tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31120918535358675812024-02-07T00:32:13.032-08:00YellowHatGuy.comArmed with the abrasiveness of five uncouth men, YellowHatGuy champions the meek, the shy, the nerdy against the evil forces of religion, conservative politics, and manatees... until he discovers a cure for the human condition.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-76984464246334649702017-01-13T19:35:00.002-08:002017-01-13T19:41:27.719-08:00The World of Tomorrow<div style="text-align: left;">
I had loaded up my car for a cross-country road trip; I was starting a new career, and while I could have flown to my new home and had my car shipped at company expense, my inner 13 year-old would never forgive me.</div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAYLs7zsnUioNodEb42ybkGoY-TXA68hS-b9euvtDjy9cmhcvc_5zY873ZCRlMs-UsZStFPLztVeEDl6K3_ConpUyPbIi4JpQNWO9Q1mQ-ta3wB67x5uTkcU8DccsZn-MY3XECjKoH983/s1600/20150214_104048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="FIG 1. An overview of < 1/4 of the collection." border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAYLs7zsnUioNodEb42ybkGoY-TXA68hS-b9euvtDjy9cmhcvc_5zY873ZCRlMs-UsZStFPLztVeEDl6K3_ConpUyPbIi4JpQNWO9Q1mQ-ta3wB67x5uTkcU8DccsZn-MY3XECjKoH983/s320/20150214_104048.jpg" title="FIG 1. An overview of < 1/4 of the collection." width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG 1. An overview of < 1/4 of the collection.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We Americans are a peculiar culture in that we have no real mythology or mythos which we use to define ourselves. This is why we look at 150 year-old buildings like they're the Roman ruins, and establish charitable societies to preserve the history of these dusty old hardware stores. I honestly never thought deeply about out lack of mythos; the line from earlier was just something I parrot when asked why a grown man still reads comic books. It didn't sink in until I was on Route 66, by the NM/TX border when I stopped for gas (at <a href="http://www.russellsttc.com/">Russell’s Truck and Travel Center</a>, if you’re in the area). I saw that they had a free car museum, so I stopped in, as I saw nothing but flat land for several hours, and I would continue to do so for another two days. It was more than a car museum though -- I stumbled into the Temple of Kitsch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_dWy0_SRBH8tS36cDOZlXYsWWtvwOqjXqkWUvtbzfSlqHI0-KrEKFozdnFWaP4YseQSwAo9SF_QrlNJYO-IuNf0EM9Fq9tfuAcmKL7VMvotaF9sEWeGGeQya04FtqAK5dU8iZf8NSXjMy/s1600/20150214_104103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_dWy0_SRBH8tS36cDOZlXYsWWtvwOqjXqkWUvtbzfSlqHI0-KrEKFozdnFWaP4YseQSwAo9SF_QrlNJYO-IuNf0EM9Fq9tfuAcmKL7VMvotaF9sEWeGGeQya04FtqAK5dU8iZf8NSXjMy/s320/20150214_104103.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG 2. Much of this store is a memorial to going to the store.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Having lived in America all my life, I was no stranger to these large, elaborate displays of Americana. (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Americana" target="_blank">Americana</a> is one of America's <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cocacolonization" target="_blank">chief exports</a>.) However, this was by far the largest. I took lots of photos to document the place, because my grandma enjoyed travelogues. Looking around caused a lifetime of kitch displays to congeal in my mind, and I came to realize there were three persistent themes in everyone of them:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Cars.</li>
<li>Gas stations.</li>
<li>Carbonated beverages (which because of my regional dialect, shall be referred to as "pop.")</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsoHax35srue-JlBA72e6fLF_Qp2LoLHvXa-054UjCwm3Lm29SSGo9ynp5hhx_LbG108yCyUUPZlLIb1KaVIFJZpZbyU2Jq5SCKuwx60FeyZavzdXxH0T4nw2psL0KU0fRk960QpBqEqw/s1600/20150214_104211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsoHax35srue-JlBA72e6fLF_Qp2LoLHvXa-054UjCwm3Lm29SSGo9ynp5hhx_LbG108yCyUUPZlLIb1KaVIFJZpZbyU2Jq5SCKuwx60FeyZavzdXxH0T4nw2psL0KU0fRk960QpBqEqw/s320/20150214_104211.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG 3. "They're like an iPod, except they weigh 700 lbs." <br />
-- "Weird Al" Yankovic, explaining jukeboxes to his <br />
7 year-old daughter, <i>who had no concept of a jukebox.</i></td></tr>
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<div>
While kitsch displays commonly include other things (e.g., juxeboxes, record albums, movie posters, and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_Marx_and_Company" target="_blank">Marx toys</a>), < 90% of these displays are pop, car, or gas-related. I could see why these things belonged in a museum, but I could understand<i> why they were in a museum</i> -- nothing historic ever happened here; they were historic for merely being old. They weren’t relics of what American life was; they were relics of what Baby Boomers wished it was.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
That's what it means to be an American in the eyes of the Baby Boomers -- to have bought pop at a gas station between 1946 and 1972; and the American culture exists largely to recreate that experience. That struck my as being extra poignant, because I was driving across America at the time, and had done nothing but buy pop at gas stations for two days straight -- and it wasn’t that great. Thinking deeply about it, I've only ever had four memorable experiences in over 35 years of runs to gas stations, convenience stores, and bodegas -- this anecdote was one of them -- and the other three weren’t anywhere near shrine-worthy. The Baby Boomers meticulously preserve antique cars, gas pumps, and pop paraphernalia -- because to them it is America -- <i>the Real America™</i>.<br />
<br />
This is also funny and sad, because I also stumbled upon the real Real America™ about 10 miles from there, when I pulled over at the first safe opportunity to find my trusty <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xb0bwbcfd28" target="_blank">pee bottle</a>, which was lost in the shuffling clutter of my fully-laden gypsy wagon. (While I had gone to the restroom at the truck stop just 10 minutes earlier, I was suffering from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epididymitis" target="_blank">epididymitis</a> at the time, and I had to keep my bladder perfectly empty at all times to escape the pain.) As I was scanning for 5-0 before letting Curious George out, I saw it there before me -- the real Real America™<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG. 4. I just got a new cell phone a few days earlier, and I didn't figure out how to do panoramas yet.</td></tr>
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This was it. This is what that collector spent their life trying to rebuild -- and they did everything in their power to do so, shy of actually doing it. By preserving sterile shrines to the Baby Boomer's concept of Real America™, the real Real America™ further deteriorates from neglect and the urine of transients.<br />
<br />
In a rapidly changing world craves nostalgia for the sense of familiarity and continuity it provides. rump was able to manipulate those feelings with the slogan "Make America Great Again," which speaks of longing for an indefinite simpler time which may or may not have ever existed. Additionally, it's a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loaded_question" target="_blank">loaded</a> statement -- you can't express any form of dissent or criticism without implying that you're actively trying to make America worse. You can't fight against a statement like that, and it united all the neocons, racists, and technophobes under a single common narrative. There's no singular, cohesive narrative for all of the secular, liberal, progressive, feminist, green, LGBT, and post-cap movements; while there's a lot of cross-pollination between cliques, each is walks along their own path to the mountain top. <br />
<br />
While we can't fight against the slogan "Make America Great Again," or the zeitgeist which enabled it to bring Trump to power -- these can be pushed farther, and co-opted into serving progressive agendas. Instead of reaching back to relive an idealized past, <i>we must reach back even farther</i> to a time when people looked forward to the future.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b> "The World of Tomorrow"</b> was the theme of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1939_New_York_World%27s_Fair" target="_blank">1939 New York World's Fair</a>, the high-water mark of American optimism. In the days leading up to World War II, Americans were collectively recovering from the hangover of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Depression#Mainstream_explanations" target="_blank">Great Depression</a>. The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Deal" target="_blank">New Deal </a>put the destitute to work, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tennessee_Valley_Authority" target="_blank">laying the infrastructure</a> for a new country, succeeding where <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reconstruction_Era" target="_blank">Reconstruction</a> failed. No one had seen anything like the 1939 New York World's Fair before, or since. It inadvertently invented the whole genre of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HI0to23KbKs" target="_blank">futurist</a> film, which tried to cash in on its success with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKVEQzTkqt8" target="_blank">innovations on display explained by tiny-voiced narrators</a>. This is also why much of science-fiction cinema makes use of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art_Deco" target="_blank">Art Deco</a> motif.</div>
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Many of the ideas an innovations of yesteryear have <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BPvBElDZHo" target="_blank">come</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNUEUth7qjc" target="_blank">gone</a>. There's a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSuOT8OtFHU" target="_blank">RadarRange</a> in every kitchen and breakroom. I'm on my ninth home computer, and I haven't owned a landline phone or made a purchase from a record store in 13 years -- <i>none of which is strange</i>. However, things are different; the World War II generation at least understood what their World of Tomorrow would look like; they had films to guide them; they knew what to expect. We're on the cusp of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fourth_Industrial_Revolution" target="_blank">Fourth Industrial Revolution</a>, and many of its <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/" target="_blank">results are too wild to fully comprehend</a>. Life will be fundamentally altered; it will not be different, but <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ek5vse2_Aq0" target="_blank">discontinuously different</a></i> -- the 2030's will be as incomprehensible to the children of 1950 as a medieval peasant would have been in their time. <br />
<br />
Change is the only constant, and it's inevitability can be conscripted for political gain. While the conservatives controlling the US government work to ensure hegemony, what stops those works from being torn down 25 years from now, when all of the Baby Boomers are dead? In the end, the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0k8xDtHnNM" target="_blank">Millennials</a> will win all political debates, simply because they will be the ones remaining. <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWzRKxhpPA0" target="_blank">When tomorrow comes</a>, the World of Tomorrow comes with it.</i><br />
<br />
<b>The World of Tomorrow is the slogan and narrative which can join all of the secular, liberal, progressive, feminist, green, LGBT, and post-cap movements; as each seeks to build the World of Tomorrow in their own way. </b> Additionally, there's no way to fight it -- not just because of its inevitability -- but because it too is a loaded statement. Opposing the World of Tomorrow automatically frames opponents as contrarian <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luddite" target="_blank">luddite</a>s.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-67862195196682880092016-03-14T08:00:00.000-07:002016-03-15T06:43:24.222-07:00Existential Depression A-go-go II: Narcissism Really isn't a Flaw, Per Se<a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2016/02/existential-depression-go-go-riddle-of.html" target="_blank">From the last time I posted</a>, it probably sounded like I was coming apart at the seams, but nothing could be farther from the truth, I've been getting it together more and more. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anpjEN9KeJ0" target="_blank">That is not trivial</a>. Depression isn't something you can walk off, like a sprained wrist, or a disastrous first date. Depression is a monster; it claws and devours without end, like a mythological beast. Even if someone were to pull you free from it's ravenous jaws, it would return to find you alone at night. Following like a shadow, it cannot be escaped or outrun. Fortunately, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HitAtndOsWw" target="_blank">monsters can be slain.</a><br />
<br />
I fall into a dark place from time to time; I mean, yeah we all do, we just don't all talk about it. My most recent existential crisis just one one of those times. I haven't bottomed out, because I've done that before, too. It's even all the more absurd because I had a way out the whole time -- and a better way out than the one I found -- but I didn't realize it for years because I didn't think to look for it. I guess I could mope over that too, but I learned from it instead. I learned the importance of rallying, and that <a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2015/10/philosophical-legos.html" target="_blank">True Strength is giving others what they need to become strong</a>. This could be one solution to the Riddle of the More, which I spoke of previously.<br />
<br />
So I rallied, and they came to aid and abet me -- each, in their own way, princesses in a world of dragons. It wasn't easy for them; quote the opposite. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwHslqdUopk&list=PL53B70AD702F8DCCC&index=6" target="_blank">While I have the need to discuss my personal issues, I'm also held back by a distinct but undefinable aspect to my character, which persists despite these discussions.</a> I locked into these loops of persistent thought. Back in undergrad while trying to solve my physics problems I would get stuck for hours, working in circles. Fortunately, college is a magical land of endless distraction, so I'd become derailed and forced to jump onto new trains of thought before it ever became my undoing. There was always something to knock me out of that loop, so I'd function again, like smacking a machine to make it work.<br />
<br />
