You May All Return From the Edge of Your Seats

Ok. So it’s been a while. As anyone keeping up-to-date on my entries would know, I was legally dead for about six weeks. Thanks to a combination of medical science and medieval black-magic though, I’m back and stronger than ever. Kinda like that guy with the long hair who they based off of Aslan the Lion. Something with a “G”…

Cold Was the Winters

"Swine" Flu? Psh, please.

Yesterday was the second vaccination in my on-going Malaria research study. The vaccine itself is kind of like getting a flu shot; you get a sore arm, a day or two of feeling groggy/stuffy as well as a general malaise. The only problem this time, is that over the weekend, I got a bummer cold from god knows what or who (although I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I watched five feces-rolling-in kittens last week in a three-day overnight bout of fraternal obligation).

So I went in yesterday, Kitten Flu and all, expecting the nurse to say something along the lines of ‘Oh, we don’t want you getting too sick! Go home Brian, go home and be free!’ but rather I’m met with the ever-delightful, “Oh, a cold? Well as long as you don’t have a fever.” Awesome. And that brings us to now, where I sit at work with a stuffed up head and an aching body, all due to the fact that the Kitten Flu and Malaria are gangbanging my immune system. But you know what? Joke’s on you hybrid-super-flu, cause I enjoy a good flu; I say bring it on.



P.S.- If I don't post for a few days, I've probably died, so please, donate my blog to science.

A: Wham!

Aside from '...Is that because it's cold out?', I would have to say that "What kind of music do you like/listen to?" is my least favorite question. Clearly I have preferences that I'd like to respond with, but in doing so, I either start dropping band names like a desperate hipster, tack on 6-7 adjectives before a genre (e.g., "industrial lo-fi indie/electronicia fusion, with subtle, expressive vanilla high notes") or try to describe my nebulous sonic-preferences using 10-cent words and a know-it-all attitude.

In any case, I never succeed in conveying all that I want, so I've resigned to responding with "Alternative". That seems to shut people up. Except for the jack ass who thinks he's funny with 'Alternative to what? A-huy-uck!' Alternative to me stabbing you in the ear with a pencil. Your call chump.

Special K

In September, I start my first real job (hooray for me!). Although I'm excited to be working and making a considerable amount more money, I'm worried that as a twenty-something who still lives at home, I'm going to take this new surplus of money and do stupid shit with it. I talked to my parents, and they recommended opening a 401(k) [Sidenote: Did you know the term '401(k)' comes from the section is the US tax code for which the eponymous entity appears? FASCINATING!]

The idea of a 401(k) is not only completely foreign to me, but it scares the hell out of me. And to make matters worse, there's different kinds of 401(k)s; Traditional and Roth, and you can only choose one. I feel like I'm at the beginning of Pokemon, and Prof. Oak (my tax agent) is making me pick my starter. How the hell should I know what water-based pokemon (the Roth 401(k) beats? Well, apparently it's fire (delayed taxes upon distribution). Yeah, I dunno, that metaphor starting losing stea--well, this whole post started losing steam. As soon as I decided to write about 401(k)s. And even now I feel like

Oh Yeah, and Another Thing

While I'm on the topic of video games, there's another tangential point I'd like to mention: movie adaptations. There have been many, many attempts to transfer video games to the big screen, and in the vast majority of cases, it has been an artistic abortion. Here's a few gems that were decent video games, turned horrendous movies:

Super Mario Brothers (1993)
Street Fighter (1994)
Double Dragon (1994)
Alone in the Dark (2005)
Doom (2005)
BloodRayne (2005)
Silent Hill (2006)
Hitman (2007)
Max Payne (2008)


Granted there have been a few commercially successful movies (i.e., Resident Evil, Lara Croft: Tomb Raider) but in large part, the teams that attempt to retrofit video games into a pre-established Hollywood formula have overwhelmingly failed. And this doesn't make sense. You think after three or four bad cross-overs, Hollywood would say 'You know what doesn't work? Trying to make movies out of video games.' but 2010's Prince of Persia (starring the very not-Persian Jake Gylllanhal) is a testament to their arrogant ways.

Why not make a video-game based movie true to its source? Assuming the game in question is already popular, you'd have a built-in constituency of loyal geeks, nerds, and asian kids who already like it and ostensibly want to go see it. And more often than not, video game plots are solid stories (e.g., May Payne was an awesome game) so why change what others already spent time writing and editing (e.g., Max Payne was a TERRIBLE movie). It's like buying a well-furnished house, and then stripping it down, and filling it with Thomas Kincades.

One big problem is casting. Everybody likes movie stars (well, come to think of it, no I don't at all) but adding a 'big star' will only a.) take away from the movie's integrity and b.) piss off the fans pre-conceived ideas. (For instance, there is no possible reason why Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson should have been in Doom.) A while back, when they were considering making a movie based off the immensely popular video game franchise Halo (to give perspective: Halo 3 holds the record for highest sales revenue within 24 hours of release) they were thinking of casting the enigmatic and solemn "Master Chief" character (who in the games, never takes off his helmet) as none other than The Pacifier's Vin Deisel. Luckily, the helm was given to Peter Jackson and company, who in a wise decision, decided to scrap the project.

The bottom line is video games can't be treated like other entertainment forms. Books are easy to adapt to movies because they're a media blueprint; people like seeing the theorhetical come to live. Viedo games are a dynamic and visually-based system of media in which a person's ideas and fantasies have already come to life, thus, trying to reinvent them is futile. Rather, try and adapt them into a new perspective. I mean, after all, what's a video games if not a movie you control? Hmm??

The two worst television commercial makers: Gillette and 5-Hour Energy. You gotta wonder what kind of screening process they have. "Hey mom, look what me and Ricky made..."

Mii, Miiself, and Ii

I've always enjoyed video games. Who doesn't? Oh, pretty girls you say? Right, well...their loss. From as far back as I can remember, I've enjoyed a good round of Double Dragon. But in the recent years, I become infatuated with gaming to the point whereupon the new generation of consoles came out (Xbox 360, PS3, Wii) I went cold turkey and refused to buy one.

This was hard at first, with prospects such as Halo 3 and The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion tempting my resolve (the prequel to the latter was one such game that I happily afforded my summer days to) but I stayed strong. While others were flying through space with Cpt. Sheppard and the Normadie, I satiated my urges with Snood. I went four years without updating, which in GeekYears is actually 12.5663706 years. However, recently, in a calm and informed decision, I bought an Nintendo Wii. I chose Wii because I knew it was 'family friendly' and although I don't have children, my parents are quite juvenile (and fittingly love Wii Sports) but that wasn't the only reason. To put it to you in DEA terms: Xbox 360 was the uncut, black-tar heroin my veins were craving; Wii being a prescription dose of morphine. I knew that the Wii's lack of good games, combined with its natural dis-appeal to my demographic, I would be safe from relapse. Unfortunately, I was right.

The Wii is essentially a game boy: Sure it'll entertain you in a pinch, but the graphics are all crappy, and the games are never quite as good as REAL games. And if one more person tells me I'm wrong about the game situation, then cites a game with the words "Mario" or "Super" in the title as their justification, I'm going to punch them in the throat. If I wanted to be a plumber I would have dropped out of highschool. Let's get something with plot. With action. WITH BLUUUUUUD! Oh man, maybe there's a MOD you could download that would make all the coins in Mario turn into torrents of blood? Hmm, I have to look into that.

