I don't think that's how that works." she advised, with no accounting or financial planning background. "We're not going to dinner or a movie tonight." Not even 15 minutes into our relationship and the unilateral decisions were already in play. "If we're going to be sponsors we're going to make some money".
"What did you have in mind?" I questioned in my customary monotone.
"I have an ex out of town with a fortune in baseball cards. We'll break in there, sell the cards downtown, and donate the money." She said this as if explaining the errands schedule, 'We'll go to the bank, then pick up milk, then drop by the redbox'. To emphasize the casual and final nature of this plan she rested her hand on top of mine.
As a connoisseur of absurdist humor I laughed, but my right arm which had been resting peacefully on the armrest and now played host to her left was confused as it was not usually a party to physical comedy.
As I prepared to turn left my right arm was abandoned as she grabbed the steering wheel and changed our course. "Right here" she said, "he lives on 7th street."
Either she was really committing to this joke, or I was going to have a pretty eventful post for tonight.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Slightly more subtle than Sunday
I fear that, as a country, we have forgotten what made America great. The leaders of the late 1980s, them men in law enforcement, those who pioneered technology and space travel, the pioneers of the west, and the native americans. And of course, the one individual who combines all of these into a single entity: BRAVESTARR.
The tales of Bravestarr were told to me when I was in preschool on Saturday mornings around 6 am from September 1987 through February 1988. Those historians among you will remember that Bravestarr was the lone law man on the planet of New Texas where he and his wise-cracking mechanical horse (who was a quadruped for purposes of travel and a biped with an energy rifle for purposes of self-defense) defended the good people of New Texas from Tex Hex and his band of bandits.
I do not remember all the tales of this hero, but I sure as shooting remember a talking horse who could stand up and shoot a gun. Those lessons never leave a young boy.
So I watch the political figures of today who should be familiar with these same tales of heroism and I am disappointed in their efforts (or lack thereof). This comes to mind as I seem to recall that significant portion of Bravestarr's energy was spent on protecting miners. You see, Tex Hex and other greedy fellows were always trying to take advantage of the hard-working miners. These miners did not have the skill set of Bravestarr (Eyes of the Hawk, Ears of the Wolf, Strength of the Bear, Speed of the Puma) as today's miners do not have the skill set of the modern politician (Degree of the Law, Capital of the Political, Attention of the Media, Speed of the Puma).
The histories (if we chose to read/watch them) teach us that miners are self-reliant and proud workers, but sometimes even the strongest need help when their greatest foe is the one who pays them and should ensure safe working conditions.
The tales of Bravestarr were told to me when I was in preschool on Saturday mornings around 6 am from September 1987 through February 1988. Those historians among you will remember that Bravestarr was the lone law man on the planet of New Texas where he and his wise-cracking mechanical horse (who was a quadruped for purposes of travel and a biped with an energy rifle for purposes of self-defense) defended the good people of New Texas from Tex Hex and his band of bandits.
I do not remember all the tales of this hero, but I sure as shooting remember a talking horse who could stand up and shoot a gun. Those lessons never leave a young boy.
So I watch the political figures of today who should be familiar with these same tales of heroism and I am disappointed in their efforts (or lack thereof). This comes to mind as I seem to recall that significant portion of Bravestarr's energy was spent on protecting miners. You see, Tex Hex and other greedy fellows were always trying to take advantage of the hard-working miners. These miners did not have the skill set of Bravestarr (Eyes of the Hawk, Ears of the Wolf, Strength of the Bear, Speed of the Puma) as today's miners do not have the skill set of the modern politician (Degree of the Law, Capital of the Political, Attention of the Media, Speed of the Puma).