That's a thing, by the way. No, seriously, it's not a trope. In engineering, we call it "<a href="https://vimeo.com/74965870" target="_blank">percussive maintenance</a>," and like all jokes, it hides a kernel of truth, since it is a legitimate form of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dither" target="_blank">dithering</a>.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Outside of school, it's a little harder to escape the trap of persistent thought loops; <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xaxhTSkbz0" target="_blank">it's so easy to fall into a comfort zone</a>.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I forget that I'm more than my job.<br />
<br />
Worse yet, sometimes I forget that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NKUpo_xKyQ" target="_blank">beauty</a> exists. While this is far more grinding and brutalizing, it is fortunately immediately curable, by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CL5NWcdC12c" target="_blank">beauty</a> -- in any of it's forms.<br />
<br />
The risks for existential depression are enhanced for those by the idealistic those with inherent senses of justice, or who comprehend the impossibility of their own self-realization. I do all those things, with a major emphasis on the last one. I'm depressed because I'm rudderless, and I can't envision the Ryan Coons I'm supposed to be. I realize that life is a joy-is-in-the-journey type-deal, one needs a destination to set out on one; that's how journeys work. A friend of mine in the mental health business prescribed me a 3-step process for finding myself:<br />
<ol>
<li>How do I define my ideal self?</li>
<li>Where did I learn those values?</li>
<li>What are the consequences of failure?</li>
</ol>
...and this is where all progress came to a screeching halt; but at least answers were turned up in the process.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>I am unable to construct an ideal self which is congruent with reality. </i></b><br />
<br />
For example, one of the great goals in my life has always been, while in the middle of a swordfight, to backflip onto a table and go "Ha-ha!" Though, no matter how much I can distract myself with fencing and gymnastics programs, cannot enter any foreseeable series of events where that would occur naturally.<br />
<br />
Deep down, I'm depressed because I am me, and <i>I don't want to be me</i>. I really want to be, someone else -- like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony_Zerbe" target="_blank">Anthony Zerbe</a> -- playing the role of the abstract conception of Ryan Coons that lives within our collective subconsciousness, as only he could. The clip below demonstrates this:<br />
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<embed src="http://swf.tubechop.com/tubechop.swf?vurl=MgJUCnHidNs&start=845&end=1216&cid=7791429" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>
</div>
By the way, that desk rotates on a giant servo-controlled lazy Susan, and it's better than you can imagine; it's better than you could imagine. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgJUCnHidNs&feature=youtu.be&t=53m10s" target="_blank">No, seriously</a>. It's the greatest thing ever; I can never compete.<br />
<br />
Right when I posted this, YouTube pulled the video on copyright grounds, which is why I used the Spanish dubbed version. It's disappointing, Zerbe has a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6q_fLr7hCZE" target="_blank">uniquely clean diction and delivery</a> with a power that does not translate. I was initially bummed out about having the video pulled, but while searching for alternatives, it gave me time to think; I now realize that a young <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxTCwrIYyZQ" target="_blank">Christopher</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ja2GD0je1jA" target="_blank">Lee</a> would've also made a pretty great Ryan Coons, too.<br />
<br />
I spent my entire adult life in a series of desperate attempts to flee the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqg-vqo-BL4" target="_blank">ennui</a> of suburbia, only to ultimately return. I'm sure a permanent solution exists, but <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squaring_the_circle" target="_blank">I can't square that circle</a>. My parents languished trying to win the approval of other, spending ours to setup chains of causal events that would lead to a few obligatory complements. I was barely 15 when I <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njG7p6CSbCU" target="_blank">called bullshit </a>on that whole way of life. I realized that the giving or withholding of idle praise reduces otherwise good people into <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5vT3-44UsE" target="_blank">dancing bears</a>. <br />
<br />
I don't want the approval from others; quite the opposite -- <i>because I'm the happiest when someone hates me</i>, and they are actively working to undermine my continued existence and well-being. That's a big reason why I don't go to martial arts tournaments anymore -- because the stakes are <i>too low</i>. My problem isn't about seeming interesting to others -- I need to seem interesting to myself, and I have really, <i>really</i> high standards for that. I'm not sure how to go about that.<br />
<br />
I also learned from another mental health professional in my network that I'm the poster child for <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcissistic_personality_disorder" target="_blank">narcissistic personality disorder</a>. I looked into it. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "droid sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"</span><span style="font-family: "droid sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Symptoms of </span><a href="http://www.wisegeekhealth.com/what-is-narcissistic-personality-disorder.htm" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px;">narcissistic personality disorder</a><span style="font-family: "droid sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> are believed to grow worse as the narcissist ages. The younger narcissist typically respects only those he sees as authority figures, such as parents or mentors, and only these are believed capable of keeping his often contrary personality in check. Psychologists believe that, as the typical narcissist reaches middle age and older, these authority figures usually die off, leaving the narcissist able to think as highly of himself as he likes and treat others as badly as he likes. As the aging narcissist grows harder and harder to deal with, he may find himself more and more socially isolated, such that narcissism and depression may be more likely to occur together as the individual reaches old age.</span><span style="font-family: "droid sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"</span></span></span></blockquote>
Treatment is available, but it admittedly doesn't work. At all. This is compounded by the fact that everything I like about myself is an incurable pathology -- and even if I tried to rid myself of it, I'd just be reduced to some forgettable, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIsCoEDyTEQ" target="_blank">Flanders</a>-like being.<br />
<br />
I was told to pursue a political career, to satiate my megalomaniacal desires -- not to lead, but to at least have a say in how I am led. I'm uncertain though, as that would require me to Win Friends and Influence People, which was never my shtick. I've always been uncharismatic to the point where it causes an <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJV4KB7F_xc" target="_blank">integer overflow</a> and becomes charming. In that same vein, I'm also ineloquent in speaking, but I've been thinking about joining Toastmasters to work on that. I like technical work though.<br />
<br />
I guess I just need to keep pursuing True Strength with and for the people I know, and to keep writing and polishing my skillset until I can create something of merit; to let <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Techne" target="_blank">techne</a> leads me to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arete_(moral_virtue)" target="_blank">arate</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
Since I can't find a meaning I'll be forced to define myself through great works. Art is the only salvation from
the horror of existence.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-832420485030581882016-02-29T14:57:00.002-08:002016-03-14T00:11:52.922-07:00Existential Depression A-go-go: The Riddle of the MoreI've been reeling from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existential_crisis" target="_blank">existential depression</a> for the last five years. While I'm starting to feel like myself again, I don't know what to do with that.<br />
<br />
I've grown bored with the concept of myself, and with the story of my life; like re-watching a movie or show you enjoyed as a child with adult eyes, and saying "why did I ever like this?" (Case and point, if you haven't seen the <u>Super Mario Bros. Super Show</u> lately, don't -- <i>no, seriously,</i> <i>don't --</i> <i><b>DON'T</b></i>.) I can't distract myself from myself any longer though; I've floated that keg, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clpLB29wa2E" target="_blank">death ray lasers</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4SHWXQBVL4" target="_blank">swordfights</a> are my baseline now; I need those just to take me back to normal.<br />
<br />
I feel useless unless I'm actively engaged in the act of conquering, or training to meet that end. It's the only way to cope with my fear of powerlessness. I refuse to listen to anyone claiming to offer empowerment, because empowerment is bullshit -- it only imparts the illusion or perception of power. <i>Powerlessness can only be truly overcome by the acquisition of power. </i><br />
<br />
I don't see myself fitting in anywhere -- ever -- because <i>I don't want to be comfortable; I want to <a href="https://sarsen.bandcamp.com/track/the-riddle-of-steel" target="_blank">conquer</a></i>. I need <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdphvuyaV_I" target="_blank">more</a>, but I don't know what that "more" is, or could be. It's a riddle; the Riddle of the More. I know I must find the strength to change the things I cannot accept -- but how to go about that is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFuGfwIhv14" target="_blank">a mystery I'm unable to solve</a>.<br />
<br />
All my goals are vague and unrealistic at best. When I set small manageable goals, I get bored and immediately return to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lQMMCq7sdQ" target="_blank">chasing dragons</a>. I can't determine if this is the cause or the effect of my quirk of only thinking on global terms. The end result is a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8a-hUP7kO3A" target="_blank">man-against-the-world</a> mentality that my previous psychologists have condemned as "difficult" and "quixotic," in lieu of doing anything constructive. <br />
<br />
Although I might sound like I'm going crazy, I'm not. My last government-mandated periodic psychiatric evaluation indicated that I am totes sane. My only deviations from the baseline psychological profile are:<br />
<ol>
<li>I have an <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xgjtm4_M20" target="_blank">extremely</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mania" target="_blank">manic personality</a>. However, "this isn't a bad thing; it just means that [I] have lots of restless energy and [I] get bored easily."</li>
<li>I rate abnormally below on defensiveness, "meaning that [I] am very open, even about things [I] ought to be defensive about." Flaunting my adventures in existential depression to whoever bothers to read it would be a good example of this -- but I've got <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHgqHrQBNCI" target="_blank">nothing to lose</a>.</li>
</ol>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's been suggested by many that I seek professional help, but conventional psychotherapy wont work on me. The main problem is that when I say that I want help, I mean <i style="font-weight: bold;">real help</i>, which, by definition, excludes all of the following practices:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<ol>
<li>Advice of a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hk41Gbjljfo" target="_blank">spiritual/religious nature</a>, and/or other advertisements or endorsements of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1grhmdzoHrw" target="_blank">religion</a>.</li>
<li>Any CBT-based approaches, as my "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kc71KZG87X4" target="_blank">intrinsically argumentative nature</a> renders [me] immune to any sort of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_behavioral_therapy" target="_blank">cognitive-behavioral therapy</a>."</li>
<li>Any and all agendas which attempt to mitigate or "cure" my <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zgo3KVk8wvU" target="_blank">lust for power</a>. It is ignoble to think weakness to be virtuous. Whatever it is that fuels this desire, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNMBsPC0IRc&list=PL01AA5288ACFE0899" target="_blank">it is something that is be exercised -- not exorcised</a>.</li>
<li>"Creeping scope" or other attempts to work around the issue at hand.</li>
<li><a href="http://www.iheart.com/live/delilah-4846/" target="_blank">Palliatives, inspiring stories, or canned advice</a>. If these could work, then they would have. I require a unique solution.</li>
<li>Use of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gW9S9vAx6c" target="_blank">hypnotic techniques</a>, including those which can be seamlessly weaved into ordinary conversations (e.g., slow and metered vocal intonation, use of nested stories, etc.)</li>
</ol>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because performing any of the above-listed actions shall result in non-payment. I realize that my expectation of professional conduct precludes me from most forms of therapy.<br />
<br />
I'm not being cute; those last two paragraphs were copied <i>verbatim</i> from my last query letter (well, minus the song clips). See, I'm bothered by the fact that therapist's business models are such that they have no real incentive to actually help me. Yeah, they might make people feel good for a while -- maybe for a week or so; long enough to last until the next week's appointment -- like chiropractors. I've been told that I'm looking at this all wrong -- that I'm not paying for <i>answers</i> -- I'm paying for <i>a process</i>. Dude, fuck that with a stick of intermediate length. That's not how this works. I need answers that I can't come up with on my own, so I'm farming them out to a consultant at tremendous expense. That's what engineers do.<br />
<br />