Days Three & Four: Whatever Man...

I was going to post about something else today, but then I saw that I left the San Diego Saga uncompleted (and I know everyone needs closure) so now you get the obligatory conclusion to my journey to the center of a dolphin’s taint!

After I arrived in San Diego, I was relieved to find that in a freak accident of fate, the airline did NOT lose my baggage. I managed to get the sketchiest cab possible where my immigrant cabbie (in the literal sense, ye’ of little faith) insisted on talking on his iPhone headset and charging my $14 for a 3-min ride to downtown SD. Now San Diego is a beautiful city; great weather, scenic city skyline, nice architecture, etc. Seeing that the closest city to me is Baltimore, I welcomed the switch from row houses to neat little artsy condos. I was even able to walk around by myself at night without the pervasive fear of imminent death all around me!

I wish I had some good adventure stories from San Diego, but the majority of my trip consisted of watching Netflix on my laptop, and occasionally going to the nearby CVS for provisions. No no, it wasn’t until I left that things picked up again, seeing how my flights were once again delayed by weather.

To make a very long and very boring story short, I waited a lot in the airport then flew to some crappy not-my airport then went home and slept and that is what I did on my summer vacation and I hope you vote for me for class president thank you.

Day Two: Who The Fuck Would Live In Phoenix?

When we last left our hero...

I had missed my connecting flight our of Charlotte, NC because of weather delays. Now, my original travel plan had me departing Charlotte around 6:15PM, and getting to San Diego around 8:30PM (local time). It was now 7:00 and I had no plane, no plan, and no hair. Just kidding, I had my hair.

Now the travel lady was understanding (which may or may not be mutually exclusive with "nice") that half the plane had missed their connecting flights (it's not our fault that no one wants to stay in Hickville, NC). She informed me that I had be added to the next available flight out to San Diego. Awesome, right? Mreh...

She proceeded to tell me that there were no direct flights out tonight, and that I would need to go through Phoenix, AZ to get to San Diego. I took this as 'you'll be getting there late tonight' but what it really meant was 'hey, fuck you kid. we screwed you over and don't gotta do shit cuz it was the weather's fault, so go piss on a rock--HAVE FUN SPENDING THE NIGHT IN PHOENIX!!! MUAHHAHAHA!!!! HAIL SATANNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!' or something similar. Bottom line, I had to stay in Phoenix AZ for the night, AND get my own hotel room.

In a seemingly nice gesture, the lady gave me a voucher for a 'distressed traveler' discount. To get it, I had to call a number, and they'd give me a discount hotel to help me in my 'time of need'. Well when I got to Phoenix, I called the number, and the lady offered my a room at some hotel for an 'exclusive discounted rate of $59', and me, thinking that this agency was legitimately trying to find me a cheap hotel, took the info down. Luckily, everyone else had gotten the same info, and the hotel's number was busy, so I never got through. I did a simple online hotel search for the Phoenix area, and immediately found two hotels that were closer to the airport, and cheaper (I picked the luxurious $41/night EconoLodge). Upon post-travel investigation, the distressed passenger number? An advertising agency. Hotels pay them to direct customers their way under the guise of slight discounts on their rates. And if the line hadn't been busy, it would have worked like a charm on me.

My EconoLodge stay was uneventful (and really, I only was in the room for about 7 hours) and after an unshowered and unchanged (my checked bag was still marked for San Diego, not Phoenix) 5:30AM wake up, I was on the plane to San Diego.

Now what happens when I get there???

Day One: The Day The Earth Stood Still

My inclusion on this particular trip was what might be referred to 'last minute' or 'half-assed'. So about a week and a half ago, I scrambled around to try and get plane tickets and hotel reservations that were both convenient, and cheap (all that talk about garden gnomes helping you book your trips? bullshit) Despite Captain Kirk trying to negotiate my trip, I managed to get a reasonable itinerary set up; 4 days, 3 nights in San Diego; fly out Thursday, and back on Sunday. Awesome, right? Psh, please.

Let's start with Thursday which started off on ad note with a 20-minute storm making my roughly hour-long commute to work 2 hours*

*Expected time. I wouldn't know, since I had to turn around before I ever got to work and drive home to catch my flight.

Getting to the airport was easy, despite half of the combined armed forces of America being in the U.S. Airways check-in line ahead of me. However once I passed security, things started going south. The first notable happening was when everyone was waiting to board the plane, and the flight crew instructed the passengers that because this was a full flight, people with larger bags would need to check them. First of all, just because a suitcase has wheels and a handle does not mean it's a carry on. It means you're an asshole. Second...ly, if the staff tell you there is no room on the plane for your swollen, oversized tenement on wheels, don't try to sneak it on board. There were two people I saw who stood in the aisle for a good 5 minutes looking at the full overhead storage with a shoot-me-in-the-face-I'm-an-idiot look on their (unshot) face. I think at that point, the flight crew should not only check those persons' bags, but they should drop a heaping deuce right inside, and zip that sucker back up.

Now as fate would have it, of those genius people happened to be in my row. I'd like to take a minute to describe this gentleman. He was in his late 30's, early 40's, with a gelled up guido-hairstyle and an oversized button-down shirt that he refused to tuck into his black slacks, the likes of which fell on his (some kind of animal print) shoes. As if this alone wasn't enough to warrent judging this book by its cover, for the entire duration of the flight, this man had on a pair of those sunglasses-without-color things with a big fat PRADA on the frame.

From the moment he sat down, he was on his iPhone-wait for it- AND his blackberry talking to what I can only imagine is a sun-dried husk of a girlfriend and god knows who else. He even continued talking after the stewardess came by and gave him the "hang up" sign so we could get ready for take off. No, this guy was too cool for take off. It was only when the stewardess stood there and watched him pry the phone from his ear and turn it off did he manage to shut the fuck up.

All the while this is happening, the pilot comes and tells us that the storm that had come through this morning (and ruined my earlier commute) was in our direct flight path, and there appeared to be another storm headed in the alternate flight path. As a result, we ended up sitting on the runway while the radar people got thier shit together.

Back to the Douchenator. Upon hearing that he wasn't going to make his flight, he got out his phones (both of them) and started calling his CLEARLY important contacts, telling them he wasn't going to make the dinner reservations they had. After he did this, he proceeded to let out a series of attention-seeking sighs, grunts, and seat-shifts (which I, being myself, let go unanswered) until he pushed the flight attendant button. His request wasn't super out of the ordinary: he wanted a beer. Fair enough. However, while the plane is on the ground, the airline does not allow *coach passengers* to order alcoholic beverages (first class can for some fucked up reason). Well, the Douchenator did not like this. He did not like this at all. He proceeded to call the stewardess back, and tell her that he "needed" a beer because he "had a killer day" (note: this is taking place at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday) and began to demand that one of the first class passengers order him a beer, and that he'd go up there and "sit on their laps" if he had to. Classy, classy guy.

Well thankfully (or maybe not? READ ON!) the plane finally took off, and landed in Charlotte, NC. I had of course missed my connecting flight, and was currently awaiting a re-route (along with about half the passengers on the plane). But as I was in line at the ticket counter, as one last cherry on the shit-cake, I saw the Douchenator walking out of some airport shop with an obnoxiously large "Sharper Image" face/neck/body/someone-else's-body pillow to use on his next flight. To whomsoever be next to him: I wish you luck.