The histories (if we chose to read/watch them) teach us that miners are self-reliant and proud workers, but sometimes even the strongest need help when their greatest foe is the one who pays them and should ensure safe working conditions.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Yearning to Learn Free
Based on the two-year median household income in 2008, I don't make much more than half the households in America so I shouldn't feel much guiltier than the median amount of guilt when I think about the people in the country who are less fortunate than me. Except that the weekly publication to which I subscribe has several articles covering each continent (Antarctica is an exception) and are constantly detailing the poverty that pervades much of the world. And when you take their incomes into our median I jump up the percentile/guilt ladder quite a bit.
It is in the thralls of this guilt that I make a monthly donation to Doctors Without Borders (by the by, I have never gotten the monthly report they promised to send), and a religious organization (I won't mention it by name as I doubt they would like to be associated with these posts).
This proactive approach actually saves me money, because when the telemarketers call asking for my donations for a variety of causes I can explain to them that my charity budget has already been allocated for this fiscal year. When the commercials come on asking for a dollar a day to feed the world the waves of guilt crash against the unmovable walls of my steel-clad financial planning. If they really wanted my help, they would have arranged these commercials or phone calls to reach me back on May 25th 2009 when I was wrapping up the Fiscal-Year 2010 budget.
However, sometimes a little excess guilt creeps through and I take care of that by giving blood, or volunteering at the local thrift store which employs low-skill members of the workforce and use the profits for a variety of humanitarian efforts. In my most recent visit I got to stamp the prices on the donated books, and organize them on the shelves.
Now, I tell you all of that to tell you this: In the storage/work area in the back where we performed our repetitive tasks of sorting and stamping there is no stimulation besides the mindless tunes from a pop station on the radio. Perhaps I'm a snob, but in this environment where low skilled, poorly educated people are stuck for 8 hours a day it seems like anything educational or instructive you could broadcast would be better than the same 75 songs and 15 commercials cycled over and over again.
Play a language-learning program, audio recordings of Dickens, Twain, or Joyce; or some of the MIT open course lectures. They wouldn't have to write essays or explain the concept they were learning, but just to be exposed to something new, something to expand the vocabulary and familiarize you with history has got to be better than having the exact price of a new car stereo, or the latest deal on gutter cleaning drummed into your consciousness.
It is in the thralls of this guilt that I make a monthly donation to Doctors Without Borders (by the by, I have never gotten the monthly report they promised to send), and a religious organization (I won't mention it by name as I doubt they would like to be associated with these posts).
This proactive approach actually saves me money, because when the telemarketers call asking for my donations for a variety of causes I can explain to them that my charity budget has already been allocated for this fiscal year. When the commercials come on asking for a dollar a day to feed the world the waves of guilt crash against the unmovable walls of my steel-clad financial planning. If they really wanted my help, they would have arranged these commercials or phone calls to reach me back on May 25th 2009 when I was wrapping up the Fiscal-Year 2010 budget.
However, sometimes a little excess guilt creeps through and I take care of that by giving blood, or volunteering at the local thrift store which employs low-skill members of the workforce and use the profits for a variety of humanitarian efforts. In my most recent visit I got to stamp the prices on the donated books, and organize them on the shelves.
Now, I tell you all of that to tell you this: In the storage/work area in the back where we performed our repetitive tasks of sorting and stamping there is no stimulation besides the mindless tunes from a pop station on the radio. Perhaps I'm a snob, but in this environment where low skilled, poorly educated people are stuck for 8 hours a day it seems like anything educational or instructive you could broadcast would be better than the same 75 songs and 15 commercials cycled over and over again.
Play a language-learning program, audio recordings of Dickens, Twain, or Joyce; or some of the MIT open course lectures. They wouldn't have to write essays or explain the concept they were learning, but just to be exposed to something new, something to expand the vocabulary and familiarize you with history has got to be better than having the exact price of a new car stereo, or the latest deal on gutter cleaning drummed into your consciousness.
Friday, April 2, 2010
What have I become, my Swedish friend?
There are dozens of cooking shows on TV now. I don't watch any of them, but from their titles I'm led to understand that in some, chefs compete to make the best iron recipes, in others they travel down to hell and challenge Satan to cooking contests to win the freedom of their loved one's souls.