I'm also not real big on therapist's legal entitlement to rob me of my right to self-determine. Even more so now, because a non-suicidal buddy of mine was recently robbed of his personhood by a psychologist's creative interpretation of his subtext. He became a person again when they cooled their jets 5 days later, but now he's $13k in the hole because of their arbitrariness.<br />
<br /></div>
It doesn't matter if I was rude or alienating to the recipients of the above letter, 'cause I wasn't looking for therapy -- I touched that stove already. I was then, (and am now), looking for referrals for some kind of not-a-therapist or other options. I think that I can't get answers because I ask the wrong questions, though, I can't be sure a solution to my problem even exists. So, I figured a crowd-sourcing is my best bet, since soft power is infinite. I'm not sure what I'm looking for. One answer would be a guidance outside of a clinical setting; another answer would be "an enabler." I know that life coaches are out of the question -- and it's not because they have no kind of regulation or oversight -- it's because <i>they themselves</i> can't even clearly express exactly what the fuck they even do, or what services they allegedly provide.<br />
<br />
Medication can't fix this problem, because if I had pills that made me feel like myself again, I don't know what I'd do with myself.<br />
<br />
It's been suggested that I find gratification in a new career, but I tried that a year ago with great success. I can't play that hand again though, as my money situation doesn't enable me to continue pursuing an academic career, and I'm adverse to the idea of betting another 4-5 years of my life on another <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Pm6tb7HkRI" target="_blank">roll of the dice</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://keeliuminshort.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Keely</a> suggested that I'd find myself in the works of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kurt_Vonnegut" target="_blank">Kurt Vonnegut</a>, because <i>literally every</i> young woman I met in the last 15 years has told me this. Either I ooze Vonnegutivity, or I keep meeting and re-meeting different shades of the same woman, like some kinda mélange of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSpowoKqSzc" target="_blank">Dark City</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmQDIne3CLo" target="_blank">Joe vs. the Volcano</a>. While I can't quite grok him, she also forwarded to the <a href="http://www.theschooloflife.com/london/" target="_blank">School of Life</a>. They have this real unique approach where they print self-help books with the intent of actually helping people, instead of trying to get a quick payday off of some simplistic palliatives and trite fictional anecdotes.<br />
<br />
They managed to help. I've known the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Man_theory" target="_blank">Great Man Theory of History</a> to be false of some time, but I didn't know what to do with it. Great men do not do great things; they merely channel the zeitgeist into action. Great men are ordinary men who, largely by circumstance, have become possessed by the zeitgeist, much like other non-metaphorical ghosts from the grainy horror flicks we watched as teens:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/bbeW5A97tHM" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
So, to meet this end, I've been grinding away at Project X. The details of Project X will not be discussed at this time; it is only important to note that it will aid and augment the zeitgeist currently surrounding us. That's why I've been kinda quiet lately. The problem is, that I know If I complete my project, I'll go back to a state of meaninglessness, and if I procrastinate, I'm no longer doing meaningful work, again leading to meaninglessness.<br />
<br />
Any insights on how I can get out of this, to solve the Riddle of the More are appreciated. My responses will be public, so we can all be on the same page, eliminating the duplicity of work. Responses shall be congruent with the 6 criterion stated earlier; actions contrary to established criteria will be met with consequences.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-78408238602930494602015-10-24T14:05:00.003-07:002015-10-24T14:05:51.342-07:00Philosophical LEGOs<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .25in;">
</div>
<div>
Ruchela tried to goad me back into going to therapy, because I "have a set of standards that are vague" and I "phrase them poetically," which she mistook for non-specific garden-variety insanity. Once we came to see that it was just a communication issue, she retracted her request, which is good, because therapists here have proved to be an insolent lot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've had a hard time lately trying to come up with unrealistic goals. I'm sick of achievable goals, because I know I can reach them. Furthermore, I'm at a point where pursuing normal, achievable goals wont even get me anywhere. For example, I can't further my education, because I've graduated from college -- three times. I don't know what I can do with a fourth degree. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I look to books or websites on how to set goals, and I can't see how any of that shit can apply to me. Their list of goals are along the lines of "plant a garden," while mine are things like "get into fistfight on top of a locomotive." I guess this explains why I've been having problems relating to others -- I really can't relate to other people. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"So what are some of your interests?" asked one of the wildly, supremely incompetent career counselors at the <a href="https://www.cco.purdue.edu/" target="_blank">Purdue Center for Career Opportunities</a>, many moons ago.</div>
<div>
"Katanas and lasers," I replied.</div>
<div>
"Well, there's not going to be a whole lot of that in the real world," she said, in her catty, cunty tone.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Dude, the fuck does she know?</i> I went on to do <i>exactly</i> that, and I was making nearly six-figures at it, until I just got bored and stopped. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, I've been thinking a lot lately, of what I need to do to continue to grow. Anything other than the acquisition of power just seems like a waste of time. While I have many pet projects, I have no long-term masterplan. I have a few certifications I want to earn over the next three years, but they will not advance my career, or my available opportunities; I simply want them. As such, the act of getting them is on some level, no different than buying a stack of pulpy word-search books from the drugstore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Delving into the "disturbing number of Word files" on my computer in an attempt for answers and clues left by earlier mes, I hit paydirt -- a neat, concise list of the consolidated wisdom of one of my earlier selves. Of course, most of this are vague and poetic -- but they need to be. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Less is more. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've included them all in the list below, the fist twenty-ish are in order of importance, but then it kinda becomes a grab-bag; it's a work-in-progress. I figured it was too good not to share, maybe they can help others out. In the meantime, I'll but various systems of values form these philosophical LEGOs. Feel free to play along with me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li><b style="font-family: inherit;">True Strength is giving others what they need to become strong. </b></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BT1ircqQklo" target="_blank">Seek the strength to change the things you cannot accept</a></b>; doing anything else is just rationalizing failure.</span></li>
<li><b>Won’t you triumph the day? If not, who will? </b></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Most of what
we fear is not worth fearing.</b> What if we are already free?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amor_fati" target="_blank">Amor fati</a></i>.</b> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">By finding lessons and wisdom from painful experiences, they become positive experiences. By this means, one can overcome one's past, and obtain <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Will_to_power" target="_blank">will-to-power</a>.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rules are just suggestions.</b> Fuck the police.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://youtu.be/8jYeXur7PvQ?t=19m7s" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Take strength and grow stronger.</a><b> </b>Long-term solutions must establish feedback loops (virtuous/vicious circles). </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kan%C5%8D_Jigor%C5%8D" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Mutual welfare and benefit.</a><b> </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">This is </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">the essence of synergy. </span>Without mutual benefit</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">, service becomes manipulation. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kan%C5%8D_Jigor%C5%8D" target="_blank"><b>Maximum efficiency, minimum effort.</b></a> Strive for optimization, not perfection.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://youtu.be/yz93ZadjjUQ?t=3m38s" target="_blank">A dark sword cannot prevail over true evil.</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0qvqs3-dZw" target="_blank">A paladin must sheath his sword.</a> </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">A dark sword just consumes its
wielder’s life force with each attack. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">A paladin just needs to block and heal until the Dark Knight eventually destroys themselves.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The classics are classics for a reason.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.taoism.net/ttc/chapters/chap01.htm" target="_blank">That which is called the Way is not the true Way.</a></b> Options exist, and the clear path is someone else's.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.bookoffiverings.com/" target="_blank">Seeing is weak; perceiving is strong.</a></b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Cry in the dōjō, laugh on the battlefield. </b>The ideal training </span>regimen<span style="font-family: inherit;"> is more difficult than anything you will actually </span>encounter.</li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank">Stack the deck, win the game.</a></b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Is%E2%80%93ought_problem" target="_blank"><b>Question every use of “is” and “ought.”</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Fool me
once, fuck you forever.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>A real hero
isn’t some<i>one</i>.</b> It is some<i>thing</i> -- either an idea, or a perception of someone.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iyv905Q2omU" target="_blank">Pressure</a> makes diamonds</b>. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Being tough is not a choice; it is the result of not having choices.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Awesomeness and mediocrity are conscious choices.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PASYqq4-iD0" target="_blank">Do nothing, become nothing.</a></b></span></li>
<li><b style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jpf-eC-Xlk" target="_blank">Belligerence is a virtue</a>. </b>In each society, etiquette<span style="font-family: inherit;"> was devised by </span>aristocrats<span style="font-family: inherit;"> as a barrier-to-entry and means of social control.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>It is, in all cases, morally good to call people out.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Love makes
no ultimatums.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Love is
strength.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.donnymiller.com/fineart/art.htm" target="_blank">In the Age of Information, ignorance is a choice.</a></b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P._C._Hodgell" target="_blank">That which can be destroyed by the truth should be.</a></b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Humor
conquers all</b>; <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rules_for_Radicals" target="_blank">it robs authority of its power.</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Drama begets drama.</b></span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Drama causes suffering, s</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">carcity causes drama. </span></b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Drama is thus unavoidable, but it can be mitigated.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The truth exists
despite your feelings about it.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Most people are cautionary tales.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Fatigue is a monster.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rust never sleeps.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Today is
someday.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mediocrity
must be destroyed.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Courage
trumps security.</b> Valor is a
mirror that reveals all things and exposes evil.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Fear is a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monomyth" target="_blank">call-to-action</a>.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>One's sense-of-purpose
has nothing to with oneself. </b></span></li>
<li><b>Hard power is limited; soft power is unbound.</b></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Synergy is the only means by which man transcend himself. </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Synergy is a state of non-coercive service, unconstrained by
obligations, demands, or ultimatums; </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">a mutually-reinforcing cyclic process; "a virtuous circle." </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Synergy
gives without taking, and it </span>cannot be bought.</li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Charisma is
the gateway to synergy; it </span>satisfie<span style="font-family: inherit;">s unfulfilled needs by</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> manipulating positive emotions.</span></b></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Experience
breeds charisma.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Skill and
character cannot be bought.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>Conflict
goes by means of deception.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>Fail to
plan, plan to fail.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>Defense-in-depth.