Now, as for that replacement flight...

Journey into a Whale's Vagina, Or, How I Learned to Like Sandy Eggos

I am a business man. As such, I am currently in San Diego, California on a work-related venture. Now, seeing how I haven't had easily accessible internet over the past few days, there's a lot to catch up on. We'll do this piece wise, so you at home don't have to read many big letter blocks.

Sen. and Lady Earl Grey and Father Sanchez E. McPacelli

Taking a page from the moldy tomes of The Inkhorn, I’ve been doing some ‘political thinking’ (if there even is such a thing). There seems to be a lot of support among idiots and lesser-idiots alike about a few Tea Party candidates in the upcoming election (Sidenote: The ‘Tea Party’ as a political affiliation doesn’t make sense. It should be the ‘Tea Party Party’. Someone in a ‘Tea Party’ would logically support tea and/or tea-tree rights).

But anyways, the basic jist of these tea baggers is that they want to push their libertarian values under the guise of literal Constitutional interpretation; opposing any fundamental changes/ progress to the Constitution. While sitting under a bodhi tree, I realized that the Tea Party bears striking resemblance to the Catholic Church. How so? Glad you asked.

1. They are both are afraid of changing (cause they’ve built their life around you, Stevie)
2. Both resist any and all changes to their original scripture (except when convenient)
3. They follow an inches-from-death patriarch, to which they pledge their blind devotion (i.e., The Pope; Ron Paul)
4. Followers of both maintain an unfounded sense of propriety and pseudo-righteousness
5. Their ranks are consistently filled with the smartest most best smart people in the entire whole universe.

Unfortunately, like Catholicism, the Tea Party is getting converts in the form of disillusioned and easily swayed individuals looking for some sort of stability, and we’re likely going to see a few neglected officials from their camp. FORTUNATELY, like Catholicism, the extreme-resistence to change makes the Tea Party doomed to eventually get left behind and fail. All we can hope for now is for both of these entities to just coast on to the finish line…

Kanye West's "Golddigger" (originally by Leonard Cohen)

I was investigating (see: 'looking up on Wikipedia') the Leonard Cohen song "Hallelujah", and I came across the song's coverage. Turns out the song has been covered by about two-dozen artists, and how a majority of the covers are actually secondary and tertiary covers (so that's covers of covers, and covers of a cover's cover, respectively). On top of that, the lyrics change considerably between interpretations, with artists picking and choosing (and adding) lyrics as they see fit.

Now as I'm reading this, I'm naturally imagining someone akin to Kanye West passing off a song like "Golddigger" as a 'loose artistic interpretation and essential cover of 'Hallelujah' reflective of the times'

I mean, how much do I have to modify a song before it's not a cover anymore? A little more scholarly inquiry (see above definition of "investigating") reveals that there are special cases of Copyright law that govern 'derivative works'. A derivative work must be "...sufficient new expression, over and above that embodied in the earlier work for the latter work to satisfy copyright law’s requirement of originality."

I'm pretty sure that Kanye West has heard Jeff Buckley's cover of John Cale's cover of Cohen's song 'Hallelujah', and that had indirectly (or directly) inspired him to create a ballad about the perils of love and infatuation, reflective of the parent work (of course, Mr. West maintains that this isn't the case, but I think we know better).

Kitehs, Rly??

It is my goal to keep this blog as "neutral" as possible; however, I cannot help but insert my own partisan political beliefs into the picture at times. From this point on let it be known that I hope cats win big this November and seize control of the House from the death grip of smelly dogs. My reasons for wanting this are twofold: (1) I believe that at times America has inexorably benefited from divided government because it keeps one party for becoming "overbearing." For example, look at the state of the world’s tuna from 1994-2000 - it was booming (there was even a surplus). Both, cats and dogs, were forced to work with one another and find a true common ground that benefited the living room as a whole. Both Tinkles and Mr. Whiskers, unlikely, polar opposite politicians, presided over an era of economic tranquility. (2) The dogs, for better or worse, squandered the largest majorities they have had since the seventies. Sure, they did pass many landmark and oftentimes controversial pieces of legislation, but they did so at: (1) their own political peril and (2) at a huge expense - they lost ALL of their belly-scratching capital and good will with the humans in a series of public and politically damaging national debates. It should not have been difficult to pass anything with 60 dogs in the backyard (enough to break cat fortresses), the House petting-ship, and the big man himself, Brigadier General Lord Scratching Post in the White House down the street. Yet it was like learning tricks for them to pass the initiatives they campaigned on.

Now the question remains: What the hell is wrong with the cats? To win the House back they have to be something other than the party of ‘NO- BAD CATS!!’. Right now they are blocking everything, they have to stop and be realistic. You win elections by offering alternatives, not by screaming "we don't support anything THEY (smelly dog farts) do."

My main beef is with the Can-Nip and Princess. It is known that: (1) she is the hottest cat in the history of the neighborhood and, (2) she is not bright but wields considerable influence by serving bird-wings at her party. The problem is that she is supporting and encouraging others to support an off-shoot of her party and it is my fear this will result in a "split" among cats and tigers which in turn will lead to cats losing a lot of chances to dethrone Dog. For example, in Maryland, instead of supporting the establishment candidate, would be shoe-in candidate and former governor Mittens McGee in the primary she has opted to support a lesser know "common sense cat." This decision will cause McGee to spend more money in the primary taking away a lot of resources he should save up for his fight against dog incumbent governor Bentley Thedoge.

Bottom line: CATS IF YOU WANNA WINNING THIS WAR ON STRING START OFFERING SIMPLE SOLUTIONS TO COMMON PROBLEMS AND SUPPORT PLAY-TOYS THAT ACTUALLY HAVE A CHANCE OF BEING CAUGHT.

All Is Fair

America is a land of apathy and indolence the likes of which can be held responsible for anynumber of social and/or economic issues. The voting turnouts are appalling, the only people who take up a cause are either fanatics or bored, and half the people in this nation don’t know who’s representing them. Well. Allow me to make a few humble suggestions.

First: Political parties need to stop acting like just that; parties. This isn’t a social hour; this is work time. Look at the UK political parties; they each have their own professionally designed logo, official color, and mascot (probably). Let’s get some heraldry! Take a lesson from video games, comic books and the Bloods & Crips and start making appearance convey intention! Once the parties have been given their makeovers, we move to...

Step Two: eliminate bipartisanship in politics. From now on, all decisions must be black and white, yes and no. None of this hoity-toity grey area of ‘stipulated tax cuts’ and ‘partial-birth abortion bans’; you’re either for something or against it. By doing this, you’ll succeed in polarizing the masses! Why not turn the middle-ground into the battleground? (I suggest one starts with some sort of propaganda poster like “Neutrality Kills”, or, for the Conservative-right, something along the lines of “Rather Gay than Grey”) Once the lines have been drawn, and the banners held high, we initiate...

Phase Three: TOTAL WAR. I’m talking a full-out descent into feudalism; constituents shall be the vassals, pledging their support to their local Lord of Congress, who in turn form uneasy allianges against those around them, mounting in frequent and bloody conflict!! And try saying that this WOULDN'T get people excited about politics. Just thinking about this makes me want to grab a pike and charge into battle in the name of the Honorable John P. Sarbanes.

