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
Sunday, March 28, 2010
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.
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