As of May 31, 2010 there will be no fewer than 2 cooking channels: Food Network and The Cooking Channel. And still, dozens of other food shows on other networks. Meanwhile, we are the fattest nation on Earth. Apparently our Marines weigh so much, Guam is about to capsize under their weight. And I can't have a normal conversation with someone without their eyes drifting down to my perfectly rounded, swelling mid-section. Pardon me reader, my eyes are up here.
But the fat may actually be our friend (you will never have a closer friend). Roger Unger of the University of Texas Southwestern at Dallas (thank Emeril for Texas and their defense of the fat)contends that getting fat is not what causes metabolic syndrome (a nice way of saying the bad stuff fat people deal with: high cholesterol, fatty liver, fatty-fat-fat nickname, a greater risk for diabetes, a lower-risk of romance, heart disease, falsely identified as Santa, and stroke). These symptoms may actually be caused by the lipids in the wonderful amounts of delicious food that we eat. To handle the lipids the body increases the adipose/fat cells to keep the toxic lipids out of our internal organs (also our pipe organs, and our Oregon states).
So next time you look at your fat, bulgy body in the mirror, look at the fat a little more kindly. It may be saving your life. And who knows, if you make it mad enough, it might just release all its lipids at once, and all the Rachel Rays (which is either a kind of gun or fish) in all the world won't be able to save you then.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Bella of Rights
Like most Americans, I have never read the Constitution and its amendments all the way through. And I get the various amendments mixed up and I can’t remember how many were in the Bill of Rights and the ones I do know I don’t fully understand (don’t we have soldiers on some of the new state quarters and isn’t that a violation of the third amendment?).
Even so, like most Americans, I consider myself a constitutional scholar and fully qualified to decree what is and is not constitutional. You see, it’s in our blood, we don’t have to read or study the constitution to know what is and is not constitutional anymore than we have to study the molecular structure of water to know what is wet and what is dry. I don’t need to have read Hobbe’s Leviathan to know that
Author's Note: There’ s a pun I could have forced in changing Hobbe’s “Bellum Omnium Contra Omnes” (the war of all against all) to “Bellum Bella Contra Vampyre” (the war of Bella against vampires) but I think those books have done more to damage vampire mythology than anything and wouldn’t want to give an implicit endorsement.
the life of man is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short
Author's Note: A really good pun would have been “Bellum Opium Contra Omens” (the war of opium against omens) but it doesn’t really fit or even make sense, but it just struck me as really funny.
I’m 5’6 on a good day.
Author’s Note: Seriously they sparkle in the sun? Really? Everyone knows that vampires burn up in the sun, that’s why they only come out at night. If the sun just made them sparkle they’d run around all day and you’d never know who is vampire and who just got out of a strip club.
Hey Author’s Note, I’m trying to write some satire here.
Author’s Note on the Author’s Note: I’ve never actually read the books but most every girl I meet is an expert on them and I feel that I have a pretty good grasp on the changes it makes to the lore.
Seriously guys, I think this one could be really good. I felt good about the one I wrote last Friday and to follow it up with another good one would be pretty great
Author's Note: "So what can kill a vampire in the new world order?" Apparently just werewolves and other vampires. Humans don't even have a shot. No wooden stakes, your only hope is to get one to fall in love with you.
You know, now I’m just mad. If you want to write a blog about twilight do it next week. I don’t even want to finish this. I’m going to reload my old word processor that doesn’t auto-add these stupid italicized notes. And finish the post on Friday. I’m never going to get anywhere like this.
Author's Note: TEAM VAN HELSING! TEAM VAN HELSING!