One Cut To Rule Them All...

Making a name for himself with the blockbuster Avatar, as well as cockbusters such as Terminator: Salvation and Clash of the Titans, Sam “One Cut” Worthington has somehow done what only one other person in Hollywood has: become famous with only one hairstyle (yeah, looking at you Jennifer “The Entire 90’s” Aniston). Most actors like to adapt to the roles they play, taking on unique personalities and adopting unique mannerisms, but Worthington’s buzz cut has met head-on (no pun intended) distant planets, a post-apocalyptic future, and ancient Greece without so much as a part.

Granted, in the film Avatar, he played an ex-Marine, and yadda yadda they have short hair- fine, that’s one. Terminator: Salvation can even be stretched to the excuse that short hair might be easier to maintain in a world without ample shampoos and conditioners. But Clash of the Titans was the biggest slap in the follicle; not only letting down Harry Hamlin’s legacy of luscious locks, but all of Greco-Roman culture as well. I mean, he was the only person in that movie with short hair- even the statues had more than him.

And I know what you’re thinking, maybe he’s got a condition, or can’t grow his hair; nay good sir. A Google image search quickly quells these theories (and also returned this gem: http://avatar-action-figures.com/images/James%20Cameron%27s%20Avatar%20RDA%20Jake%20Sully%20Action%20Figure.jpg) leaving the only explanation to be bad taste.

With the expected release of Dracula Year Zero, one can only hope that he overcomes his hair-anxieties, and doesn’t make the Lord of all vampires have a LFO wave. However, if the past is any indicator of the future; I’m not holding my breath.

economy? no, econoyou.

I love how unbelievably inefficient the working world is. I’d take a gander to guess that the highest percent-time-working for a given individual is at most (and I mean most) 10-50%.

It starts off with the “I’m still waking up” lethargy, which gets shaken off just in time for the “mid-morning slump” to set in. After that, a small amount of energy is generated at the prospect of lunch, however, this is usually focused into non-work related activities, so that by the time lunch rolls around, you’ve still accomplished nothing. Then there’s “lunch time”. Ohhhh lunch. The worst excuse for a food-break that has ever existed. And there’s the people who insist on taking an hour lunch every day, not counting the time it takes to get wherever their going and back, only to come back and slump again after stuffing themselves of processed meats and pickled melons. This “post-lunch stupor” is briefly interrupted by a few fleeting moments of work, which in turn fall prey to the “2:30 siesta”. This lasts until the Twilight Zone of 4:00-6:00 wherein time somehow blends and becomes one, allowing people to leave whenever they want, and still call it 6:00 PM (theories of relativity can’t explain it).

All in all, it boggles the mind how anyone (much less anyone who has ever worked) could wonder why America’s economy is shot to shit. Way to go Baby Boomers, way to go.

StarCraft II: Revelations 17:16

Being the ex-high school quarterback, prom king, backwards-hat-from-Abercrombie-wearing Soc that I am, I couldn’t resist purchasing the newly released and long-awaited computer game: Starcraft II: Wings of Liberty.

This game, although demonstrating kryptonite-like properties in the presence of pretty girls, is vying to replace World of Warcraft for the new online Nerd Mecca. And I use the term ‘Nerd Mecca’ not only to convey the fanatical nature of the Geek civilization, but because while playing Starcraft, I came across several subtle, yet undeniable, religious allegories.

Let’s look at a scenario:

An individual of noble character and high moral standings is betrayed by those around them, and sacrificed for the sake of humanity. This individual is then brought back in a famous second coming, developing a mass of faithful followers, who humbly serve their overseer.

I of course refer not to Jesus, but to Lieutenant Sarah Kerrigan. Her followers, like Christians, were fast to support their (over)lord, and violent conflicts ensued with an older, yet less militarized monastic order known as the Protoss (clearly an allusion to Orthodox Judaism). Additionally, like most Christians, the Zerg swarm functions in a hive-mind capacity, infecting or destroying all who oppose it without hesitation.

Even the two main symbols (the Christian cross, and the Zerglian hydralisk) display unmistakable similarities in form and meaning. Further investigation into the followers of the two factions also shows considerable overlap (e.g., amorphous blobs full of hot and putrid gases).

I’m not sure if the folks at Blizzard studios intended for their games to channel the spirit of the Father (The Overind), the Son (Kerrigan, Queen of Blades) and the holy Ghost (pre-Zerg, Lt. Sarah Kerrigan) but they failed to pull the wool over THIS gamer’s eyes...

Who Rides A Horse To Work

Nothing lightens the morning commute like seeing a sports car amidst the gridlock. I always want to roll my window down and say, 'Hey- how's that Mustang working out for ya??'

The Chronicles of Malaria: One Small Prick for Humanity

I've recently enrolled in a study testing an experimental malaria vaccine. After a short (yet unenjoyable) screening process, I was given the first of three vaccine administrations yesterday.

The next ones are each three weeks apart, culminating in what the researchers call a "challenge" phase, wherein I will be exposed to about 200 malaria infected mosquitoes (Plasmodium vivax strain, in case you're interested) to see if the vaccine will protect me from the bugs!

Now, you might be wondering why anyone would do this (I mean, other than the money of course). But I have to ask myself: when will a middle-class suburban white male ever be exposed to malaria? Am I planning on going to any jungles in the near future? Pshhh, pleaseeee....


This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!


More details as events unfold. STAY TUNED.

A NEMESIS IS BORN

Lady and gentlemen, boys and girl, the brainbrianbrain Blog has an official arch-rival blog! For years animosity has simmered, waiting until this very day to boil over, and spill the first blood or blog-war!!!!!

The heretic: the-inkhorn.blogspot.com



This blog was made by a convicted baby killer, whose self-proclaimed hobbies include (and I quote) "nails on a chalkboard", "being stuck in line at the DMV" and "picking scabs (mine or other's!)"

Truly, this is a blog of pure evil.

All I Need Now Is a SDI System...

My office employs a system of work distribution that can be likened to the ‘trickle down wealth’ policies of Reganomics. The amount of work I do is directly proportional to the amount of work my superiors do; thus, if they feel like doing work, I can do work. If they decide to take a day off, I am forced into a lengthy and epic battle with boredom, in which I almost always lose. You see, just as trickle down wealth was both logically and practically flawed, my office’s work-stream is as well. If the higher-ups don’t come in for a day, the entire system is halted. Where are the middle men you ask? Doing what sycophantic middle men do best: nothing. Peons of the world, unite under one banner: LIBERATE THE PROLETARIAT- MAKE BETTER ONLINE GAMES!

The Ford F-150 vs. The Dodge Quadracorn

Being a man of science, I make a habit of noting patterns and systems, and trying to quantify the world around me. Such patterns are all around us at work, at home or even…on the farm. The coolness of farm animals has long been determined by:

1. How deadly an animal is (i.e., the very popular McClintock Family Viper Farm and Petting Zoo)
2. Whether or not it can be ridden (e.g., turkey= not rideable= not cool)
3. How awesome the animal in question looks

It is a long accepted fact that having horns instantly ups an animal’s cool points, but by exactly how much has never been determined. That is, until now...

