Riding the roller coaster no more....

I used to think that I liked roller coasters. You get in line and wait and wait and wait some more until it is your turn to board the ride. You get in and begin the transition skyward. The anticipation builds up tremendously while you are on the way up. You reach the apex and begin your journey. In the blink of an eye you are at the top and then BAM your on the way back towards the surface of the Earth. You’re almost left with a feeling of disappointment because you waited so long for something and it didn't last too long. A roller coaster ride will you get higher then high and than crash you down lower then low.

There are things in our lives that can put you on a roller coaster of emotional duress. Illegal and illicit drugs can do it. Alcohol can do it if you drink it to excess. However, alcohol is legal so it can’t possibly be bad for you, can it? Gambling can do it, but that’s also legal so its not bad either. But think of gambling for a second. What do we gamble on? Sports.

Ask anyone what is the most destructive force in nature. Some may say water, a few other may even say fire or wind. I say sports and competition is single-handedly the most destructive force in our world. Pose this same question to any woman on a Saturday or Sunday during football season. I wonder if they’d agree with my assessment.

I remember my first two experiences with sports and competition like it was yesterday. The first horrific experience I had was when I made the last out in a little league championship game. Never had I experienced a feeling of complete failure and inadequacy. I was 8.

My next delve into horrible and terrible sports experiences was when I watched the hated Islanders knock the Rangers out of the NHL playoffs in 1984. The hated Islanders beat my beloved Rangers. The Rangers tied the game up at the end of regulation. I was ecstatic only to have that glorious feeling replaced with despair when I saw them lose the game on a soft goal from the perimeter. I was crushed. I cried for days. I couldn’t get over the fact that they lost to that team. I kept reliving that moment in my head over and over again. I swore from then on I would hate anything orange and blue.

Fast forward to present day. I am living a nightmare watching any team that I have deemed important. I go through silly preparations and routines thinking that what I do has some sort of bearing on the outcome. Why? For what? The sickest part is I know what I go through on game day does nothing for the outcome of any of these games, yet I am as routine as the sun rises in the east when it comes to these silly game day preparations. 

2007, the Giants won the Super Bowl because they came together as a team at the right point and blasted pretty boy Tom Brady with a stud defense. You mean to tell me they didn’t win because I wore the same black shirt and pair of black pants all throughout the playoffs? I did. I even brought my outfit down to Florida because I knew I was going to watch the NFC Championship game there. The Chosen One had a look of disgust on her face that I have seen one other time when I rolled out of a cab in California and proceeded to throw up all the nights offerings. That's why she is The Chosen One, but that story is for another time.

When I came out of the bathroom with my game gear on she looked at me as if she hated me. She knew what I was wearing. My game day gear consisted of nothing that resembled anything close to a sports franchise. It was a way too tight black Oakley t-shirt and a pair of Nike sweatpants. I picked out this ensemble because the night before the G-Men played in the Wild Card game against Tampa, I over indulged in some adult beverages. I was completely hung over and the outfit looked like it was very comfortable. So wait a second, my binge drinking may have helped the Giants win that year? Excellent!

Right now at this moment, I'm inventing something. I'm inventing the "Almost Middle of the Year Resolution". I'm calling it the Cinco de Mayo Resolution. Let's face it, my New Years Resolution didn't go so well. So I'm granting myself and anyone who wants to join this new movement a do-over.

I’m making the change. No more routines on game days. No more eating the same food at the same spot on the couch with my special shirt on in the sports room with my feet on the floor and not up, because when they were up on the ottoman the other team scored. No more bitching at The Chosen One for coming into the room and sitting down and then shortly after this the other team makes a play or scores a goal. It’s not her fault the team sucks is it?

From now on I'm flat lining. No more snapping fingers, clapping or yelling at the TV. No more crying or getting set off on a downward spiral where I go outside and cut the lawn. Of all things to get myself out a funk I cut the lawn?! Are you serious? I am from now on going to be a mindless, emotionless and expressionless fool who no longer cares about shit he has no control over.