Ridiculous
Even so, like most Americans, I consider myself a constitutional scholar and fully qualified to decree what is and is not constitutional. You see, it’s in our blood, we don’t have to read or study the constitution to know what is and is not constitutional anymore than we have to study the molecular structure of water to know what is wet and what is dry. I don’t need to have read Hobbe’s Leviathan to know that
Author's Note: There’ s a pun I could have forced in changing Hobbe’s “Bellum Omnium Contra Omnes” (the war of all against all) to “Bellum Bella Contra Vampyre” (the war of Bella against vampires) but I think those books have done more to damage vampire mythology than anything and wouldn’t want to give an implicit endorsement.
the life of man is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short
Author's Note: A really good pun would have been “Bellum Opium Contra Omens” (the war of opium against omens) but it doesn’t really fit or even make sense, but it just struck me as really funny.
I’m 5’6 on a good day.
Author’s Note: Seriously they sparkle in the sun? Really? Everyone knows that vampires burn up in the sun, that’s why they only come out at night. If the sun just made them sparkle they’d run around all day and you’d never know who is vampire and who just got out of a strip club.
Hey Author’s Note, I’m trying to write some satire here.
Author’s Note on the Author’s Note: I’ve never actually read the books but most every girl I meet is an expert on them and I feel that I have a pretty good grasp on the changes it makes to the lore.
Seriously guys, I think this one could be really good. I felt good about the one I wrote last Friday and to follow it up with another good one would be pretty great
Author's Note: "So what can kill a vampire in the new world order?" Apparently just werewolves and other vampires. Humans don't even have a shot. No wooden stakes, your only hope is to get one to fall in love with you.
You know, now I’m just mad. If you want to write a blog about twilight do it next week. I don’t even want to finish this. I’m going to reload my old word processor that doesn’t auto-add these stupid italicized notes. And finish the post on Friday. I’m never going to get anywhere like this.
Author's Note: TEAM VAN HELSING! TEAM VAN HELSING!
Ridiculous
Friday, March 26, 2010
Can You Hero Me Now?
I grew up reading Roald Dahl, JRR Tolkien, and C.S. Lewis so from a young age it was embedded into my mind that I would live my life in relative obscurity until the day came that I was called upon to rise up and save the day/nation/word/city/state/city-state. When the call finally came it didn't come from a talking Lion, pedophilic faun, or thespian wizard. It was a sign. Not an obscure or ambiguous event in the sky, or a pattern in the woodwork. It was a metal sign, probably about 2x4x.01 feet, painted green with white lettering that said,
Report Carpool Lane Violators
Dial
764-HERO
The call had come, and I would answer. Or rather, the answer had come and I would call. I sped up to the next vehicle in the carpool lane and matched their speed. There was an elderly man and his elderly female companion. Looking at them I was sure that one would die any minute. Surely, if the passenger died right then that would make him a violator. If you could get in the HOV lane with a dead person we would all do it. 7-6-4 I began to dial into my cell phone as I looked for signs of expiration in the car next door.
Just then my lane slowed down, probably at the very moment the passenger suffered an aneurism, but we would never know. The car that took the octogenarian's place had a middle-aged driver with a back seat full of children. Children...could they really even be called people. Children are our future, which means they can't be our present, which means they're really not even here, which made this man...
A CARPOOL LANE VIOLATOR!
4-3-7-6 I finished the combination that had been given to me when I was called to serve by the wise old sign near Canyon Creek Parkway. I was probably one of the few to be able to decipher the cipher. But as I heard a voice (pre-recorded or live, I would never know) on the other end I saw the next sign:
Report Cell Phone Drivers
Dial
764-HERO
Oh my Aslan in heaven, what had I become. I looked into the rear-view window. I had seen the enemy and he is us.
Report Carpool Lane Violators
Dial
764-HERO
The call had come, and I would answer. Or rather, the answer had come and I would call. I sped up to the next vehicle in the carpool lane and matched their speed. There was an elderly man and his elderly female companion. Looking at them I was sure that one would die any minute. Surely, if the passenger died right then that would make him a violator. If you could get in the HOV lane with a dead person we would all do it. 7-6-4 I began to dial into my cell phone as I looked for signs of expiration in the car next door.