Aggregate data on horned animals has recently become available due to a privacy loophole in the Patriot Act that expired in 2009, and for the last year, scientists have been assessing the relationship of horns to coolness to how freakin weird something is. The following atricle was taken from the July issue of The Journal of the International Society of Journalistic Societies (JoISJS) and is titled: Horn quantity and objective levels of social desirability and integrated functioning: Why me so horny?

"Recent data pools have provided researchers with a never before seen glimpse in
the nature and functionality of horns. Scientists put 17 Japanese school
children in a room with pictures of the following horned objects (ranked
according to number of horns):

• Zero horns- Horse
• One horn- Unicorn
• Two horns- Bull (Duocorn)
• Three horns- Triceratops
• Four horns- Ram
• Five horns- Beetles
  Eight horns- Eight African American gentlemen who comprise a jazz octet
• Twelve horns- Dodecacorn (Dodecacorn)

The following are the findings:

There appears to be a consistent favoring of 1-3 horns, which dips
down for 4, 5, and 8 horned subjects, but rises again for 12 horns. More
research must be done before conclusions can be made, but the authors suggest
that someone build a dodecacorn, with like, knives for legs, cause that’d be
freakin sweet." (copyright JoISJS, 2010 ; 198:42-57)

James Bond + GoldenEye = Gold Bond?

Whenever you see someone you know in the bathroom, it always feels like you're both secret agents. Its like we trained together at Langley, and are both attending the same Russian Head-of-State dinner gala; neiher of you want to say anything to the other, but there's a furtive glace that says 'I know you, and I know you know me too; let's leave it at that in case someone bugged the shitter'.

My Non-Transitory Tuesday Morning Torpor

Ever have one of those days where you begrudgingly get up, take a shower (but it doesn’t really wake you up), pretend that not getting dressed will prevent you from having to start the day, drive 60 miles, and then work for eight or so hours, only to come home and wallow in self-pity? MEEE NEITHERRRRRRQQ777774W@!!!!!

Bill Gates Can Choke on a Fat One

I thank everything holy ever in the universe for Apple computers. Not simply because they’re infinitely easier to use than a Windows computer, but because they put pressure on Windows OS to not-suck. Using Windows XP, it is amazing just how many simple things are impossible (e.g., printing to PDF, moving files [even within the same parent folder], changing preferences, screen shots, naming files, the list goes on and on).

Before Apple became a major player, Microsoft had no motivation to change its lumbering bear of a system, embodying the doctrine of ‘Why fix what aint available better?’ For the life of me, I cannot think of one benefit of running a Windows system that isn't related to the ubiquity of the OS itself. Go ahead. Dazzle me with one. See? Point proven.

Politics, Oh Politics

Just as the flowers mark the rite of spring, large plastic billboards and wire-frame lawn signs signal the start of campaign season. Don’t get me wrong, I support informed people being politically active. The only problem is, the vast majority of those who DO put those little signs up are not very well informed (and no, ‘not wanting to pay higher taxes’ doesn’t qualify you for political enlightenment). Seeing how these folks don’t employ reason or logic, debate requires someone who is similarly equal-parts ignorant and arrogant; a responsibility I gladly take on.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with having political beliefs (however ridiculous they may be). There IS however something wrong with thinking that people want to and/or are entitled to hear/see/smell whatever cockamamie ideals you think you have. For instance, while driving through a traditionally conservative neighborhood near my abode, there’s a house along the main road with at least a dozen lawn signs, as well as a large poster board sign tied to their fence. And we’re not talking a dozen signs as in they support many different candidates; every sign is for the same candidate (ex-governor and Republican gubernatorial candidate Bob Ehrlich; which in an effort to maintain neutrality, I will only comment that his signs are ugly).

Why would someone feel the need to affirm their political beliefs to such an extent that one’s lawn becomes a GOP marching field? We can only assume that such families maintain closeted liberal tendencies, and in an effort to uphold their upper-middle class image, must overcompensate to quell any doubts about their conservativality. I can just imagine them late at night, huddled around the dimly lit computer monitor, nervously reading issues of The Socialist Review…

Whatever the case, as a self-appointed Anti-Political Sign Activist, if you have an obnoxious number of political signs, expect their numbers to be thinned, and maybe your yard to be urinated upon.

MeMail

I really hate it when you send out a few emails to different people, over a reasonable (let's say, 45 minute) time span, but no one emails back during this time; naturally you begin to think 'maybe my email isn't working' so then you proceed to send an email to yourself, only to see that it pops up instantly, demonstrating that your email is fully functional, and that the people you emailed just don't like you.

Aaaaaaand that's pretty much what my day revolves around.

This blog is like the Guantanamo Bay of the grammar; if you don't like it, shove it up you're arse.

Blood Money

So I applied to participate in a Clinical Trial involving the testing of a new Malaria vaccine.

If I get in, I'll be given three rounds of the vaccine (one a month for three months) and then in November I'll insert my arms into a feeding chamber with 200 Malaria infected mosquitoes for five minutes. I then spend a week at a hotel, and then get cured.

Now, some people might be worried about the whole 'contracting malaria' part, but that's not what worries me. What's the real problem is the prospect of having 200 mosquito bites all up and down my arms. That just seems really, REALLY itchy.

Granted for $5,000 I can endure a few days of calamine and self-restraint, but in any case, I am not looking forward to that feeding frenzy...

AutoErotic

In case you haven’t been paying attention, I’ve been studying for the GRE recently, and one of the areas of study is vocabulary. While flipping through the pages of my 36 study guides, I realized that half the words in there were also car names. Then it hit me; that’s how they name cars. Just take the company (e.g., Ford) and then flip to a random page, and throw in a 5-dollar word (e.g., Seine- (n) a large net hung out and dragged in to catch fish); thus the 2010 Ford Seine is born! Go ahead and try it. You’ll quickly see that that’s exactly what they do.

Here are some other grrrrrreat examples:

• "Come see the all-new, redesigned Dodge Insipid"
• "FOR SALE: SLIGHTLY USED 1998 KIA NADIR"
• "That girl with the deformed foot drives a Nissan Solipsism"
• "A 2004 sea-foam green Chevy Fracas? What am I, a soccer mom?"

And don’t worry about using the correct part of speech; these words are so obscure you can just pretend everything is a noun! Go ahead, so go ahead- check out the new Daewoo Vituperate.

Clearly Christopher Nolan Got It All Wrong

I came across this, and I couldn't resist re-posting it here:

I'm really hoping the third installment of Batman and the fourth film in the Spiderman franchise rightfully coincide as one.

Is an Android by Default a 'Made Man'?

If only watching the first half of movies like Scarface, Goodfellas, the Aristocats, and Casino have taught me anything, it's that being in the mafia is a rewarding career; there are interesting people to meet, fun places to go, and much pasta to be eaten. However, recently the mafia has been getting a lot of bad press; the world of organized crime has been consistently demonized.

Well I ask: Would you rather have your criminals organized, or disorganized?

How would you like to be robbed by two homeless people on the same day? I know I wouldn't. If I had the choice of being consistently strong-armed for protection money, or having a broken bottle pointed at me in exchange for my wallet, the mafia wins hands down.