So I am making a proclamation now. It starts now, with me! No more ups and downs. I’m stepping off this ride and I’m never getting back on. I used to question why and how dudes didn’t like sports. I used to hate how I would ask someone about football or something and they would reply “I’d rather PLAY sports then WATCH them!” I never got that. I do now. I ‘m that guy from this day forth! Ask me if I care.

From now on I'm not only watching reruns of "Sex and the City" or my all time favorite shitty sitcom "Friends" but I'm gonna be stoked that the audience cheered when Ross and Rachel kiss. That's really going to make my day better.

This of course happens after I put on the way too tight black Oakley t-shirt and black pair of Nike sweatpants for game 7 which happens tomorrow night in our nations capital at 7:00 pm on the Versus Network formerly known as The Outdoor Network, channel 603 on Direct TV. Then after that I'm definitely done.

Please God, let them win, cause if they don't, you are going to have to talk me down from the ledge.

The Talk

Relationships are based on the ability of those involved to be able to communicate their needs and expectations to their partner. It makes things so easy when two people can say what is on their mind without their significant other getting angry. This works for friends, married couples, people dating and even coworkers. It's what makes us better than the Great Apes.

If you can master communicating with the people in your life, no matter what the relationship is, I'm sure you'll be better off. Imagine your boss calls you into the office and starts asking why something wasn't completed to its fullest extent. If you become defensive and start blaming others for your miscues the conversation can go sour pretty fast. You may find yourself being the difficult one in the office. If it's a relationship of the intimate variety then you may find yourself "unemployed" in the job of love. 

The Chosen One and I have mastered this art of communicating. I'm constantly called into the office to have me made aware of my deficiencies. I usually get called in once every 5 to 6 months to discuss what went wrong. I feel it to be an almost semi annual review.  I get some satisfactory performance merits but some unsatisfactory items that need to be addressed immediately for some reason. They never can wait. Me not taking out the trash can three weeks in a row is somehow an urgent matter. This also leads to other things I'm doing wrong. 

Usually these talks last almost an hour and they usually end with me bursting out in laughter because most of the time I know I am wrong. I'll have an epiphany of wrongness and it makes me laugh hysterical for some reason. The first time this happened I thought I was gonna catch a right to the chin. It never came and I was actually met with the same sort of maniacal laughter. 

The first time we had The Talk I learned so much! I learned that I'm usually wrong. I learned that I get defensive in the beginning and as The Talk goes on and on and on I am able to get my point across, a little bit. The Chosen One starts to see my point and pretty much begins having The Talk with herself. Sometimes I probably don't even need to be there because she is basically talking out loud about what I am doing wrong. She'll come up with solutions or suggestions which are completely agreeable. But the most important thing I learned that first night was that I can stop The Talk from going any further with me laughing. 

The first time this happened I couldn't help it. I was trying to go hang out with a friend of mine and she was giving it to me good on how I offer no help around the house. We talked for a good 20 minutes and it ended with me realizing I was wrong and that I DO need to do more. I do need to try vacuuming. I knew I was wrong and it made me laugh. Dude, I thought I was going to get decked. First she got mad and asked why I was laughing but at this point I couldn't stop. Trying to stop only made me laugh even harder. She started to laugh also and all was good. 

Since then I am the same jackass, and I really haven't learned a thing in regards that I keep making the same mistakes. I keep doing the same things but I expect different outcomes. Some may call this the definition of insanity. This is 10 years later. I will still be great for 3 months, OK for 2 months and a shithead for 4 weeks. Hence the break between chit chats. 

Like I said, The Talk comes every 5-6 months. I got one last week. The Talk has morphed from me schlubbing household chores to not giving enough affection and everything in between. I don't pet the dog enough. I don't like American Idol, I don't gain any weight with all the beer I drink. Name it, we talked about it. 