With
redundancy, reliable systems can be built from unreliable components.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>Assimilate,
not destroy.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>Strength is
the absence of weakness.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank">Don’t box a
boxer.</a></b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank">Hard defeats
soft; soft controls hard.</a> </b>With cleverness, an un</span>defeatable<span style="font-family: inherit;"> enemy can become your weapon. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>Conflict is
unavoidable, but delayable.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>Break
hearts, not bones.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/482572" target="_blank"><b>All power is external.</b></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://sarsen.bandcamp.com/track/the-riddle-of-steel" target="_blank">Justified vengeance is altruistic.</a></b> Those who have wronged you will continue to wrong others.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>What good is a sword if you are not a fencer?</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gambler%27s_ruin" target="_blank">Victory only requires a slight advantage.</a></b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Failure teaches success.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>A safe bet always loses.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Hardship fosters cleverness.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The middle path leads nowhere. </b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heat_engine" target="_blank">Heat and cold can perform work; tepid and tepid cannot.</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Give an inch,
take a mile.</b> In order to steer your enemies into ruin, they need to develop a little momentum.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Professionalism
is just convincing others that you’re a professional.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Suffering for
its own sake is ignoble.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYLbASoecyc" target="_blank">measure of a man</a> is in his stories, and his ability to generate results. </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">No one will remember you -- just the stories about you.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Once destroyed, information cannot be reclaimed.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5A4xBp2rizQ" target="_blank">With the power of conviction, there is no sacrifice.</a> </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">If something is truly desired, then the hardships needed to obtain it become
trivial.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The wretched are already punished.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fortune_favours_the_bold" target="_blank">Fortune favors the bold</a>.</b> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_48_Laws_of_Power" target="_blank">The problems boldness causes are instantly solvable with more boldness.</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natural_selection" target="_blank">Survival is not a right.</a></b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Will_to_power" target="_blank">Will-to-power</a> results from the struggle against one’s surroundings;</b> this culminates in
personal growth, self-overcoming, self-perfection, and the entirely-coincidental power over others.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Three or
more variables create unconstrained systems.</b></span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">We were once unconstrained, but no longer, as we have been drugged and incapacitated by the Four
Poisons </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">leading to a pathology known as the Human Condition.</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The Four Poisons are: <span style="font-family: inherit;">fear, self-doubt/</span>hesitation<span style="font-family: inherit;">, confusion/fascination, and surprise. (Six items are listed because <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kanji" target="_blank">kanji</a> can have multiple translations). </span>Currently, there is no cure for Human Condition, but treatment is available. With regular, small doses of the Four </span>Poisons<span style="font-family: inherit;">, one can develop a tolerance to them, and they will gradually lose their effect.</span></li>
<li><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Constraint
leads to irritation.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Irritation leads to action.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Action leads to options.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Options lead to absurdity.</span></b></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sketchiness cannot be faked.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>A rebel without a cause is better than a rebel without an effect.</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Enlightenment is a verb. </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Life is just a very open-world JRPG, and you must </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">grind to level-up.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impostor_syndrome" target="_blank">Masters never call themselves masters.</a></b></span></li>
</ol>
</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-66808839894036917692015-10-10T23:44:00.000-07:002015-10-10T23:44:09.589-07:00Dating After 30 is the Worst Thing That Can Happen to Someone, Except for Teabagging a Garbage Disposal, or Drowning in a Vat of LSD, or Having Some Weird Shit Like That Happen.Dating after age 30 is the worst thing ever. Marriage almost makes sense.<br />
<br />
People get married because they just want to quit while they're ahead, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gambler%27s_ruin" target="_blank">because they'll lose it all in the long run if they don't cash out when their chips are up.</a> I get that.<br />
<br />
I also understand why people subject themselves to online dating. Don't get me wrong, on-line dating was pretty great... <i>when I was in my 20's</i>, because of the 20-something "Yeah? Fuck it, why not" approach to love. I could, and did, win first dates from basically anyone I wanted. Second dates, though -- <i>now that shit's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-O5IHVhWj0" target="_blank">tricky</a></i>. Whatever, 'cause when I got <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKwVvSleM6w" target="_blank">shot down in flames</a> I could just go, "Well, that sucked," dust myself off, and go find another date. The quicker the turn around, the better. "Skip like a stone," we used to say -- I have some funny stories about that, but that's for another time. Hell, I once went on two dates on the same night, despite being told not too by every sitcom, ever. I went on a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1vO6QoACPk" target="_blank">disaster of a date</a>, went home, met another girl on OKC, and I was back in game withing two hours. While I didn't snag a girlfriend on either date, that's how I met Ruchela, and she's one of my favorite people.<br />
<br />
I also know that people are going to accuse me of looking at the past with rose-colored glasses, because let's face it folks, courtship has never made any kinda sense:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvSbJ18bfsj2GMg3WLc8MH2KMIhCJ3t9U9MwZbT24gaS4C50kjLVtH4G25UdL24MPeGEDH9IRLDctH9eg_XSuhc8vM_g-m4XXK1VInCKRupahur78NA2OQeBGSQlbbrhEvVpSyvVf0QpX/s1600/1323.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvSbJ18bfsj2GMg3WLc8MH2KMIhCJ3t9U9MwZbT24gaS4C50kjLVtH4G25UdL24MPeGEDH9IRLDctH9eg_XSuhc8vM_g-m4XXK1VInCKRupahur78NA2OQeBGSQlbbrhEvVpSyvVf0QpX/s200/1323.gif" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
"Dating after 30 can't be any different though! It's just like falling off of a bike -- you do it once, you can do it again," said your internal monologue just now -- but no, fuck you. Your internal monologue is wrong. In spite of being a 4 on the <a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2015/02/male-rights-activists-are-bunch-of.html" target="_blank">Pennywise-Gosling Scale</a>, I could still snag dates from the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKzX5zRdsq0" target="_blank">mad-fly honeys</a>,which I did not deserve. Ever since I turned 30 though, all my rendezvous go something like this:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Sc_lP3_ZDFI" width="420"></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuhYALy4DDhAolvza2fUgrZBhNOT2eT_kXKQf8AJMfwyH38cGcNs-1m5_knwyLSbvqpx4KWX7Ryrm844KZ39ZC8_FaV1HZPt0MI1aiu4nli_iV3GlC664Kh25iIVQ03QUa4kyhCaqp2Ad/s1600/Darwin%2527s+Law.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuhYALy4DDhAolvza2fUgrZBhNOT2eT_kXKQf8AJMfwyH38cGcNs-1m5_knwyLSbvqpx4KWX7Ryrm844KZ39ZC8_FaV1HZPt0MI1aiu4nli_iV3GlC664Kh25iIVQ03QUa4kyhCaqp2Ad/s320/Darwin%2527s+Law.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG 1. Darwin's Law of Biology</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I still feel compelled to go out and meet new people, which as shown in Figure 1, is just the polite way of saying that my balls ache -- but they ache in the good "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xat1GVnl8-k" target="_blank">Hey, it's springtime</a>!" way, and not in the "Ahhh! <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epididymitis" target="_blank">Epididymitis</a>!" way, so we cool. I kinda wish I could bring <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Camus" target="_blank">Camus</a>, or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Paul_Sartre" target="_blank">Sartre</a> (but definitely Camus, 'cause he'd be more fun) <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFy17auuK08" target="_blank">to modern day</a> so they could experience online and/or 30+ dating. They'd only need to follow the Two Rules of Online and/or 30+ Dating:<br />
<ol>
<li>Look good.</li>
<li>Don't look bad.</li>
</ol>
<div>
Since these are also the Rules of Normal Dating, verbatim, there wouldn't be any culture shock, for Camus, or for anyone else going to a 30+ Meetup. It doesn't go full-on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absurdism" target="_blank">absurdist</a>/<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existentialism" target="_blank">existentialist</a>/<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqg-vqo-BL4" target="_blank">stereotypical French</a> until you start talking to someone you do like, because<b> </b><i><b>the only thing you have in common is loneliness -- and now that you've met, you don't even have that</b></i><b>.</b></div>
<br />
The problem with dating after 30 though, is that unless you're <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kQXWx4qCVs" target="_blank">Connery-level </a>awesome, the people you'll be dating are also over 30. I for one, was only ever <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gGiYrS2Y1k" target="_blank">Connery-level</a> awesome for a single, brief moment back in 2005, but that's a story for another time. Right around the time that people turn 30, their <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wave_function_collapse" target="_blank">wavefunctions collapse</a>, and they become the person that were going to be. There isn't anymore learning or exploring; people have a preconceived idea of what they want; there are expectations. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZGXRCI-JzQ" target="_blank">Whatever this is</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOJk0HW_hJw" target="_blank">it isn't love</a>, because love is a flighty, fleeting thing, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGVZOLV9SPo" target="_blank">making no promises and no demands</a>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
I don't know what to call it; the best I can do is to be vague or to assign some arbitrary-but-unclaimed arrangement of sounds, like "floob" or "heebaleeb" to what I'm feeling, because that's how languages work, and that's kind screwy if you think deeply about it. While <a href="https://youtu.be/_U7IaueOy_g?t=30s" target="_blank">there's no shortage of love songs</a>, there are no floob songs. Floob compels no one <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFlglDgKua4" target="_blank">to sing</a>. Dates, courtship, relationships after 30+ aren't as passionate, and that's what scares me. I'm scared of drudging through life without the realistic probability of anymore <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y46Sw1BUHPs" target="_blank">St. Elmo's Fire</a> moments; y'know, the ~2% of our life that's actually worth remembering. The sort of moments that are exploited daily by advertisers to coax us into buying detergent or breath mints or other things that <i>we were</i> <i>probably going to buy anyway.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
While it is admittedly unrealistic to expect the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWzRKxhpPA0" target="_blank">frenzy of young love to persist indefinitely</a>, the presence of anything else just draws my attention to its absence. Meeting other people makes me feel lonely. What am I to do? What could I do? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOXaPE6gklI" target="_blank">There's no easy way out</a> of this, other than to <a href="http://www.mostawesomestthingever.com/" target="_blank">ascend to some insurmountable level of coolness</a>. I have to cultivate desire in others in order to satiate my meta-desire for desire. While it is unlikely that I can ever consistently operate at <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Dka54jH9po" target="_blank">Connery-level</a> coolness, I know that I can do it for brief moments, because I've done it before. I don't need to be great all of the time, just at the right time. Everything in life comes down to timing. While this plan seems entirely absurd, it is absurd not to be absurd. In the past my heart screamed -- it nearly drove me mad (though that's a story for another time) -- but now that I'm older and wiser, it seems like it didn't drive me <i>crazy enough</i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-84925575193648266382015-08-29T22:57:00.003-07:002015-08-30T07:43:42.019-07:00Stomp-Ass Band Names that are Guaranteed to Score You All Kinds of CatI've always been a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCFcWdco1nw" target="_blank">digital man</a> living in an analog world. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xgjtm4_M20" target="_blank">I either become completely, entirely obsessed with things, or I am entirely indifferent to them</a>. This is my one, true quirk from which all my other personality quirks originate. For example, this is why I obsess about music while having gone out of my way not to become a musician.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G8lOsJkFs6trzPLTAyiUXIHEyioL8EBJJIk1t-VzzKx4J0HpDN5-azezRLcVe1yNu2tVd994FkG800tEAfdhLCXkagDJ9MRJ2KSmk-SP7tDL6RD2QF4tWCAQWJJIoVwKuZeY0LDDUqgn/s1600/Dragon_Warrior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G8lOsJkFs6trzPLTAyiUXIHEyioL8EBJJIk1t-VzzKx4J0HpDN5-azezRLcVe1yNu2tVd994FkG800tEAfdhLCXkagDJ9MRJ2KSmk-SP7tDL6RD2QF4tWCAQWJJIoVwKuZeY0LDDUqgn/s320/Dragon_Warrior.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG 1. "Dragon Warrior" for the NES, a game<br />
about poking blobs of slime with a bamboo <br />
pole. It should be noted that you never actually <br />
bear witness to the slime-poking, or even <br />
see the pole; you are merely informed that <br />
your character owns a pole and the system<br />
relays the results of any requested pokes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's funny; everyone I knew at Purdue automatically assumed that I was completely obsessed with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODpXIYEQMxg" target="_blank">power metal</a>, since my personality kind of exudes that. While I greatly appreciate that genre, it's not me -- at least not the real me. The songs in my heart have always sounded like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WGVG3_IoG8" target="_blank">Benjamin</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DrgSzcctUyY" target="_blank">Orr</a>.<br />
<br />
I always loved the purity of tone that only synth can provide, but coming-of-age in the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPV2o8wO84c" target="_blank">afterbirth of grunge</a>, synth was a rare commodity. While I had limitless opportunities to prepare me with the skills I would need to be a <a href="https://soundcloud.com/teslaboy/keyboards-synths" target="_blank">synth</a> player, I could only do similar-but-unrelated things. I could never feel passionate about those other things -- and to me, it just seemed like the grinding of a poorly-designed JRPG (see Figure 1), and that depletes my willpower faster than anything. I opted to try to express myself through writing instead. Granted, writing takes a lot of grinding, but it is easily flavored to one's personal taste.<br />
<br />
In short, I would have loved to have been in marching band, had there been <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlnVfCNhHzc" target="_blank">keytars</a>.<br />
<br />