If anything, I think crime should be more organized. That way we could tax illegal activities, as well as more closely monitor and regulate them (because who doesn’t hate it when someone cuts your buy with baking soda?) It is my dream that one day, I’ll live in an America where the only people who try to take my money are those wearing $3600 pin-stripe suits. At least then I’ll know it’s going to a good cause.

Fun Facts!

• The term "mafia" comes from from the Italian Ma'finga 'ya, meaning literally 'to finger-bang'
• The first uses originated in Italian colleges during the 19th century, in what would be a chronological precursor to the modern grab-assing interpretation of historic Greek fraternities
• The mafia is present in Russia, Japan, America, India, Canada, Mexico, all of South America and Africa, as well as a limited (and ultimately short-lived) stint in Antarctica.

"If You Don't Use A Calculator, You're a F****** Idiot" -A. Einstein

My hypothetical letter to ETS, the publishers of the GRE, as to why I should not have to do long division by hand:

ETS 18640 Suckville
RE: The GRE Math Section

To whom it may concern:

Mathematics is a soon-to-be obsolete area of study.

You see, mathematics (as well as chemistry, physics, and music—any ‘hard science’ as they say) is doomed to be limited by a finite combination of discrete variables. Ahem. Any problem that contains discrete variables can, theoretically, be solved by an algorithm. The very comfort that is derived from knowing something is a ‘hard science’ is coincidently undermined by the potential for every possible aspect to be solved and accounted for. For instance, mathematics (like the physical universe) is subject to rules; as a result there are certain patterns that surface that one can observe and in time predict. Given that “infinity” is really just a repeating base-10 system of relative measurement (e.g., 100 has the same basic properties as 10, which has the same properties of 10,000,000, etc.) therefore it can be postulated that eventually every problem will be able to be addressed and solved. Unlike a field such as biology where there is a fundamental goal of progress (i.e., evolution; survival of the fittest) these finite areas are destined to have a finish line, so to speak.

Let’s think of it in terms of music. There are eight notes, A through G (count half-steps if you’d like, but they still fall in the base-8 range). These notes can exist in different octaves, in different velocities, and in various timbres (e.g., violin, piano, sine waves). Because of these core restrictions, it can be understood that eventually every pattern of every sequence of musical notes will eventually been used.

Now, having said this, I must clarify that just because music, chemistry and mathematics are ‘terminal sciences’ does not mean that their study is not without merit; the study of mathematics maintains a long-held tradition that mathematics aught be studied. It is important to keep these terminal sciences alive, no matter how long they may drain the research-health-care-system. To pull the feeding tube on these venerable old areas of study would be to let go a 90-something year old man, who, although not really contributing much anymore, sure was entertaining in his prime.

So is it worth it to try and make these washed up old rocks squeeze ooooneeeee more drop of water? You tell me ETS, you tell me.

Sincerely,
BrainBrianBrain, Esq.

An “acquired taste” is the culinary equivalent of Stockholm syndrome.

They're Like Tramp Stamps for Your Car

I’ve never understood bumper stickers. Granted some are meant to entertain, and some are a testament to your child’s ability to maintain a C-average; but then there are the stickers that attempt to address some political and social issues. And not the election-themed political stickers; although annoying, those are at least understandable. No, we’re talking about the religious-Right themed bumper stickers. Most are either about how abortion makes Jesus cry, or how America is falling into some communistic moral decay.

However, if I forgo my tendency to avoid the people who would buy these, I’d be very interested in asking them why they’d put those stickers on their car; I would legitimately like to know what mindset drives someone to slap a bible verse on the back of their Hyundai. I mean, are they trying to get some hard-evidence, you know, in case Jesus hops down and wants to know who’s on his team? Or maybe they feel that by having these thought-fragments plastered to their bumper, they’re going to cause some lost soul driving in the carpool lane to have a deep, existential epiphany. Lordy lordy, I know every time I see that “Pope Benedict Says: ‘Choose Life.’” I become opposed to abortion (that is until I see another bumper sticker like “Charlie Manson Says: ‘Don’t Choose Life.’”)

Perhaps the most perplexing, and downright blasphemous, occurrence involves the defiling of the sacred comic Calvin and Hobbes, to show a Calvin look-a-like kneeling before a cross in prayer. Putting one of these stickers up can only mean two things: First, it could be a semi-satirical statement, mocking the also-blasphemous ‘Calvin peeing on some logo’ stickers that red necks enjoy oh-so-much. The second and much worse implication involves an enjoyment of the comic, but also a simultaneous desire to twist the main character’s personality to fit one’s own twisted tastes. (In case you’re not familiar with the Calvin and Hobbes body of work, A. Get the hell out, and B. Calvin is a notoriously free spirited little boy, whose sharp wit and keen insight have no place in organized religion) To put my offence into perspective, seeing one of these stickers is like the Pope seeing a sticker of Jesus double-teaming two black-Jewish dudes. Yeah, I know, these people should be ashamed of themselves.

Highli8trs

Here’s a battle that I’ve been waging for some time now: Microsoft Word’s highlighter function. Now don’t get me wrong- I find this tool quite useful in reading and reviewing. No, my qualm is with the colors Microsoft chose to highlight in.

To help, I’ve broken the colors down into categories:

Acceptable Colors:

• Fluorescent Yellow
• Lime Green
• Pink
• Cyan

Ehhh:

• Royal Blue
• Red

Are You F****** Kidding Me:

• Navy Blue
• Dark Teal/ Viridian
• Hunter Green
• Eggplant
• Maroon
• Dingy Gold
• TWO Shades of Grey
• Black

**Question: Why are there EIGHT dark, obscure highlighter colors, and yet no Orange or Purple?? **

If you’ve ever bought a pack of highlighters, the standard colors are Yellow (or Fluorescent Yellow— but that’s another story), Orange, Pink, Green and/or Blue (Sharpie also offers Purple as a standard color). Granted, Office Depot sells an 8-pack of highlighters that also offers Red, Royal Blue and Magenta (Note: not Maroon) units, however these are accompanied by the STANDARD colors.

This wouldn’t be a big deal, but Microsoft (in some effort to force the world to highlight in Eggplant) doesn’t let you create your own colors (like you can do with font colors).

So apparently when they talked to all those oh-so-relatable common folk that claim “…Windows 7 was my idea.” they must have picked a bunch of jackasses who have never, and will will never, use a highlighter. So yeah, Windows 7 was your idea. But unfortunately, your ideas suck.

I want to be Faramir; that way I'm the only one who doesn't die.

Everytime I'm driving on the freeway and there are cars trying to merge into my lane, I like to pretend that myself and the other cars in my lane are the 300 Spartans. We tighten our spacing, and form the inpenetrable phalanx- then wait for the enemy to attempt to break our lines. All we're missing is Gerald Butler screaming "HOOOOOLDDDDDDDDDDD!"

Spongebob Squarepants: Truth and Reconciliations

As a critic of the fine arts, I have often found my self sprawled out on the couch in my boxers, watching a three hour block of Spongebob Squarepants. After 45 minutes or so, the episodes all sort of blend together into an undersea blur of yellow and pink, but there seems to be a reoccurring theme of things being destroyed and no one having to take responsibility for it. According to the official SBSP WIki, the Krusty Krab has been destroyed on 14 different occasions. I can't even imagine the premiums that Mr. Krabs has to pay on his insurance policy. Maybe that's why he's always so miserly... The point is, there's no inter-episode continuity. Like, why hasn't Squidward sought out a restraining order against Spongebob and Patrick? Or how does Sandy maintain a underwater biome, without any apparent means of air filtration or root system for the tree in her "Tree Dome".