 This past "Talk" got me to thinking. Am I the only male that gets this little chat? If I'm not, do I get it more often than others and if I do why? Questions need to be asked. Statements need to be made. I figured I needed to get to the bottom of this. Am I a pain in the ass or am like every other male on planet Earth? There can't be anyone better than me right?

 There was only one way to get these answers and I wasn't reading any space book to find them. No more "Men are from Mars Women are from Venus" fluffy bullshit. I am getting to the bottom of this. 

I got scientific. I conducted a survey. I asked a series of questions to various women I know about a relationship they may have been in or are in where they have had to issue a form of The Talk. The outcome in my opinion was very enlightening, or chilling, depending on your perspective. It was wonderful to feel that I'm not alone. There are many of us with the same problems. 

Out of all the women I polled (HA!) 100% said they have had to give a form of The Talk. 

The questions consisted of simple stuff like have you ever had to talk to your significant other about household responsibilities? That question in itself garnered a resounding yes. Apparently in many households across America, or Charlotte NC, that is a big problem in relationships. It's not in mine cause I don't do them. 

I also asked if you have ever said you sometimes feel like roommates. Another yes, not as prolific as household chores but a yes nonetheless. The questions I asked where simplistic in nature only because I knew what my motive was. I chose not to do the math on whether or not who answered what to what question. That would take too long. I skewed the survey as much as possible so if a person answered yes to any question then they had The Talk so I could say I'm not the only idiot that is pissing off their spouse. I could then take this data back to The Chosen One and say "See! This is going on everywhere! It's an epidemic."

Seriously though, I'm thinking that one of these days I'm going to initiate The Talk and see what happens. Lets see how she likes it. How will she like to see unsatisfactory performance on her chart? I'm going to make the call to The Chosen One and say "Listen honey, the past couple of days have been real rough. We need to talk."

Time to put up or shut up....

There comes a time in all men’s lives where they have to make some sort of choice. Either we are sheep or we are the shepherds. Either we lead or we get out of the way. It has come time for me to either put up or shut up.

 

I’ve spoken in detail on how I feel that dramatic measures need to be taken to ensure our survival as a species. According to Merriam-Websters definition of survival, it means the continuation of life or existence. Maybe you could make an argument that since I was in the Marines for a few years I have all the training in the area of surviving I need. Not true. I'm a life long learner and there is a lot more knowledge I need to attain in the art of surviving. Preparing for the end of man is an in depth process that involves many facets of modern day society.

 

In case you didn't read the new poll posted on treehugger.com, not making this up, 1 in 3 kids aged 6-11 fear some sort of apocalyptic end of the world as we know it. They may also be starting to prepare for the future and think like me, that our planet will not be here when they or I for that matter grow up. 

There are an abundance of questions that need to be answered before one can embark on creating their own storage of supplies. Such questions that need an answer are how to prepare food for long term storage. What kind of food can we store? Do I need to create an area underground for this particular type of storage? How much? What about a power source? Running water? There’s a lot that goes into this and these are serious questions that need to be answered seriously.

 

This past weekend I went to visit a Survival Camp. Yes, one of those camps where people think the end of the world is eminent. I was pushed into going by a friend from elementary school. The camp was set in the deep woods of the Carolina ’s. I can’t lie and say I had a hood covering my eyes to shield me from its secretive location. That would make this more interesting but I can’t lie about this.

 

We arrive on the camps locale during the early morning and as soon I arrive I am greeted by what I figured where the leaders. They seemed to be expecting me. They were dressed stereotypically in the old style camouflage fatigues and a black shirt that had the “preppers” club name on it. I am completely under dressed in shorts and a cheesy t-shirt with flip flops. They were no larger then I am in stature and I could tell they were sizing me up the moment I got out of my truck. Handshakes were given, pleasantries spoken and I was given a tour of the compound. Cool place. I actually liked being there and hanging out. It was almost like being back in the Marines.