If I found a genie's lamp, and I could have any three wishes, then I'd ask to become <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ze58HhMlObk" target="_blank">immortal</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5A4xBp2rizQ" target="_blank">invincible</a>, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ql_m-4jdZE" target="_blank">Superman</a>, because <i>I am smart</i>. If I lived an extra-charmed life and found a second genie's lamp, I'd ask for fantastic keytar skills; a DeLorean; and a three-piece suit with fringed sleeves, made entirely out of black snakeskin. The suit, along with a little guyliner and greasepaint, will unlock that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7JVlpm0eRs" target="_blank">Huey Lewis</a>/<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mL1kQQbhmY8" target="_blank">Alice Cooper</a> combination which is my true inner self. So then I would drive around in my DeLorean, in this <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7e_nWuEyKAk" target="_blank">ascended form</a>, until I chance upon some fine-foxy ladies, at which point I would leap out, jump onto the roof of my DeLorean, and belt out some <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXM9oVcqvh4" target="_blank">wycked lyxx</a> on my keytar, complemented with gratuitous pelvic thrusting.<br />
<br />
Then, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hks2vA1cXKE" target="_blank">I will have sex</a>.<br />
<br />
Don't give me that look -- it would be a mathematical certainty at that point, as I would have met all of the necessary prerequisites.<br />
<br />
Still, even <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=861auPCqqAk" target="_blank">in this best of all possible worlds</a>, I would still never create anything of merit, because I have an <i>incredibly</i> limited vocal range. My voice is horrible. I sound like an autistic guy taking your drive-thru order. It's badly bad, of badness.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'll take up the synthesizer/keytar and record an instrumental album someday, who knows. Maybe I'll join a band, and have someone else sing -- but I can't do that with someone from a newspaper ad or a friend-of-a-friend from a coffee shop. I'd need a real synergy before I could even try, because I know me, and most of the people capable of that have moved on with their lives or outgrown me; such is the way of things -- but those are stories for another time.<br />
<br />
In the mean time, I keep thinking up all kinds of great names for bands, that I can do nothing with. It'd be a shame to let them go to waste, so I figured I'd share them with the world, in case of any readers who can't think of a name for their band. Wonderful names like:<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrDPIBNVvxu-XBTV_MFT2_N1UWr5mO2kjgcWQkk9isYIaTVCohvifFKwlwfvB_xc5CucaefiZJzQf-HFEkn392deQhyphenhypheniDIBg059XMpjQfwizQQbRwrJ_mcyLZhmBlEHFw1uybQ3yhusAZ/s1600/yin_yang_blank.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrDPIBNVvxu-XBTV_MFT2_N1UWr5mO2kjgcWQkk9isYIaTVCohvifFKwlwfvB_xc5CucaefiZJzQf-HFEkn392deQhyphenhypheniDIBg059XMpjQfwizQQbRwrJ_mcyLZhmBlEHFw1uybQ3yhusAZ/s200/yin_yang_blank.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG 2.<i> "The truth is neither black nor white..."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bremsstrahlung" target="_blank">Bremsstrahlung</a>.</b></li>
<li><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fundamental_theorem_of_algebra" target="_blank">Fundamental</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fundamental_theorem_of_calculus" target="_blank">Theorem</a>.</b></li>
<li><b>Suspicious Persons.</b></li>
<li><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_suicide_and_immortality" target="_blank">Quantum Suicide</a>.</b></li>
<li><b>Shades of Grey.</b> Their logo would be a yin-yang where both sides are shaded the same color of grey, as shown in Figure 2.</li>
<li><b>Serious Inquiries Only.</b></li>
<li><b>Lesbian Tendencies.</b></li>
<li><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anubis" target="_blank">Anubis</a> Remembers.</b></li>
<li><b>Octodeath Crab.</b> Rising from the sea, he'll kill you eight different ways.</li>
<li><b>Consumer Lifestyle.</b></li>
<li><b>Fake Smiles and Form Letters.</b></li>
<li><b>Autoerotic Knifeplay.</b></li>
<li><b>Ginger Cream Pie.</b> Naturally, their album covers would feature seductive redheads with desserts.</li>
<li><b>Puppet Show of the Damned.</b></li>
<li><b>Intermix Ratio.</b> This would be a TNG-themed band, so the title track of their first album would naturally be <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3RNsZvdYZQ" target="_blank"><i>The Line Must Be Drawn... Here!</i></a></li>
<li><b>The Magic Bullet Theory.</b> Their first album would be <u><i>Up and to the Left</i></u>, with a cover featuring the band members photoshopped into the Zapruder film.</li>
<li><b>The Human Shields.</b></li>
<li><b>Extreme Chess Luau.</b></li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPJ2ZjYlY38" target="_blank">Bionic</a> Foreskin.</b></li>
<li><b>Bukkake Pantomime.</b></li>
<li><b>Hümanyti.</b></li>
<li><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_singularity" target="_blank">Quantum Singularity</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1EAA7pkEJ4" target="_blank">Trebuchet</a>.</b></li>
<li><b>The Cumfarts.</b> Their first album being the non-Euclidian <u><i>Let Me Vomit into My Own Mouth.</i></u></li>
<li><b>Menstruating
Lava.</b></li>
<li><b>Üter<b>ü</b>s Coökie. </b>Please note those are <i>not</i> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metal_umlaut" target="_blank">metal umlauts</a>; the name is legitimately pronounced "ueterues cooekie," that way they can say it on the radio, angering Christian mothers and people named Helen.</li>
<li><b>The Hassidic Leprechauns.</b></li>
<li><b>Pubic Hair Macramé. </b>As a gimmick, they could setup some bogus "Locks of Love"-like charity where people mail in their bush clippings with the intent of the band shipping them all <i>en masse</i> to people they do not like. (Ideally, in the form of a decorative owl.)</li>
<li>...and<b> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strat-O-Matic" target="_blank">Strat-O-Matic</a> Cybersex.</b></li>
</ul>
<div>
Feel free to make use of these names; I just ask for acknowledgement in your album's liner notes (though merch and backstage passes would be nice, too).</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-15339395171307339922015-08-01T19:56:00.002-07:002015-08-02T12:53:12.601-07:00I'm Getting Lost in the Riddles of the Modern YellowHatMan.I'm Ryan Coons, but I'm not quite sure what that means.<br />
<br />
I used to write all kinds of things, and lived through all sorts of weird tales, but anymore, I can't think of any of them. I've been quiet these last few months. I recently <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2GEKV1dOgY" target="_blank">drove across America </a>(again) to switch jobs. In the mean time, I finally finished my first novel. It was one of my more persistent pet projects, which tortured my thoughts for what, 8 years now? While the end product is most-likely unpublishable, it is also beyond my power to improve it any further. Still, the experience taught me much about the craft of writing, and more importantly, the act of writing the book freed from the desire to write it.<br />
<br />
The killing of this desire opened my eyes to a possible world that I can hardly conceive -- one that is free of desire.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/EYYdQB0mkEU/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EYYdQB0mkEU?feature=player_embedded" style="clear: right; float: right;" width="320"></iframe>Much of my early life was devoted to escapism. That last sentence was admittedly melodramatic, because by life was not bad by any means, yet it captures the zeitgeist. My youth was unfulfilling; boring. While I agree that "only boring people are bored," with limited access to funds and basic transportation, options were limited. A montage of my early life is presented in the video on the right:<br />
<br />
Much of my youth was spent indulging in phantasy, dreaming of what I could be had I lived in more interesting places and times. I couldn't get enough; I wanted more. I needed more. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVj61ZX_8Cs" target="_blank">It was a hunger</a>, a lust, a thirst. An urge. I cast a very broad net, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZEJ4OJTgg8" target="_blank">absorbing every fandom I came across, and adding their cultural distinctiveness to my own</a>. Much of this time was spent in the Marvel Universe -- several of them actually -- I was always a huge fan of "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_What_If_issues" target="_blank">What If?</a>" There's a magical time in the life of a boy, around the age of 12 or 13, when they inevitably switch from DC to Marvel. I loved how there was a lore to those stories, with layers upon layers of nested sub-stories governing the main stories; of a world that kept getting progressively weirder the more you learned about it, where finding answers just leads to more questions. I read everything I could get my hands on, which is why according to Darren, my comic collection "makes no sense, whatsoever." <a href="http://marvel.wikia.com/Captain_America_(Steven_Rogers)" target="_blank">Captain America</a> and <a href="http://marvel.wikia.com/Anthony_Stark_(Earth-616)" target="_blank">Iron Man</a> proved to be my favorites. I would have become like either of them, if I could -- but not both at once. That could never work, though it took me years to figure out why. Once I understood the underlying struggle between the two characters (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altruism" target="_blank">altruism</a> vs. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Objectivism_(Ayn_Rand)" target="_blank">objectivism</a>) that I was able to understand them, and in the process, find myself.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0ds0wYpc1eM/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0ds0wYpc1eM?feature=player_embedded" style="clear: left; float: left;" width="320"></iframe>After high school, I leaped head first into a non-linear 11-year trek through the halls of academe. Most of that time was spent trying to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_QOMhU40js" target="_blank">survive</a>. As an adult, I didn't become anything like my two boyhood heroes. Instead, I became some weird <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amalgam_Comics" target="_blank">amalgam</a> of <a href="http://marvel.wikia.com/Daniel_Rand_(Earth-616)" target="_blank">Iron Fist</a> and the <a href="http://marvel.wikia.com/Mad_Thinker_(Earth-616)" target="_blank">Mad Thinker</a> -- but I liked who I was then. I was living to my full potential. A dramatization of one of my typical collegiate days has been recreated in the video on the left.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Then, literally within hours of leaving academia, I instantly became <a href="https://www.netflix.com/title/70300800" target="_blank">BoJack Horseman</a>.<br />
<br />
Now, I feel like I'm changing again, but in to what, I'm not entirely sure. See, my whole adult life has been spent trying to make big break into <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssme-8fnTPM" target="_blank">nuclear engineering</a>, and now that I've arrived, I don't know what to do. I only know the struggle, the <a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2014/09/former-journey-frontman-steve-perry-is.html" target="_blank">journey</a>, and without it, there's something missing.<br />
<br />
It scares me. I can just be complacent now, without any consequence. I can rest on my laurels, and be comfortable. I can stop growing. In short, when the old me from college hops out of the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4xf50aUxaE" target="_blank">DeLorean to see the me of 2015</a> (not <i>if, when</i>) our conversations would go a little something like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/l23iS-TSUSY/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/l23iS-TSUSY?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
I had planned on spending my life doing all of those "someday" tasks I've been putting aside; the younger me had enough pet-projects to last for ten lifetimes. However, given the current rate of progression in the low-distraction confines of the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30CExwoUyVQ" target="_blank">Deep South</a>, I can actually complete all of my life's ambitions within 3-6 years. While this is wicked-awesome, I will soon reach a point where I can't hide behind the facade of my own make-work. I need to become something, but what? I have to change to grow, but I don't know what path to walk.<br />
<br />
After how-many-years of lasers-and-katanas, I need to find someway to keep the ol' <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hedonic_treadmill" target="_blank">hedonic treadmill </a>a-churnin'. Anything else just seems like selling out. Worse yet, I don't think anyone can answer this question but me. There are lots of people who think they can, but they're invariably just more religious cult salesmen, or those "mindful" people. Living in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZiqx_mwHNo" target="_blank">California</a> taught me that mindful people are to be avoided, because they completely lack the ability to enact change. No seriously, look at any of their websites, and you'll see that they're all the same. All that mindful people can do is 1) make pesudo-spiritual rationalizations for their own failures, and 2) stand on the beach with a long, fluttering piece of cloth.<br />
<br />
It was the audacity of these cult <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLMDkGmwSa0" target="_blank">salesmen</a> that, in part, made me hate the gods in the first place. When an earlier me was looking for answers, all of the Christians and other cultists all gave the same reply: "The meaning of life is for you to to work for us for free," which is eerily-convenient for them. So much so, that it became suspicious.<br />
<br />
Spare me your pity; I just need to make something of merit. I know that I <a href="https://engineering.purdue.edu/CMUXE/Publications/Harilal/2010-JAP-Coons.pdf" target="_blank">can</a>, <a href="https://engineering.purdue.edu/CMUXE/Publications/Harilal/2009-APL-Hari.pdf" target="_blank">because</a> <a href="https://engineering.purdue.edu/CMUXE/Publications/Harilal/2011-ABC-Coons.pdf" target="_blank">I</a> <a href="https://engineering.purdue.edu/CMUXE/Publications/Harilal/2012-APB-Coons.pdf" target="_blank">have</a>. I just need to do it again. If you have any neat stories about me, please jog my memory. I need to keep the legend alive, in my own mind. I can write them up, entertain you for a while, and in the process, find my bearings and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MxGEVIvSFeY" target="_blank">journey</a> on to what we both want me to be.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndUk6yX3PBo" target="_blank">TL;DR: I'm taking requests.</a> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-69648891226457017802015-03-06T17:04:00.000-08:002015-03-07T22:53:29.938-08:00We Can Save the Lives of All of the World's Rhinos by Being Huge Jackasses to People<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My last Saturday in San Diego started out in the usual
way, with a double training session. Afterwards, I went to lunch at a nearby
taquería with my dōjōmates Cathé and Oya. They wanted some facetime with me, a
last chance to see. Besides, we knew that where I was going, the Mexican food would be made from tomato paste and disappointment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The conversation meandered, like how all good conversations
do. Eventually, we somehow started to talk about the recent extinction of the <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2011/11/10/world/africa/rhino-extinct-species-report/index.html" target="_blank">Western Black Rhinoceros</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Now they’re gone forever, just to make dick pills that don’t
even work,” said Cathé.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“There’s nothing special about rhino horns!” said Oya. “It’s
just keratin like hair or fingernails...”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
* * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One of the most valuable lessons that my father taught me
when I was young, was the importance of planning crimes. My father wasn’t a
criminal; he was far from it. “It’s a game; it keeps your mind sharp.” He
usually played the crime game when he was driving -- for this reason, the rules
also stipulate there can be no notes, and he had to rely on mental math. ("So there's no paper trail for the authorities to follow.") His schemes usually took
on the façade of a <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xc2hjy_lucy-lawless_shortfilms" target="_blank">bizarre theme restaurant</a>, typically used as a front for
activities to exploit a number of arcane accounting tricks, tax loopholes, and
the US-Canada border -- those were the things he knew well. I discussed a few of
these schemes with some of my lawyer friends, who agree that they would’ve
worked. Sadly, many of these schemes were lost to history when he passed.