Just then my lane slowed down, probably at the very moment the passenger suffered an aneurism, but we would never know. The car that took the octogenarian's place had a middle-aged driver with a back seat full of children. Children...could they really even be called people. Children are our future, which means they can't be our present, which means they're really not even here, which made this man...
A CARPOOL LANE VIOLATOR!
4-3-7-6 I finished the combination that had been given to me when I was called to serve by the wise old sign near Canyon Creek Parkway. I was probably one of the few to be able to decipher the cipher. But as I heard a voice (pre-recorded or live, I would never know) on the other end I saw the next sign:
Report Cell Phone Drivers
Dial
764-HERO
Oh my Aslan in heaven, what had I become. I looked into the rear-view window. I had seen the enemy and he is us.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Dying Slowly in America
Arguably, one of the greatest pieces of health-care literature to come out of the 1990s was the screenplay for Mission Impossible. In a charming scene at a Czech restaurant Director Eugene Kittridge remarks, “dying slowly in America after all, can be a very expensive proposition Ethan. So, why don’t we go quietly out of here onto the plane…”
Even though I am young yet I have seen the truth of these words in my own life. I have been dying for the past 25 years and it has cost my parents and me an incredible amount of money. So much so that a few years back they decided that I had been dying long enough on their dime and it was time for me to finance my own death.
This was fine because I had just finished college and there were plenty of businesses willing to pay me to die a little each day in their cubicles. It was an interesting change to be paid to die at a desk as compared to college where I paid to die at a desk.
It’s funny to watch how people spend their money on houses, cars, and children; trying to make their last few decades just a little more comfortable. It’s funny because these things won’t last. The houses will be moved to the coast and knocked over by hurricanes, the cars will be recalled by GM or hit by a sixteen year old driving their parent’s car, and the kids will die when they’re sixteen after hitting somebody’s car.
The Egyptians are the only ones who ever really figured out how to defeat death. You build enormous tombs that are immune to hurricanes, recalls, and teenagers. Your whole life and the lives of your loved ones are dedicated to creating legacies sturdy enough to give time a run for its money.
Grave robbers and Lara Croft can come and steal your bones and treasures but that’s not what’s important. What they can never steal is your enormous pyramid, it’s too big.
Some people have tried to create other kinds of legacies, but anything that is not a simple shape built of invincible stone will ultimately fall into ruin. Shakespeare thought that incredible poetry and prose could grant immortality because it would be passed along through the generations.
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,(he couldn’t spell “wander”)
When in enternal lines to time thou grow’st, (or “grow”)
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee
But even now his works are regarded as a heavy chore by today’s students and only embraced by the geekiest of the generations. Soon enough Shakespeare will be replaced by the next flash in the pan playwright and Kenneth Branagh can make movies from the new plays.
I realize that there is not enough room on earth for all of us deserving individuals to have mighty pyramids. Luckily, there are enough planets out there with no life; almost as if they were waiting for us to build our grand tombs there and give their barren existence a purpose. You start with the moon and move out, and when this globe has grown too warm or too nuclear bombed and all life has ceased the monuments to our greatness will still stand proudly throughout the universe.
Even though I am young yet I have seen the truth of these words in my own life. I have been dying for the past 25 years and it has cost my parents and me an incredible amount of money. So much so that a few years back they decided that I had been dying long enough on their dime and it was time for me to finance my own death.
This was fine because I had just finished college and there were plenty of businesses willing to pay me to die a little each day in their cubicles. It was an interesting change to be paid to die at a desk as compared to college where I paid to die at a desk.
It’s funny to watch how people spend their money on houses, cars, and children; trying to make their last few decades just a little more comfortable. It’s funny because these things won’t last. The houses will be moved to the coast and knocked over by hurricanes, the cars will be recalled by GM or hit by a sixteen year old driving their parent’s car, and the kids will die when they’re sixteen after hitting somebody’s car.