 

People there all had jobs. I don't want one now and I do not want one when it all ends so I was kind of pissed that I may be expected to partake in the responsibilities of keeping this operation afloat. I thought we would just kind of exist and survive but apparently there will be a hierarchy. 

They had a food storage unit, a large box that was refrigerated and had locks all over it. I was immediately told I would have to start contributing to the food storage right off the bat. The coolest part of the compound I thought was the shooting range where many of the men and women, yes chicks, where hanging out shooting rifles and hand guns in various stances and positions. I was asked if I knew how to shoot. Come on, ME? How dare thy ask! Being a trained expert in marksmanship I looked at the guy like he had two heads. First shot 100 yards with a knock off version of an M16 in a standing position, bull’s eye, center mass. Impressive I am, I know.

 

We spend a couple of hours demonstrating some more weaponry skills. We get to talking about tactics, nothing major, just small group movement. More small talk and I’m starting to feel a little pressure to join the club. One thing I hate is pressure. Pressure to buy a car, pressure to perform well in job like setting or pressure to clean my room, whatever it is put on me to do something at a certain time I hate it. Any sort of this bullshit and I am out the door. 

I start looking around and realizing each person is on a strict time table with either a certain task or reading from a manual. I come to find out it’s the clubs by laws. If a person was not doing the assigned task they were given a verbal reprimand from one of the dudes in charge. I thought I could come join this club, hangout, drink beer, shoot guns and talk shit. Eventually if something really horrific happened then I could eat the cans of tuna I properly stocked up on. I would probably extend my existence for a few more weeks than the rest of you and I could relish in the fact I made it for the extra ten days or so. 

 

Over a few beers the pitch is made. Am I going to join or am I not. Well, apparently all my car shopping expertise has nothing to do negotiating with a few idiot marauders in the middle of the woods. They’re not liking my responses of, “Well, I want to talk this over with my wife and see what she thinks. The price seems right but I don’t know about the finance rate.”  Shit like this ain't flying. It's not working and this is going sour fast. The lead asshole stands up and says “This isn’t acceptable! You came to join and contribute. You know our location! What’s to stop you from coming out here in the middle of the night and stealing our weapons cache or food box?!” I said “I’m not gonna do that. I just want to go home. Rangers are on at 1:00 today.”

 

My friend from elementary school says “Joe, you can’t leave yet. He says stay, you have to stay!” I told him if they didn’t knock this shit off I was going to “pull a job like the ATF did on the Branch Davidians.” Still as much more resistance is being heaped upon me, I realize my only course of action. I stood up, kicked the fiery coals at the leader and smashed a bottle of my favorite brew across his forehead . He goes down like a sack of shit, I kick my “friend” as hard as I can, dead square in the chest, knock him down and run my ass off to my car. I can hear all the commotion behind me as if they are thinking of whether or not to chase after me or tend to their fallen comrades. 

 

I didn’t wait long enough to find out. I got in my car and hauled ass. Shortly after I make my get away I started hearing in my ears…”Joe, Joe, JOE!!! Get up the alarm didn’t go off! Get up your gonna be late!”

 

Is it 1809 or 2009?

Sometimes I wish I was back in 1809. Maybe life would be simpler. Maybe not. I don't know. As far as I know people didn't take baths back then. I mean there was no record of it. I guess there is no record of people taking baths today either, so maybe in the future people will say the same about us. I don't know. For the record, I take baths, on average about two a day. 

That's really not the reason for this post. The year is 2009 and we have a problem in the world. No, not apes or machines taking over the world. I've already said this countless times. If you are not going to take my advice now, then screw you. I'm not mentioning the failing economy, nor am I going to mention the two wars the U.S. is fighting as we speak. I'm talking about pirates. 

OK, I have some new questions. Are these the same pirates we are used to? Do they have patches and wooden legs? Maybe a bird on their shoulder repeating the stupid shit they say? Are they drunk all the time singing those old swashbuckling songs? 