Sadder still, was that he squandered most of his scheming time in the futile pursuit
of creating a perpetual motion machine. Those flights of folly were primarily
driven by his adamant refusal to accept the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_law_of_thermodynamics" target="_blank">Law of Entropy</a>, living the entirely of his
life under the delirious assumption that undiscovered laws of thermodynamics
laid waiting for him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
I
usually play the crime game when I’m <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jEM8-Gbknk" target="_blank">pooping</a> at work. My schemes are usually
more… overt and frequently require specialized apparatus. I take no notes, but
I allow myself to use <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Casio-Mens-CA53W-Calculator-Watch/dp/B000GB1R7S" target="_blank">a no-frills calculator</a>. Laugh, but I’ve managed to
eliminate all of my credit card debt and take <i>twenty years</i> off of my student loan repayments, simply by
optimizing my resources in this fashion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
Those
things are insignificant. The real value of plotting crimes is that it makes you
clever. It teaches you to spot opportunities, by seeing the connections between
seemingly unrelated things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
* * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I dropped my fork.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We need to sell them hair,” I said.<br />
“What?” said Oya.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We go bribe a barber or salon owner into giving us
all of the leftover hair at the end of the day, and then we grind it into dust.
We put the dust into pills and sell it over the internet. We can grind hair
faster than they can find rhinos, so we can flood the market with our fake shit,
and drive the price for rhino horns so low that it quits making sense to steal them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was simple, elegant and brilliant (it was also Mr. Big's scheme in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7wSQ0rvdig&feature=youtu.be&t=20s" target="_blank">Live and Let Die</a>, more-or-less, but that's not important.)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Can’t they tell?” asked Cathé.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You just said it was just keratin. Horns and hair should
give of the same <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emission_spectrum" target="_blank">emission spectra</a>,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yeah, but like, what about the DNA?” said Cathé. “Someone
could tell that it’s not from a rhino.”<span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Symbol","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I then had a flashback to the Purdue years, sitting with
a group of friends in an Irish pub, when my now-a-veterinarian friend was
talking about how low-end pet foods are just made from ground-up unwanted shelter
pets, like in <a href="http://www.soylent.me/" target="_blank">Soylent </a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVpN312hYgU" target="_blank">Green</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“DNA starts to break down at 95<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">°</span>C.
We just need to bake the powdered hair in the oven for a bit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But how can you grind hair into powder?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In a flawless stream of consciousness, I designed a
conceptual hair grinding rig, as shown in Figure 1.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8JMGgf5pLt5PcE23_4I-rEZQ9GkfibFLNg8hLrtPT4pT0xc1L4XIWqDVfrYJIogLaQ84JNsae_UMHjdzTCAsLU7Cre2jpB4T96Z8k6nRjF-9NIVAnhQ3QWayPz9glFMa7gxLyIQjUbHP/s1600/hairgrinder.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8JMGgf5pLt5PcE23_4I-rEZQ9GkfibFLNg8hLrtPT4pT0xc1L4XIWqDVfrYJIogLaQ84JNsae_UMHjdzTCAsLU7Cre2jpB4T96Z8k6nRjF-9NIVAnhQ3QWayPz9glFMa7gxLyIQjUbHP/s1600/hairgrinder.png" height="320" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIG 1. Conceptual sketch for a economical hair-grinding apparatus.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We could build this -- today -- from off-the-shelf
components, for like, $200. $100 if we went to Harbor Freight, but then it’ll
probably kill us, because that place is sketch.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How will you collect the dust?” said Oya.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Get a disc sander with a built-in dust collector,” is
said. “They’re a pretty standard thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But the dust collector won’t just pick up dust,” said
Cathé. “It’ll also suck up little pieces of hair.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This is a real problem, and comments like those are why I
cherish these sorts of dialogues -- kinda like the Great Edgeless Brownie
Conversation -- but that’s a story for another time…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Multiple iterations,” I said. “We just run the hair
through over and over until its dust.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
"I don't know..." said Cathé.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
"This is Traditional Chinese Medicine we're talking about; quality assurance isn't a factor," I said, <a href="http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/acupuncture-doesnt-work/" target="_blank">because it's true</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
Then we all sat there and looked at each other, stunned in
amazement. This plan should be able to work -- and that is why I am release it
to the world, for all to use, leverage and exploit. See, this is the real
reason why I don’t have tons of money -- I simply have no desire to own a
business.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-55314239600097872982015-02-25T13:49:00.000-08:002015-02-25T16:35:41.040-08:00Male Rights Activists are a Bunch of Pussies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Man, having rights is the tits. Everything about it is good, and there are no disadvantages, flipsides, or anything Outer Limits-y about it. I think it'd be great if everyone had rights, and I'd support anyone or anything that furthers that goal. I guess you could call me a rights activist.<br />
<br />
I am also a male, because I have a decently-sized penis and huge balls that produce testosterone <i style="text-decoration: underline;">and</i> jizz, in alarming quantities. In addition, I comply with cis-hetero-male socio-cultural norms and stereotypes. Is it the "right" way to life? It's right for me, I know that much. I'm glad that I'm not a girl, because I would be <u><i>ugly</i></u>. I guess you could say that I'm a male; rights activist.<br />
<br />
However, I cannot refer to myself as a male; rights activist, because to cabal of raging douchecanoes who call themselves the Male Rights Activists (MRAs). In this post, <a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/p/who-is-yellow-hatman.html" target="_blank">Ryan Coons</a> will <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mansplaining" target="_blank">mansplain</a> the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tao" target="_blank">Way</a> of the MRA.<br />
<br />
Male Rights Activism came to light in the 70's, as a knee-jerk reaction to the feminist movement, which sought to disrupt the status-quo. Along the way, they sought to tackle some social issues that were discriminatory against men, like the draft, or the preference for mothers to be awarded custody. This movement never got very far, causing massive butthurt for all those involved. In recent years, the MRA movement has seen a tremendous upswing in popularity. The problem though, is that all of the new MRAs all tend to be varying shades of this grundlebrush:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9io9Gzmr7P4" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosU1Rr-j_Pt1boPfsJyU37N90N02JwpQS6CKITtr0uUMUB20jNxQ6FDHVqLAzPKi75iCgBCcKnm3XeDkZUvLljwNO2xvvtygPj-rRLcpJT6c_GurKh8jTjaukUHLUU1lgrKqHUFiiqYf0/s1600/Ariel-Rebel-is-Superior.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosU1Rr-j_Pt1boPfsJyU37N90N02JwpQS6CKITtr0uUMUB20jNxQ6FDHVqLAzPKi75iCgBCcKnm3XeDkZUvLljwNO2xvvtygPj-rRLcpJT6c_GurKh8jTjaukUHLUU1lgrKqHUFiiqYf0/s1600/Ariel-Rebel-is-Superior.png" height="206" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">FIG 1. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ariel_Rebel" target="_blank">Ariel Rebel</a>.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Before we can understand how MRAs think, we must first ask ourselves: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMTizJemHO8&feature=youtu.be&t=34s" target="_blank">what is a man</a>? The American philosopher <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trey_Parker" target="_blank">Trey Parker </a>argued that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oiXaT_1I-vw" target="_blank">a man is defined neither by power, nor by the acquisition of power -- but by his notoriety. This is notoriety, is in turn, defined either by the ability to court large-breasted women, or by embracing a life of constant struggle. Parker then posited that acquiring large-breasted women</a> was likely the true <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYLbASoecyc" target="_blank">measure of a man</a>. However, placing a premium on large-breasted women is intrinsically racist (since it excludes Asians). Furthermore, there exist many smokin'-hot A-cup girls, as demonstrated in Figure 1, with whom successful mating would cause a net increase of notoriety equal to that of their tig-bittied colleagues.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This leaves constant struggle as what defines a man. To have me be the one to explain what it means to be a man is tragicomic. It would seem forced; inauthentic. I'm in no real position to give anyone fatherly advice, because I wear rubbers -- even if she's on the pill -- <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Defence_in_depth#Nuclear_engineering" target="_blank">defense-in-depth</a>, man. No, all jokes aside, it's because I realize I have much room to grow as a person. I don't feel like I have the right to lecture on this, but I do feel that I can chime in with some commentary:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uyTAfX7cniI" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<div>
<br />
I've been though some tough spots -- not as many, or as bad, as some other people -- but some. Some people have called me tough in the past, but I don't know if I stack up to some of the people I've met. I don't have all the answers, either -- but I have some of them -- and I know this much: <b>being tough isn't something you can do voluntarily</b>. Being tough is only a reaction to the unfavorable, to be able to embrace the suck for the lack of an alternative, as demonstrated in Figure 2.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: black; float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bkqWnHgdmhYWyAv2x84oNAK8vpKNcXHeX8ekOADdf5Dk1aahNlh2h12vuAcH0TBpHSe6aiNLICvnjOAD4PTebDVaa8eEwKgIG3Nqb25GNX9it5lhE1e3MOppRbrnt0F9D-OzndhJHdBF/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="black: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: black; color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bkqWnHgdmhYWyAv2x84oNAK8vpKNcXHeX8ekOADdf5Dk1aahNlh2h12vuAcH0TBpHSe6aiNLICvnjOAD4PTebDVaa8eEwKgIG3Nqb25GNX9it5lhE1e3MOppRbrnt0F9D-OzndhJHdBF/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" height="233" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: x-small;">FIG 2. Manly men who do manly things. Note the lack of options.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Tod's a pretty good example of this. He's our top karate students; having trained with us for over ten years. This made him skilled, <i>but not tough</i>. His training was by choice; and in the end, he was just exercising in his leisure time with old friends from school. Unlike the time when Tod had to stay up to 1 AM to fix his car so he could drive to work at 5 AM to hopefully earn the money he needed to feed his kids -- only to have his wife's cat knock over the jug he was using to temporarily hold all of the motor oil. When the oil ran into the floor drain, he had to walk five miles to the gas station to buy oil and walk back to finish the job just to be at the plant in time for his shift -- that kinda <i>shit makes you tough</i>. Enduring a misery will help trivialize other miseries, if not by making progress, then at least by comparison. The Chinese idiom for enduring hardship translates as "eat-bitterness;" if one can make the negative into the nourishing, then there's really nothing that can be done to stop them.<br />