Well, I'm tired of the show not taking a more realistic stance, so, as a result I've been working on a screenplay for the show. Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourself for: Spongebob Squarepants: Truth and Reconciliation

…

SCENE ONE


(Spongebob sits in his chair watching television, a look of existential confusion laid across his face. The flickering glow of the TV set can be seen in flashes of light against his weathered facade)

Gary: Meauuuuuuuu

Spongebob: Shut your whore mouth Gary.

(Just then there is a knock at the door, shortly followed by a larger knock that knocks the door from its hinges, revealing Patrick and leaving an open entrance to the Pineapple)

Patrick: SPONGEBOB

Spongebob: Are you fucking kidding me? Why would that even be an option when going to someone's house?

Patrick: But Spongebob I didn't thin--

Spongebob: 'But Spongebob', you're god damn right you didn't think! You never think! In fact, I'm almost positive you have some moderate to severe mental condition.

Patrick: But Spongebob…I…I just wanted to come over to tell you something…

Spongebob: What. What could you POSSIBLY have to tell me?

Patrick: Spongebob…I have AIDS.

Gary: Meauuuuuuu!

Spongebob: (in utter awe) Oh…oh god. Patrick…but how?

Patrick: I've had HIV for years now. I hope you understand why I never told you; I was afraid you'd treat me different.

Spongebob: How long do you have?

Patrick: Not long. The doctors say that at the rate it's going, I won't make it past the holidays.

(The room is filled with tension as Sandy walks in)

Sandy: Well howdy ya--

Spongebob and Patrick: SHUT THE FUCK UP SANDY

(Sandy is clearly deeply hurt by the outburst. She runs away crying, leaving Spongebob and Patrick to think about what just happened.)

-End Scene-

SCENE TWO

(Spongebob begrudgingly walks into the Krusty crab only to find Mr. Krabs being handcuffed by several flounder in uniform)

Spongebob: Mr. Krabs, what's happening?

Mr. Krabs: Spongebob me boy, you know you've always been like a son to me. And I've always seen myself as a father to you.

Spongebob: I don't understand- where are they taking you?

Officer: Mr. Krabs here was caught embezzling funds, violating several labor laws, and misled his shareholders by reporting a false margin of profits.

Mr. Krabs: I did no such thing! You landlubbers don't have shit on me.

(Officer 2 stands up from behind Mr. Krabs desk)

Officer Two: Really? How bout this, SCUMBAG

(The Officer hold up a syringe and a spoon that has been charred black. In his other hand, he holds a small bag filled with heroin)

Mr. Krabs: (sensing that he has been cornered, makes a break for the Officer) I'LL KILL YE! I'LL KILL YE ALL!

Gary: Meauuuuuuu!

(In the midst of the struggle, the Officer loses control of the needle, and it lands firmly in the back of Spongebob's neck)

Spongebob: Arughhhh! AURGHHHHHHHHH

(A desperate Mr. Krabs has managed to pull a revolver from his waste and points it at the Officers)

Mr. Krabs: THINK YOU CAN TAKE OLE EUGENE KRABS EH?

Officer One: PUT THE GUN DOWN. I SAID PUT IT DOWN.

Mr. Krabs: (glancing at Spongebob; softly) I'm sorry me boy…

(Mr. Krabs puts the barrel of the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger. Bits of shell and circulatory fluid spray over the office. Several pieces land on Spongebob, who still has the needle in him. He is unarguably dead)

Spongebob: AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

-End Scene-

SCENE THREE

(Spongebob is back at his house, his shirt still stained with the leftovers of Mr. Krabs' suicide. Patrick comes in the still broken door frame that has now been temporarily covered with a blue tarp)

Patrick: Hey Spongebob. I heard about what happened today. Pretty crazy stuff…

Spongebob: Fuck you. You don't know anything. And ugh, my neck really hurts!

Patrick: What happened?

Spongebob: I got poked by Mr. Krabs' needle in the midst of all the fighting

Patrick: …

Spongebob: What?

Patrick: Spongebob…did you say the needle belonged to Mr. Krabs?

Spongebob: (with a growing concern) Yeah, why?

Patrick: Spongebob…Mr. Krabs was my lover. He's who I got HIV from. Spongebob…he had AIDS.

Spongebob: Wha…No…No, that's not possible. This can't be happening. NO. NOOOOO.

Patrick: (breaking down in tears) I'M SORRY BUDDY! WHAT HAVE WE DONE WITH OUR LIVES

(After a few minutes the two regain their composure)

Spongebob: Wow. It's amazing how quickly your life can just…float away.

Patrick: Don't you see? That's why we have to cherish the moment; we have to enjoy life while there's life to be had.

Spongebob: You know what? You're right. From now on, I'm not going to work 130 hour weeks; I'm going to volunteer; I'm going to climb a mountain; I'm not going to take anything for granted anymore!

Gary: Meau?

Spongebob: Fuck off Gary.

Gary: …Meau

Spongebob: At least we still have each other to enjoy life with.

Patrick: You said it buddy

(The two meet for a warm embrace)

(Moments later a silhouette falls upon the friends. The shadow belongs to Sandy, who, still livid from her prior treatment, strapped explosives to her chest, and is holding a detonator)

Spongebob: Oh my god...

Sandy: GOD CAN'T SAVE YOU NOW-- I BET YOU WISH YOU HADN'T FUCKED WITH THIS SQUIRREL NOW, EH BOYS??

(All scream, and for a fleeting moment, time appears to stand still. Sandy presses the detonator, causing the extensive amount of C4 on and around her body to explode in a violent cataclysm that leaves no one alive.)

-End Scene-

…

It's a bit of a work in progress, but I've already CC'd a copy to the folks at Nickelodeon, and am currently (and eagerly!) awaiting a reply!If it gets green-lighted as like a 'series ender', I've already decided that I want iCarly to do all the songs.

Pluto, I Feel Your Pain

This morning, I had a sausandwich for breakfast, and I pretended that I was in one of those Jimmy Dean breakfast commercials. However, much to my disappointment I did not feel like an elliptically orbiting planet. Instead, I felt like I was still hungry, and wanted to go back to sleep (which occurred shortly after).

Now, in Mr. Dean's defense, I (being a lacto-ovo-vuvlatarian) ate a veggie-sausandwich; thus lacking considerable amounts of pig fat and/or goat semen (which I'm just assuming are two of the main ingredients of 'real sausage') and that this is likely a source of great cosmic synergy; and the reason why my orbit maintained its sporadic trajectory.

Frank Lloyd Wrong

If the jury would direct their attention to the blueprint of the men's bathroom, located here.

As you can see, the overall layout appears to be functional, however, upon closer inspection there’s a fatal operational flaw; the danger zone. Located in the DMZ between the urinal and the paper towel dispenser, this area is prone to unusually high numbers of awkward encounters.