Also just in case you were wondering, speak like a pirate day is September 19th. Think of it. There are a few people on this planet that on this date they say shit like "Arrr matey" and "Walk the plank!" WTF? It is one of those ridiculous traditions a couple of nerds in their mother's basements tried to start in 1995. Thats the truth. Look it up.  

Really, what the hell is going on? All I see on the news is this crap about pirates. To be honest it has stoked my interest quite a bit. I mean think of it...Pirates! It's 2009 not 1809. If it were say, 1809 I could understand this. But it's not, It's 2009! I could here President Madison's advisors telling him, "Look Jim, we need to do something about these freaking pirates. They are really screwing up our shipping lanes and taking our stuff. You gotta do something Jimmy!"

A line from probably the greatest song ever written was born from these times. The Marine Corps is steeped heavily on tradition. Tradition that comes from battles with pirates along the very shores that even just last week we sniped three of these pirates. There has to be video tape of these pirates getting their head split open somewhere. I gotta see it. 

First line of the Marine Corps Hymn says "From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli." We sang it everyday. We even sang it when we went to church. Yes I went, it got me out of shining my boots on Sunday. I don't go to church anymore. Maybe I would if at the end of the service we sang that song. Anyway Tripoli was where the Marines first fought pirates in the 18th century. By the way, the Marine Corps Hymn is the oldest song in the military, they drill this shit in your head at boot camp. 

Fast forward to 2009. The orders are given from Central Command Tampa, the missiles are fired from some base or submarine, take your pick,  and they can reach out and touch someone from anywhere in the world. Our military is f**king awesome! Pirates? Come on man, this should be a no brainer. It's not like we don't know where the pirates are hanging and operating. 

My solution to the pirate problem we are facing is very simple. I'd recommission a few of those battleships we have just hanging out as museums and send them over to the area. The orders would be even more basic. Bomb the shit out of the coast. But I'd totally make sure they had some video cameras on the bombs. I love nothing more then watching some grainy black and white video of an ariel view of the land getting closer and closer until the screen goes black. I like it even more when the people inside know the bomb is coming and they try to escape. That's so awesome. If you don't want to be evaporated then don't be a pirate. That'll be the motto. Park a few of these big ass ships over there and I am pretty sure the pirate problem will solve itself. Shit, plant a few subs there while we're at it and I guarantee the pirate problem goes away.

Jeffery Gettlemen of The New York Times recently wrote an article on this very topic. His solution is very different than mine. He suggested that we steer clear of these shipping lanes. Companies will not engage in this because it's not cost effective. The quickest route to get some place is to go from point A to point B, not Point A, then to C, D, E, then back to B. Doesn't work. 

I'm thinking stimulus money. This is an awesome opportunity for some cool entrepreneur. Talk about creating jobs, a company could create basically a small navy to fight pirates. Wait, forget the private navy. That's ridiculous. Hire some dudes to just shoot back at the pirates. They could stay on the ship. I'll do this job. Suit me up with some kick ass gear, such as some small rockets, not those shitty RPG's (Rocket Propelled Grenades...come on, do I have to explain everything?) that the Russians and Chinese mass produce like some sort of weird toy on an assembly line. I am talking surface to surface baby. I am talking the Javelin. Come on, its only the coolest anti tank missile the U.S. Military has in stock!

My thoughts are it would go something like this. Sirens whirling, intercom states "We have pirates on the starboard 200 meters closing fast. Javelins at the ready!" That's where I come in. "Javelin ready for launch sir, awaiting permission to fire." Captain then says "Fire when ready." Me: "Fire! Missile in the air, 10 seconds to target....SPLASH! Pirates in the water. Commence rescue operation for swimming pirates?" "Ahhh, that's a negative, let's continue to destination...WE GOT A DEADLINE TO MEET PEOPLE!"

See? Easy. Pirate problem solved.

Gapless Playback

On an average CD there is a gap of two to three seconds between songs. The greatest company in the world, Apple, put an ingenious feature on both of their best inventions, the ipod and itunes. It's called "Gapless Playback." They rigged it so when one song is a about to end the next song starts. Basically, for a split second two songs are playing at the same time. It's awesome cause like most of American society, I can't follow Axl Rose's advice. I have no patience.