The Egyptians are the only ones who ever really figured out how to defeat death. You build enormous tombs that are immune to hurricanes, recalls, and teenagers. Your whole life and the lives of your loved ones are dedicated to creating legacies sturdy enough to give time a run for its money.
Grave robbers and Lara Croft can come and steal your bones and treasures but that’s not what’s important. What they can never steal is your enormous pyramid, it’s too big.
Some people have tried to create other kinds of legacies, but anything that is not a simple shape built of invincible stone will ultimately fall into ruin. Shakespeare thought that incredible poetry and prose could grant immortality because it would be passed along through the generations.
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,(he couldn’t spell “wander”)
When in enternal lines to time thou grow’st, (or “grow”)
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee
But even now his works are regarded as a heavy chore by today’s students and only embraced by the geekiest of the generations. Soon enough Shakespeare will be replaced by the next flash in the pan playwright and Kenneth Branagh can make movies from the new plays.
I realize that there is not enough room on earth for all of us deserving individuals to have mighty pyramids. Luckily, there are enough planets out there with no life; almost as if they were waiting for us to build our grand tombs there and give their barren existence a purpose. You start with the moon and move out, and when this globe has grown too warm or too nuclear bombed and all life has ceased the monuments to our greatness will still stand proudly throughout the universe.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Kings to you Rodney
"I am not at all intimidated by you!" I thought loudly to myself as I stood behind the thuggish looking gentlemen in front of me in line. I put my hand in my pocket and fit my car key between my index and middle finger and formed a fist. If things took a turn for the worse I would probably only get one punch in, but it would have some sting to it.
Statistically speaking (and statistically, I'm almost always speaking) they were much more likely to leave the store directly, get in their car, and go get high or drunk somewhere than to perpetrate any violence on my person. In fact a person in my demographic has a better chance of being killed by another middle class, drunk driver than by a gang member.
At this thought I shifted my focus to the middle aged woman with a bottle of wine behind me. She was my greatest threat. I needed to get her before she got me. But I couldn't do it alone. I would need to enlist some help. As if on cue one of the hoodlums said, "Yo dawg/dog, where'd you get them coconut drinks. I ain't seen none them when we was looking round." (I should point out that three of these young men were Caucasian and 2 were hispanic. My proof reader thought this would be a helpful note. The dialogue was between me and a tall skinny Caucasian)
"I'm so very glad you asked my friend. And I would be happy to tell you, in fact I would like to give you these coconut drinks as a gift, because I need a favor from you."(People who know me know that I wax loquacious when I get nervous)
The young man looked puzzled, but the idea of the elusive coconut drink intrigued him.
"Yeah man, what you need?"
"Do you by chance have any family or friends who work in road-way construction."
"Yeah man, my sister's baby's daddy does. So does my uncle."
"Did you know, that apart from work related accidents the biggest killer of road workers are middle aged women in cars?"
"What?"
"A roadway construction worker has a better chance of being killed by a woman in a car than any other person."
"Yo Rodney, you hearin' this?" (most people rarely pronounce the 'g' in hearing but you'll note that I chose to remove it in his line because I like to perpetuate stereotypes)
"Yeah man, my dad works construction."
"I can't give you the exact figures off the top of my head. But to summarize, that woman behind us in line will almost definitely kill you or someone you love."
"Shoot dawg/dog course they do. Britches (sp?) that's how they do. When you die for sure it's gonna be because of one of them."
"So, what might you propose we would do about it."
"Slit (sp?) dude, ain't nothin' to do. Just enjoy em' til they kill you."
My anxiety began to dissipate as I pondered the wisdom in Rodney's words. Perhaps preemptive strikes against anyone fitting a key demographic in grocery stores was not the right way to go. Perhaps my time was better spent enjoying the present instead of dwelling on future possibilities.