<br />
I don't know what it means to be a woman. I never took a women's studies class, but I had a pet women's studies major when I was at Purdue, so that has to count for something. No seriously, she was a pet; in that she slept of my floor and ate strange meats from little tins. That probably sounds like some kinda weirdo BDSM thing, it wasn't -- she was double-majoring in fine arts, and that's par for the course for them. From what I've picked up, feminism aims to weaken and purge the various taboos, biases and mores that keep women from gaining the same socio-political and economic benefits of men -- in other words, to make options available. Combining this with the discussion above, we see that <b>feminism is about <i>having choices</i>; masculinity is about <i>not having choices</i>. </b>MRAs, who are apparently not sturdy enough to fact the world as it is, cry like a buncha crybabies, and go on with their diarrhea of the mouth about life ain't fair. Sitting around and talking about your problems can never fix anything -- my therapist taught me that, inadvertently. Only self-cultivation can make things better, because it grants <a href="http://youtu.be/btPJPFnesV4?t=1m45s" target="_blank">the skills to survive</a>.<br />
<br />
I'm sure some of my readers are outraged by that last paragraph, especially from the women who enjoy the challenging or hard-pressed situations where toughness, or the cultivation thereof, is requisite. That's not really an issue though; under this model ladies are free to do all of those things. Not having options is itself, an option -- and you have options ladies -- but not for you sir: get tough or get dead -- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDgcc5Sif3k&feature=related" target="_blank">I don't particularly care which</a>.</div>
<div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, a class feature of the MRA is a staunch resistance to being binned into a "friend-zone." The friend-zone is the central bullet-point of the <a href="http://www.laddertheory.com/" target="_blank">Ladder Theory of Human Social Dynamics</a>. Basically, in regards to the gender of their sexual preference, males show no differentiation between <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eros_%28concept%29" target="_blank">eros</a></i> and <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philia" target="_blank">philia</a></i>; <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1W6-ErrHls" target="_blank">love and affection</a> are one and the same. However, women <i>do</i> differentiate between eros and philia, leading them to exclude Platonic friends from the pool of potential mates. This section will mansplain how MRA complaints about being friend-zoned, no matter how justified, are intrinsically unmanly, because complaining is an unmanly action. In fact, the only way a man can ever complain without an irrevocable loss of credibility is to immediately dismiss their own complaint after making it. </div>
<br />
I for one, have experienced chronic shoulder pain for ten years. Sometimes, when I've been slacking off with my pushups and <a href="http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=5b1_1181094063" target="_blank">kettlebells</a>, I can feel it start to slip out of its socket again, and I have to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Igrdi_lhhW4" target="_blank">jam it against the edge of a table or something to put it back</a> -- but hey, whatever.<br />
<br />
The sad part is that complaining about being friend-zoned is itself, grounds for friend-zoning. To talk about the friend-zone is to have a long discussions about emotions and relationships; this is something that women do <i>with their friends</i>, while <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCcIVnFhKJg" target="_blank">drinking international coffee</a> and wearing sweaters. The MRAs are only setting themselves up for the fall; a viscous circle of self-degradation.<br />
<br />
<b>The friend-zone exists, but that's not a problem because no one ever gets sent there by accident. </b>The problem is that MRAs demonstrate a staggering lack of self-awareness, and this is largely responsible for their situation. Having spent my entire adolescence reading Marvel Comics, I know that keeping <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Character_flaw" target="_blank">character flaws</a> in check is all that separates heroes from villains. Taking on full responsibility for everything that happens to oneself is the only error detecting and correcting method I know of. I am aware of what I am -- and out of the (as of 2015) sixteen meaningful relationships in my life, I have been more-or-less friend-zoned in fifteen of them. Am I bitter about this? No, the ladies in question were not crazy or flaky, nor where they manipulative or mean. I can't be bitter at the people in my life because they're not the ones with the problem; I am, for a variety of reasons -- but mostly because I am like, way-fuckin' creepy.<br />
<br />
Hell, I'd go as far as to say that I am the creepiest person who is <i>not</i> at the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUIayHPruP4" target="_blank">nudie bar</a> right now. Of course, being inside the nudie bar is a whole different story; that's the nudie bar's killer app: it's the only place where I am one of the top-5 least creepy people. Together, those factors place me as at least a 4 on the Pennywise-Gosling Scale, which is clearly inside the <a href="http://youtu.be/hKWmFWRVLlU?t=43s" target="_blank">no-go zone</a>; see Figure 3.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgPmdPs8LP5yjo4zo5WuE4hTyRFiANciXkBA6duK_YOhO6ly0gOp5nYGoXMYpJjQ3DVtDcQlhiN25IkUYUwzidUOaOrynceNbnWHSdsOIiax8LgBuY32TXgeVElnj1mBKMIJqo1FwkyrG/s1600/Creepiness+scale.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgPmdPs8LP5yjo4zo5WuE4hTyRFiANciXkBA6duK_YOhO6ly0gOp5nYGoXMYpJjQ3DVtDcQlhiN25IkUYUwzidUOaOrynceNbnWHSdsOIiax8LgBuY32TXgeVElnj1mBKMIJqo1FwkyrG/s1600/Creepiness+scale.png" height="224" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">FIG 3. The Pennywise-Gosling Scale is an empirical figure of merit used to ascertain the relative creepiness of individuals. Ranging from 0 < x < 10, the bounds are arbitrarily set to Pennywise the Dancing Clown (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUQ-oZbNQNo" target="_blank">who will drive you crazy</a>) and Ryan Gosling (who is apparently both <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqBilfBd-sI" target="_blank">a real human being, <i>and</i> a real hero</a>.) All Pennywise-Gosling values are approximations, because there currently exists no rigorous mathematical model to describe creepiness (though it is believed to take on the form of a multivariate linear function).</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Don't try to coddle, or console me -- I don't want it, because I don't need it. I'm mature enough to understand my shortcomings; <b>though we can hide the truth, we cannot hide from the truth. </b>By accepting my faults, and not projecting them onto others, I am still able to maintain warm relationships with each of those sixteen who either loves or had loved me, each in their own way -- regardless of how they chose to love me, I am loved -- and that's more than <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-sALU_hveA" target="_blank">Mr. Stay-Puft</a> at the top of this post can say.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
</tbody></table>
Honestly though, the friend-zone is actually a nice place, 'cause all of my friends are there. To hate the friend-zone is to hate friendship itself -- and those forays to the tititorium have taught me where that will lead... and it is a <i>dark</i> place. A life without friends ends with being the super creepy elderly guy who goes to the nudie bar alone, inching up to the edge of the stage with his walker, and then falls asleep before any of the dancers can make his way over to him. Then, everyone in the place stands and points, shouting "Wake him up! Wake him up!" in the typical three-word chant style common at sporting events. That is where the Way of the MRA leads -- to spending your final days in wretchedness, being mocked and scorned by the dregs of society. I'm not being cute; I was one of the people pointing and chanting, because I never said that I was a good person.<br />
<br />
TL;DR: MRAs need to actually embrace the ethos of manliness which they claim to be defending, and then utilize it to realize their own shortcomings and unfuck their lives.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-84201296583693014462014-10-05T17:53:00.002-07:002014-10-05T18:25:14.960-07:00Classical Strategies for a Modern World: the Essence of the Art of War and the Thirty-Six Stratagems<Billy_Mays><br />
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</Billy_Mays>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-53989235244194363382014-09-21T18:15:00.000-07:002014-10-09T00:26:23.406-07:00The Smoothest Pickup Line in the History of Recorded History<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was in a Buffalo Wild Wings in Columbus, OH, with <a href="http://thejenome.com/" target="_blank">Jen</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Figdor" target="_blank">John</a>. Jen and I both had a couple of drinks in us, and this was good; the pain-numbing and muscle relaxing properties of alcohol would prove fortuitous that
self-same night -- but that’s another story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGIKdO2CjUXJRG7oOwFMcLsC6GzPj0SluHGW5Y8KUtw4n9ZYr30tmEHDZ3oO6C0mMeeMh0JV2FTCgwGk19kLw76bQk1o1mq35svQydbU53Y1rbiDq1sG2IFSGDlejpHachWoJ4tkVvZ-X/s1600/broseidon+source+imgur_01bd72_4861386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Broseidon, God of the Brocean" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGIKdO2CjUXJRG7oOwFMcLsC6GzPj0SluHGW5Y8KUtw4n9ZYr30tmEHDZ3oO6C0mMeeMh0JV2FTCgwGk19kLw76bQk1o1mq35svQydbU53Y1rbiDq1sG2IFSGDlejpHachWoJ4tkVvZ-X/s1600/broseidon+source+imgur_01bd72_4861386.jpg" height="200" title="Broseidon, God of the Brocean" width="112" /></a>The conversation at the moment revolved around the nature
of <a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/justneckbeardthings/" target="_blank">creepers and neckbeards</a>, who constantly vexed Jen. Clearly, she needed the
services of a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47y5bo8wtqM" target="_blank">Neckbeard Slayer</a>, but such requests fell on deaf ears. See, in order to
maintain the favor of Broseidon, God of the Brocean, James the Neckbeard Slayer
was in a contest to see who could get the most phone numbers, so he could not
answer Jen’s questions. However, since I self-identify as a creepy guy, my special
insight allowed me to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mansplaining" target="_blank">mansplain</a> their behaviors.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’re overthinking things,” I told her. “<a href="http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/375221/monkeys-do-it.jhtml" target="_blank">Just go watch the monkeys at the zoo. They’ll teach you everything you’ll ever need to know about male behavior.</a>”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No, monkeys are way smarter because they don’t go around
thinking that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6D1YI-41ao" target="_blank">pickup lines</a> can work,” said Jen.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I once convinced a girl drive 40 miles [64.4 km] to my apartment
-- alone -- after chatting online with her, one time, for 20 minutes -- because
I know the smoothest pickup line of all time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What?” said Jen and John.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
* * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
“You have to meet this girl, she’s perfect for you,” said Ruchela, first thing.