When I say I have no patience I really and truly mean I have none. It's a horrible quality. I wish I could rectify it and rid myself of this inability to wait for something. But I haven't been able to up to this point in my life. So why bother now? To make matters worse I have passed this wonderful trait on to the eldest of my ladies. She is me squared in the realm of lacking the ability to be or have any sort of patience. I find it funny because at times I have to pass on words of wisdom like "look, you're gonna have to wait. The internet will only go so fast!" Yet what I'm trying to sell to her, I'm not even buying. 

I don't want to wait for anything. Waiting is for old people. The only people I know with patience are old people. Old people wait for their medicine. Old people wait for the bus. Old men wait on a park bench. Old ladies sit and wait with curlers in their hair.  I'm not old.

When I was in high school I was the friend with no car. And I didn't have a job. So that meant not only did you have to pick me up in order to hang out with me, but I was probably not giving you gas money either.  

A friend would call and say they would be there in ten minutes. I get the call, I'm out the door. I would wait impatiently not by my house, but in the middle of a major road, on the median, so when my buds would come to finally get me, I could just get in the car. It would be like T.J. Hooker, the car would be rolling, I would jump in it and off we went. That's me.

My life as a 14 year old means I am stuck waiting for everything. I am dying inside because I have to wait for the summer. Being a teacher means summers off. Summer means new and awesome movies like "Terminator: Salvation." "Terminator: Salvation" means robots. Robots equal entertainment. I have to wait for robots.  

When I was a kid I kept wondering and waiting to see when I was going to be allowed to curse. When was the right time to let my first "F" bomb drop? I couldn't wait to get in the conversation and let the shits and bitches of the American vocabulary fly. I remember the first time I dropped one. I went into the refrigerator and saw no milk. Man, I was pissed. Before I knew it..."Damn it, we have no f**king milk? SHIT!" 

Right now, I am ready to help the economy and buy a car. I have narrowed my search to a beautiful automobile that hits the streets LATER this year. I want to buy the new Camaro. I picked out the color, black. I picked out the rims, black. Black on black baby! 

I'm going to feel like a bald David Hasselhoff, not in "Baywatch" but like in "Knightrider". I have to clarify that because he was a dork in the beach one but really cool in the car one. I'll be solving peoples problems with this car. All I need is some cheap black "Members Only" jacket, roll up the sleeves, I'm in business! 

I just gotta wait.  

Gapless Playback. If I don't have to wait 2 seconds for the next song to begin how can I possibly be expected to wait three months for a friggin car?!

"Gapless Playback." This is how I want to live. Going from one "song", right into the next. 

999,999

That was the score I was trying to achieve on a transcontinental flight early this morning. My goal was to get to 999,999 before 1 hour of flight time. I'm playing the game Lumines on the PSP. It's like Tetris but better. The PSP is a portable gaming device that pretty much any cool 14 year old has. To be honest, I wasn't going to pack it but after I saw The Chosen One grab it and it's power supply I said cool. If you want it I'm down. Bring it! 

The night before I was asked if I wanted to bring a book. Yeah right! Ha! No way. I knew I wasn't going to read the book and do something productive. Expand my mind? You kidding me? I have my ipod and now the PSP. I don't need a book! I said "Sure, pack it. I'll read it on the plane. Great idea." 