Regardless of which side you’re on, it is an unpleasant experience: either you stand there awkwardly, half-glancing over your shoulder to make sure you’re not going to get a shiv to the ribs, or, you frantically try to grab a fistful of those tissue-paper strength paper towels, in hopes that you can get the hell outta there before some guy swings around to spritz on you. I don’t know if the women’s bathroom has a similar set up, but I’ve heard that the toilet paper is outside the stalls to “…promote teamwork…”

Senpai and kōhai

You know that guy who prided himself on being such a skilled martial artist that his sensei, clearly fearing the monster he created, makes him sign an agreement not to use his lethal knowledge except in self defense?

Well, douche bags aside, it raises an important question; "At what point does a skill go from being a talent to being a nuisance?" which, of course, naturally progressed to "How does one train in the ancient Japanese art of boning to such a degree that they are forced to sign an agreement not to bone anyone unless it's in self-defense?"

Like, what if I'm at the bank, waiting in lin--OH NO! I've just been taken hostage by an all-female, super hot, busty bank robber gang. I mean, how else am I supposed to subdue a half-dozen co-eds while tied up in the back of a Ford Econoline?

My Monospaced Slab Serif and Me

While very diligently doing my work-related assignments, I hapt to stumble upon the question of what font to use. Now, one could go with the classics: Times New Roman, Arial, Veranda; or if you’re feeling like something more exciting there’s always good old ‘glitzy Georgia’ or something from the Lucida family (that is, if you’re not worried about looking trashy, MHMMM) Well, needless to say, I wound up on Wikipedia, and I made a shocking realization about how much we segregate against fonts [Note to reader(s) (Hi Liv!, and maybe Mich Ale!) A typeface is a root set of letters and symbols (Such as Arial) from which variations known as fonts arise (such as Arial Narrow, and Arial Black.)]

One font that has faced oppression for as long as anyone can remember is the noble Courier typeface. In my experiences, the only time you used Courier font was if you were playing secret agent with your imaginary little brother, Neil, or if you were trying to write your Grandma back, and didn’t want her to think you used one of those ‘word TVs’. Well. Believe you me; there is more to this font that you could have imagined.

Invented in 1955 by Bud “Hob Gobbler” Kettler, who framed his creation in the light of freedom, saying that

“…a letter can be just an ordinary messenger, or it can be the courier, which radiates dignity, prestige, and stability.”

Stable indeed, Courier consistently dominated the early computing world, and has continued to do so for longer than you, reader(s), may know. As recently as 2004, 12-point Courier New was the official typeface of the US Department of State. Tragically, in January 2004, this venerable font was replaced by a younger, bustier 14-point Times New Roman font as the official typeface of the USDoS (strangely, an age-discrimination lawsuit was never filed; although an out-of-court settlement allowed Courier to still be used in telegrams, as well as documents to be signed by the President). Courier is also the industry standard for screenwriting and playwrights (Neil used to write plays), and is one of the preferred typefaces of the American Psychological Society (the MLA Style Manual fails to specifically name Courier as a suggested font, although a growing body of evidence indicates that those guys are dicks).

However, much like all who are discriminated against, Courier’s bureaucratic acceptance was juxtaposed against its icy rejection by society. Hardly a note sent, email typed, or not-Grandma thanked where the use of Courier wasn’t frowned upon. [AUTHOR’S NOTE: One instance of discrimination in which I was personally involved, surrounded a term paper that was denied admission; not because of the content of its character, but due to the shape and color of its letters. So what if using Courier gets you an extra half page. I mean, come on, one extra page- TOPS.] In 1995 the free-Courier Movement suffered a crippling blow, when Microsoft Word shipped with Times New Roman as its default font. Sure, Courier was available to use, but was it really available…to use? The National Association for the Advancement of Courier Print (NAACP) didn’t think so. Its lawyers lit the spark that eventually became the famed anti-trust lawsuit that was brought against Microsoft. But somewhere in the courtroom, people forgot. People forgot that it is every literate man, woman and child’s Bud given right to use this font. Does not the third amendment say: “No soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.”? Many questions remain regarding the future of Courier font, and when reparations will be paid to its grand-fonts, but beyond all the smoke and haze one grander question remains: Why the fuck can’t I turn in a paper I typed up in Courier??

Ctrl+Alt+Delete+Shift+F7

Yeah, how come they don't make those security keys on Windows more complex? I could see it now: New Key-Combos SO COMPLEX...Even YOU Won't Be Able to Access Your Private Information! I don't see how this hasn't already been pitched. Their loss. I'm full of great ideas.

Check this out-- a combination microwave/fridge. It just keeps your food at a consistent luke-warm temperature. Then there was the idea to improve the classic fountain pen, taking it to the next level as a Fountainhead pen; capable of releasing a free-flowing stream of pseudophilosophy. Other potential business ideas include 'Butcher's Choice Animal Rescue', The Internet, and my personal favorite: Hand Tacks. You know, they'd be like thumb tacks, but anywhere from 6-8 inches in diameter. I'm sure they'd be a hit in Sweden.

Science has recently concluded a year-long study on my personal sources of fun and enjoyment.

The results (which are to be published in an upcoming issue of The Journal of the International Society of Journalistic Societies) show that approx. 6.4% of my joy comes from watching Cats 101, followed by a respectable 3.16% from my Home Life, and Being Stabbed (by a homeless person) comes in at a solid 1.6%, just beating out Work (1.45%).

Additional research is being conducted as to where the hell the other 95% of the data is, although researchers say, they won't be holding their breath.

I've Been Heralded As This Generation's Justin Biber

I've been jumping around this place with the "Next Blog" button, and I have some preliminary findings:

1. "Adult Content"= Porn (NOT the age-restricted debates on geopolitical issues I was hoping for)
2. Why are there so many art blogs? And why are 90% of them rejected submissions from Holiday Inn's decorum?
3. As soon as I have a family, I am making a family blog, so that I can have tangible documentation as to how disproportionate my time spent WITH family is to the time spent TALKING ABOUT about my family is.
4. Why would you blog about other blogs? (yeah, I know) But I'm not talking about casual references; these things are like meta-blogs. GRANTED, there are notable exceptions (see: any blog on icanhascheezburger)

My only conclusion is that this is much better than constructively spending my time.

This may rival The Odyssey for the greatest Epic ever told.

Drugs Are Bad

In the sage words of Dwight K. Schrute, "I wouldn't waste your time, and I wouldn't dare waste mine." So we're going to jump right in to this.

Driving to work this morning (see: 'Sitting In a Car for An Hour and a Half') I was listening to some radio show talking about Kurt Cobain. Now it's bad enough that he's still being talked about, what, 10 years post-mortem (note to reader [Hi Liv!] it's actually been 16 years, but really, who cares) anyway, they were discussing how Cobain 'self-medicated' with heroin because of his 'stomach pains' up until his death.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't claim to know the full medicinal value of uncut Mongolian black-tar heroin, but I'm going to take a gander and say that it's not an approved perscription by MediCare. Also, if we apply a little translation, we find that 'self-medicating' becomes 'getting your next fix' and that 'stomach pain' is actually a loose cognate of 'being a typical junkie withdrawing from an opioid' (alternativly, 'trying to make your dead idol seem less like a crack head') [from Mirriam-Webster, 1853]

Call 'em as I see 'em I always says.

The World is Entitled to My Ranting

This is long overdue.

EDIT: Why is the Blogger logo Pac-Man with an underbite?