As I watched my new heroes walk to the back of the store in search of coconut drinks, I wondered if the next great piece of new wave feminist literature would be "Enjoy Us Til' We Kill You". Rodney should write the foreword.
Statistically speaking (and statistically, I'm almost always speaking) they were much more likely to leave the store directly, get in their car, and go get high or drunk somewhere than to perpetrate any violence on my person. In fact a person in my demographic has a better chance of being killed by another middle class, drunk driver than by a gang member.
At this thought I shifted my focus to the middle aged woman with a bottle of wine behind me. She was my greatest threat. I needed to get her before she got me. But I couldn't do it alone. I would need to enlist some help. As if on cue one of the hoodlums said, "Yo dawg/dog, where'd you get them coconut drinks. I ain't seen none them when we was looking round." (I should point out that three of these young men were Caucasian and 2 were hispanic. My proof reader thought this would be a helpful note. The dialogue was between me and a tall skinny Caucasian)
"I'm so very glad you asked my friend. And I would be happy to tell you, in fact I would like to give you these coconut drinks as a gift, because I need a favor from you."(People who know me know that I wax loquacious when I get nervous)
The young man looked puzzled, but the idea of the elusive coconut drink intrigued him.
"Yeah man, what you need?"
"Do you by chance have any family or friends who work in road-way construction."
"Yeah man, my sister's baby's daddy does. So does my uncle."
"Did you know, that apart from work related accidents the biggest killer of road workers are middle aged women in cars?"
"What?"
"A roadway construction worker has a better chance of being killed by a woman in a car than any other person."
"Yo Rodney, you hearin' this?" (most people rarely pronounce the 'g' in hearing but you'll note that I chose to remove it in his line because I like to perpetuate stereotypes)
"Yeah man, my dad works construction."
"I can't give you the exact figures off the top of my head. But to summarize, that woman behind us in line will almost definitely kill you or someone you love."
"Shoot dawg/dog course they do. Britches (sp?) that's how they do. When you die for sure it's gonna be because of one of them."
"So, what might you propose we would do about it."
"Slit (sp?) dude, ain't nothin' to do. Just enjoy em' til they kill you."
My anxiety began to dissipate as I pondered the wisdom in Rodney's words. Perhaps preemptive strikes against anyone fitting a key demographic in grocery stores was not the right way to go. Perhaps my time was better spent enjoying the present instead of dwelling on future possibilities.
As I watched my new heroes walk to the back of the store in search of coconut drinks, I wondered if the next great piece of new wave feminist literature would be "Enjoy Us Til' We Kill You". Rodney should write the foreword.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Mozart and Midgard
I was putting together a montage of baby pictures today and thinking that Requiem Mass in D Minor is probably not the right background music unless this baby is a portent of dire events. At which point it occurred to me that that this information should show up in ultrasounds. At which point it occurred to me that these events could be pretty hilarious. At which point I wrote the interchange below. At which point I realized that while these events could be pretty hilarious this one was at best mildly amusing but I had already written it and hadn't posted anything in a while so here it is:
Ultrasound Technician: Looks like it's a girl. There's her fingers, and there's her toes. Uh oh, see that long straight line with the funny shapes at the end? That's the golden scepter of the Jotun. Your daughter will grow up to release Fenrir and the Midgard serpent in preparation for Ragnarok.
Pregnant Mother: That doesn't make any sense, we're catholic. Not that I want my daughter ushering in any sort of apocalypse, but if she's going to shouldn't it be a Christian apocalypse.
Less-Pregnant Father: Also, we're Brazilian. Wouldn't a Nordic baby be better suited for that sort of thing?
Ultrasound Technician: This is awkward. Look, there's a margin of error, maybe that's not a wolf's head on the scepter, it may be a hawk and she's destined to bring a bountiful harvest in Egypt, we won't know for sure until the third trimester. And even if she is destined to unleash the vile kin of Loki, that doesn't mean she won't be a good Catholic or embrace her Brazilian heritage. It just means that at some point the forces of chaos will use her to do their bidding.