Flying sucks! I hate it with a passion. It's the only place that we act cordial to total strangers and that in any other context of our lives we would probably give them the finger and say screw off. But since we are stuck together, in a seat way to small, at the mercy of some other stranger "driving the tin can", we act nice and smile at dumb references made by people we figure out we hate the moment they sit down next to us. When have you ever made an assessment that fast about someone in your life? Case in point, I'm sitting down, I got the row of seats to myself and all of a sudden a some collagen enhanced psycho sits next to me. My immediate reaction was "Shit, you gotta be "effin" kidding me." Anyway she sits down and starts talking. Do we talk to the guy pumping gas next to us at the gas station? No. Do we talk to the guy or lady waiting behind us at the grocery store with them annoying kids that want a damn snickers bar? No. Do we talk to the pain in the ass lady with way too much make up on and lips bigger then anything Angelina Jolie has ever dreamt of having? No, we don't! Leave me alone and I promise not to lean on you if I fall asleep. Leave me alone and I may even keep the ipod music down as to not disturb you on this long and painful flight. I'll be a good passenger if you leave me the hell alone!

First question she asked was "Where you going?" Now being the smart ass I am I said "The same place your going." Where else could I possibly be going? If she wanted to know where my final destination was she should have asked that question. She was taken aback at first but then she got it and chuckled. That should have been the end. I set off the vibe I didn't want to be conversed with. Now sitting in the middle seat because the last member of our trio arrived and my assigned seat was that of bitch. The middle seat on a four hour flight. 

I'm not a man of great stature. On a good day I stand 5' 10" and 185 lbs. Middle seat sucks but it'll do. I'm texting The Chosen One, also lucky enough to grace the middle seat about three rows up, our final goodbyes. Yeah, we didn't get to sit next to each other. Whose fault is that? Gabby as she will be referred to here, says "I hate to text and don't know why people do it." I let her know my wife is up about three rows ahead and I... Mid sentence I stopped talking. I was like what the f**k? This chick needs to stop talking, quick. I literally didn't even respond to her wisdom on why texting is dumb. 

Fat-lips Houlihan decides to make a comment about my phone. I'm currently sporting the newest touch screen phone that the "can you hear me now" network has to offer. She says she hates my phone. Seriously, we are sitting on the exit isle and I think at 30,000 feet, and the captain announces "we are at cruising altitude" she's getting jettisoned. She asks if she can see it. I let her fondle it. Now as any cool 14 year old would have, you got to have a cool home screen picture on your phone. Its a must. Most normal adults have pictures of their kids or family, a sports team or even a serene picture of a lake or something! I have the "Terminator" metal skull as my home screen, red eyes and some nasty teeth waiting for me every time I answer the call.  She sees that and gasps. She freakin gasped at the picture. It was awesome! It made riding bitch and listening to her go on and on about whatever she was going on about, worth it. Come on, that should be it right? Wrong!

About 20 minutes into the flight she breaks out a portable DVD player. I spy Slumdogg Millionaire. Great flick. Latika is hot. She asks if I want to watch it with her. I declined politely and said "No, I have already seen it, but thanks anyway." She says to me and the other dude, the third member of our trio, and this is a seriously honest word for word quote, "Come on I have two holes." At this point I am in travelers hell. If I was with anyone else, ANYONE, I would have made a comment that a strange woman said to me she has two holes. It's how a 14 year old thinks. I am stuck sitting in the middle of two strangers. All I want to do is listen to some music and play the god damned PSP. I am still having grand thoughts of busting a cool mill in under an hour. 

Finally she asks me if we can switch seats. She wants to be in the middle so her and her new "friend" can watch Slumdogg. "Are you serious? You want to switch?" DONE! I'm in the isle, The White Stripes are blearing and I am coming up on an hour.

999,999 in 1:07:35. 

"Skynet" becomes self aware...

We've all seen the "Terminator" movies. Some of us more than others. I saw those first two movies seriously like 100 times. The story is based around a highly intelligent computer basically taking over and trying to kill all humans. It's really a great story. I love it! I love the idea of a human resistance fighting back against anything. Apes, zombies and machines. It don't matter. I love it. I want to fight against whatever we're resisting. In these type of movies they make it like fighting in the resistance against whatever foe is better than fighting for your country. I can't wait for the new "Terminator" movie to come out. "Batman" as John Conner is gonna kick ass!

In today's societal crave for anything instantaneous, crazy ass news is abundant. I am sure you have heard in detail about Travis the human eating chimp. Long story short, chimp ate owners friend, owner stabbed chimp repeatedly to try and make him stop, chimp didn't, police came and killed chimp. Planet of the Apes man, Planet of the friggin Apes. We need to keep an eye on these animals. They may be planning something we don't know or aren't aware of yet. Right now we got other problems. 

A couple of weeks ago, the U.S. Military was concerned about creating "terminator like machines" for the field of battle. Their main concern was that the machines would not be able to differentiate between our forces and the enemy, and they would just smoke everyone.  No shit. I don't get it. How the hell is the robot going to know the difference? If a robot is made and it is programmed to seek out the enemy and kill it, you've made a freakin terminator.  Not an Ahh-nald terminator but a terminator nonetheless. The only thing that should be terminated is this stupid project to make terminators. 

I read an article today about a robot making a huge scientific discovery. The article goes on to say that the robot was able to form a hypothesis and conduct experiments on its own without help from its creator. OK to rehash we have the military working on robots able to kill and we got some dumb asses  working on robots to be able to problem solve. Am I the only one noticing a pattern here? The chief creator said "We hope to have teams of human and robot scientists working together in laboratories." No thanks. I'll hit the unemployment line before I work there.

Put two and two together. Dude, we made terminators! 

Read the whole article. This is the part that pisses me off. The robots name is Adam. The creators said Adam is a prototype. Prototype means "a first form from which varieties arise or imitations are made." Adam in biblical terms was made first then who was made after? Wait for it... Eve. Get it? Adam and Eve. Eve according to God, I mean the creators "is better designed and more elegant." Are these assholes for real? Did I just read that correctly? Did they make a crappy man robot first then make an awesome version as a female? Why did they have to do that? Why couldn't the crappy female version come first? Why couldn't they make Adam II? Did they really have to make the second version a better female? I DON'T GET WHY MALE SCIENTISTS MADE A SHITTY MAN ROBOT FIRST AND NOT A SHITTY LADY ROBOT? These smart guys just set the male gender back in the race for gender superiority. 

You know what? Maybe terminators aren't a bad idea...

Dinner Conversations

First off I will preface that I hate Wednesdays. I hate them because I have all the responsibility that is usually heaped on my wife's shoulders. I'm responsible for the homework, cooking, showers, and of course the dinner conversations. Now realize the old lady already prepares the meal or at least leaves detailed instructions that ensures proper nourishment. All is literally taken care of before Wednesday even arrives. I'm a hater of the hump day.  My wife or The Chosen One as she will be referred to on this blog teaches a class on this wretched day and works very late. When the semester dies so does my hatred for Wednesday's. 

Wednesday does not only bring pain and suffering to me it also bears the fruits of some damn good conversation between me and the girls. Tonight we discussed poop while eating spaghetti and meatballs. This topic would have never been even brought up if The Chosen One was here. We got on it by talking about how everything costs money. For some reason I asked how was poop made. The little one said "we buy and eat brown stuff." I said "yea but all the stuff we buy and eat aren't brown. So where does it come from then?" I wanted to keep going. I was thoroughly being entertained. It took a seven year old to finally put the kibosh on all the poop talk. The point that I was trying to make was that we pay for food then we poop it out and in essence we pay for poop. It's logic from a fourteen year old.

Shortly after our wonderful dialogue on digestion the little one asked me if we have any compost piles, heaps or whatever the hell she was talking about. I knew it was something organic or good for Mother Earth. As a person who doesn't but should care more about the environment I acted like I knew what she was saying. I said no, so of course she was appalled and wanted immediately to know why we didn't. The little poem writing tree hugger became vicious and assaulted me with questions on why we don't reduce, recycle and reuse more. I took her in the garage and showed her the recycle bin to pipe her down. I said "See? Look at all those beer bottles daddy put in there!" She finally followed her advice and reduced her own carbon dioxide emissions and stopped yelling at me.