She can still lead a very normal life, go to school, and have a family.
Less-Pregnant Father: I hear they're making some real progress is destiny avoidance therapy.
Ultrasound Technician: I'm not really qualified to discuss that, and you can certainly ask for a second opinion, but you'll want to schedule it for another clinic because Dr. Jonah here is a strong proponent against destiny avoidance.
Less-Pregnant Father: I thought his name was Baker?
Ultrasound Technician: A regrettable joke, I'm sorry. But seriously, don't worry so much, some of our best holidays come from a combination of Christian doctrine and European mythology.
Ultrasound Technician: Looks like it's a girl. There's her fingers, and there's her toes. Uh oh, see that long straight line with the funny shapes at the end? That's the golden scepter of the Jotun. Your daughter will grow up to release Fenrir and the Midgard serpent in preparation for Ragnarok.
Pregnant Mother: That doesn't make any sense, we're catholic. Not that I want my daughter ushering in any sort of apocalypse, but if she's going to shouldn't it be a Christian apocalypse.
Less-Pregnant Father: Also, we're Brazilian. Wouldn't a Nordic baby be better suited for that sort of thing?
Ultrasound Technician: This is awkward. Look, there's a margin of error, maybe that's not a wolf's head on the scepter, it may be a hawk and she's destined to bring a bountiful harvest in Egypt, we won't know for sure until the third trimester. And even if she is destined to unleash the vile kin of Loki, that doesn't mean she won't be a good Catholic or embrace her Brazilian heritage. It just means that at some point the forces of chaos will use her to do their bidding.
She can still lead a very normal life, go to school, and have a family.
Less-Pregnant Father: I hear they're making some real progress is destiny avoidance therapy.
Ultrasound Technician: I'm not really qualified to discuss that, and you can certainly ask for a second opinion, but you'll want to schedule it for another clinic because Dr. Jonah here is a strong proponent against destiny avoidance.
Less-Pregnant Father: I thought his name was Baker?
Ultrasound Technician: A regrettable joke, I'm sorry. But seriously, don't worry so much, some of our best holidays come from a combination of Christian doctrine and European mythology.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
A Message From the Management
Dear everyone joining facebook group(s), “I bet we can get 1 million people to (fill in societal change here)”
1 million is not at all the number you should be shooting for. To amend the constitution you need just two-thirds of both houses of Congress to propose an amendment, or two-thirds of the state legislatures to ask Congress to call a national convention to propose amendments. (This method has never been used.) And then you only need three-fourths of the state legislatures to approve it, or ratifying conventions in three-fourths of the states to approve it (this method has been used only once. It was to ratify the 21st amendment repealing prohibition.)
There are 535 people in both houses of Congress and fewer than 8,000 members in all state legislatures. So you need less than 1% of your original goal. Or, you need ratifying conventions in three fourths of the states and given the way votes spread and assuming about 125 million vote, you’ll probably need a little under 100 million to be safe.
Either way you’re way under or way over the goal. Pick a method, and then pick a goal. We’re at war.
Sincerely,
The Management
1 million is not at all the number you should be shooting for. To amend the constitution you need just two-thirds of both houses of Congress to propose an amendment, or two-thirds of the state legislatures to ask Congress to call a national convention to propose amendments. (This method has never been used.) And then you only need three-fourths of the state legislatures to approve it, or ratifying conventions in three-fourths of the states to approve it (this method has been used only once. It was to ratify the 21st amendment repealing prohibition.)
There are 535 people in both houses of Congress and fewer than 8,000 members in all state legislatures. So you need less than 1% of your original goal. Or, you need ratifying conventions in three fourths of the states and given the way votes spread and assuming about 125 million vote, you’ll probably need a little under 100 million to be safe.
Either way you’re way under or way over the goal. Pick a method, and then pick a goal. We’re at war.
Sincerely,
The Management
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