She didn’t even stop to say “Hi.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, what’s she like?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ruchela then recited a list of favorable properties, except
for <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DoM4OXQVCcE" target="_blank">goth</a>, because goths are the Shiny Pokémon of women.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“She works at the game shop. You should ask her out,”
said Ruchela.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“...you drive to the game shop, start talking to her, and
then ask her out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I can’t do that,” I said. “That makes me the creepy, bald,
over-thirty guy who goes to the game shop just to hit on the one girl at the
game shop. That’s everything I not want to be.” I told her, because while I
have no control over the first three, I do have control over the fourth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So how will you meet?” said Ruchela, with concern.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We need to find another way.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A few days later, when I was writing my thesis, I got a
message out of the blue, because this was in the final, dying days of AOL
Instant Messenger. It was words to the effect of:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This Rachel girl that I only kind of know keeps
bothering me at work about how I should send you a message, so I am.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Since I’m way super-creepy, I’m quite used to standoffs. I
eventually learned that her name was Tiffany, and I gradually steered the
conversation into being about movies, because that’s one subject where I shine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
* * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“…so, after talking about movies with her online -- for
twenty minutes -- she drove forty minutes -- from Delphi to my apartment in West
Lafayette -- because ‘she had to meet me.’ Because, while we were talking about
movies, I stumbled upon the smoothest pick up line of all time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Which is?” asked John.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Now, you just need one more little piece of background
information -- see, <b><i>I never saw <u>The Lion King</u></i></b>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“<i>WHAT--?!”</i>
shouted Jen, as she grabbed my shoulders, staring at me as though I had just
drove a steamroller over 34,000 puppies and kittens. <i>“--
HOW?!”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“<b><i>Well, I never had anyone to watch it with</i></b>,”
I told her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jen’s horrified expression was akin to the broken-hearted
lament of viewing the carnage left in the steamroller’s wake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But at least you got to watch it, so that line was like
a one-time thing,” said Jen “Like, if you tried that again, then she’d know
because you wouldn't be surprised when…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I interrupted Jen to point out that Tiffany brought her
well-worn VHS copy, and by the time she realized that I would need to have a
VCR, but she was already in Lafayette by the time she realized this. Fortuitously,
I made sure I brought my old VCR with me to Purdue, simply because I didn’t have
a DVD copy of <u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8F92p1ept0" target="_blank">I Come in Peace</a></u>. However, she didn’t check the inside of
the big white case that the Disney movies of that era came in, and she really
brought <u>101 Dalmatians</u>. I’ve only seen bits and pieces of that, and it is
some weak tea, right there. So I never got to see <u>The Lion King</u>. The
rest of our relationship went predictably, but that’s another story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jen was full-on delusional; tipsy at this point, trying to
impose meaning onto the tragedy that she perceived my life to be, much like
pretending that the crushed puppies were in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUQ-jmJcWN8" target="_blank">doggie heaven</a> would somehow make things okay. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“O! If you are ever in Seattle, you need to come over and
then we can watch it together!” said Jen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’d like that,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I snapped my fingers and pointed at Jen, to act as a break
command in her thought process, to point out how she had fallen into an insidious
trap. Instead, she just held my hands, and continued to talk.<br />
<br />
“No, we can make a whole night of it! I’ll work it all out with my boyfriend,
and we can bake cookies and --”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“HE JUST TOLD YOU
THAT IT WAS A LINE!”</i> shouted John, incredulous at how Disney implanted a
security exploit in to women’s minds that can instantaneously shut down reason,
feminism, and short-term memory.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s not important!” shouted Jen, before returning to describing
her overly-detailed and seemingly premeditated plan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
* * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I admit to having tried out this line a few other times
since this, just to confirm that it always works. However, I refuse to use it
anymore, for fear that <a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2014/01/pandoras-bra.html" target="_blank">it will work again</a>. I don’t want to see <u>The Lion King</u> with anyone else. I liked
the people we were at that moment, and although I’m the only one who remembers
that moment, I don’t want to betray the moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The sad fact is that most of my life isn’t worth
remembering. Take today for example. Once I’m done writing this, I’m going to
go grocery shopping, I’ll work out, and read for a bit. That’s it. It’s only
the strange moments that are worth remembering, because such moments are
profound and fleeting. It was over the course of a single moment that I went
from being <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImRsNaVq2NU" target="_blank">marked for death</a> into becoming one of Becky’s favorite people -- and I can’t
recall why that was, and that is also sad. I think it might have been when we tried to
explain the Goatapult to her, but that’s another story, one that I’ll have to
ask her about. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The moral of the story is that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wR8FL_2gwI" target="_blank">Disney makes you crazy</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’d also like to point out that I’ve also never seen <u>All
Dogs Go to Heaven</u>, and I remain skeptical about it -- because, what about
<a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-problem-of-evil.html" target="_blank">Cujo</a>?<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-86257231097688078172014-09-10T00:27:00.003-07:002014-10-12T13:20:30.055-07:00Former Journey Frontman Steve Perry is, in Every Way, Superior to Jesus Christ<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6LQ2-YTgiG61g2Xv5Q_L3xww9VP7wp_CZwIVLKWe5h7KpUxoyRZaM5JrEfnx04pZTqRSSwDZao3a8MYmYQXEeEeo89lzGuXge7Ar2A9rQ-z2_sGK4LtGV-YnJmwDbAcsnPLIozhBwmS6/s1600/KingofKingofKings.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="The Vox" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6LQ2-YTgiG61g2Xv5Q_L3xww9VP7wp_CZwIVLKWe5h7KpUxoyRZaM5JrEfnx04pZTqRSSwDZao3a8MYmYQXEeEeo89lzGuXge7Ar2A9rQ-z2_sGK4LtGV-YnJmwDbAcsnPLIozhBwmS6/s1600/KingofKingofKings.png" title="The Vox" /></a></div>
I realize that the title to this article may hurt and
offend some people, but as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_(novel)" target="_blank">Eugene Zamatin</a> teaches us<span style="font-family: inherit;">: <i>"</i></span><i>The inevitable mark of truth is cruelty – just as the
inevitable mark of fire is its property of causing the sensation of burning."</i> My
detractors may argue that I should respect Jesus because he died for my sins,
but that only goes to prove my point. Steve Perry<i> didn't have to die </i>for my
sins. He saw that original sin was holding me back, so he just absolved it, on
a whim, right there and then, with no strings attached. It’s not that he is
above holding grudges, it is just that the idea of doing so never crosses his
mind. If Jesus Christ is the King of Kings, then <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-WpsdC2-Cc" target="_blank">Steve Perry is the King of King of Kings</a> -- and here’s an example of why that is.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It
has been frequently reported in <a href="http://www.chucknorrisfacts.com/chuck-norris-top-50-facts" target="_blank">popular media</a> that the action film star/ folk hero <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IMesJgw3oU" target="_blank">Chuck Norris</a> allegedly doesn't use any
pickup lines at the bar -- he just points to ladies and says “Now.” Honestly,
that’s some weak tea, right there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Steve
Perry doesn't have to say anything. He wakes up every morning to the sound of
breaking glass, as nubile females between the ages of 18 and 34 throw his lawn furniture
through his bedroom windows, frantically stumbling through the wreckage into
his home, while shouting <i><b>“Take me! Take me now!”</b></i> Then, they rip their blouses
open before him, and scream <b><i>“Ravish me!”</i></b> Then Steve Perry turns the side, to briefly
look at the eighty-six other women whom he pollinated the night before,
sleeping in a pile beside him, and he sighs and shakes his head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Steve
Perry invites these wayward young women to sit on the edge of the bed next him,
just to talk, However, Steve
Perry really <i>doesn't</i> want to talk -- he wants to <i>listen</i>. He worries about these ladies, and the obviously abnormal
behaviors they exhibit, and he tries to find the root cause of their unresolved
personal issues that had caused them to meet. More often than not though, he is
the cause for their <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6Mfo7WRwis" target="_blank">anxious misery</a>. Upon realizing the depth of the
wretchedness and agony that he has inadvertently caused these women via their
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9TgWj2Kln4" target="_blank">unfulfilled, existential need</a> for his all-natural organic man yogurt, he is
left with no choice but to mate with them. Anything less than that would just
be a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0l3QWUXVho" target="_blank">wanton act of cruelty</a> inflicted upon an otherwise innocent person. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From
what I've been told, he’s pretty intense, and he maintains direct eye contact
the entire time, even when spooning afterwards.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBFPoEedgjyuLIrQBB6QvSHz4p0G1WpLn6NMO1z-IQLtivwcpm6rBIuyvhkW0Z3npEzjUfPHl8HMNMoZFxCv0X2ThMBqznwu9COCHfVLHfgs5o8tQJbZLwP2E32rfzU7ZYJNrkpTNvYe6/s1600/10390216_10152499775734740_677454461061499210_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="Special thanks to memeweaver Luc Gaydos for this image gag." border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBFPoEedgjyuLIrQBB6QvSHz4p0G1WpLn6NMO1z-IQLtivwcpm6rBIuyvhkW0Z3npEzjUfPHl8HMNMoZFxCv0X2ThMBqznwu9COCHfVLHfgs5o8tQJbZLwP2E32rfzU7ZYJNrkpTNvYe6/s1600/10390216_10152499775734740_677454461061499210_n.jpg" height="320" title="Special thanks to memeweaver Luc Gaydos for this image gag." width="175" /></a>No
one ever does the Walk of Shame coming from Steve Perry’s house, because tender
moments are nothing to be ashamed about. Everyone stays for breakfast -- a
proper breakfast, eggs, bacon, hash browns, and strong coffee -- which he has
catered every morning. It’s just too much work cooking a proper breakfast for eighty-seven
women every morning, especially when someone has a job as important as his --
roaming the earth to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InyWhQLfO7A" target="_blank">heal broken hearts with the power of music</a>. Daily catered
events sound expensive, but if you consider them to be a utility you can easily
budget this. After all the dollars they've placed in jukeboxes over the years
to hear his songs play in bars, it’s the least that Steve Perry could do to give
something back to his impromptu harem before they all go <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LatorN4P9aA" target="_blank">their separate ways</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It
should go without saying that he remembers each and every one of their names,
because he sends them all cards on their birthdays. Not a quick post on their Facebook
walls, but actual paper cards. For this reason, the latest population models
indicate that by 2100, there will be some 22 million people who are a direct descendant
of Steve Perry, making him more prolifically virile that Genghis Khan. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-62335413818198572762014-06-06T23:28:00.002-07:002014-10-09T00:33:29.913-07:00The Ultimate Trip<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Now that I’m older, I find that I don’t go to amusement
parks anymore -- nor do I really want too -- and it’s not for the reasons that
a well-adjusted person might give. Long queues, high ticket prices -- I wish
that’s what was turning me away, but it’s not. I don’t go to amusement parks
anymore simply because they have ceased to be amusing. This started in the
mid-to-late 1990’s, when I came of age. But it wasn't that I saw things with
new eyes -- no, this is when the lawyers came out in droves, and insisted the
facades of safety be replaced with actual safety. I don’t go to amusement parks
because now I know that I’ll make it out alive, and that robs it of its charm. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I grew up in Northwestern PA, right on the line separating
suburbia from rural spaces. My parents worked in the restaurant industry, and
much like the rest of Northwestern PA, we were on the low side of the middle
class, back when that was still a thing. So, when my parents had days off and
wanted to play, we went to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conneaut_Lake_Park" target="_blank">Conneaut Lake Park</a>, which was a rustic and peaceful
little amusement park not far from our home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TS_8damdQAu0iR5B8xP2SoCPxVJNEywX0lQhy17FKgehlHaLNnHkbY50EMgnXer8EKV5XDU9hVyXINoWo1F5KboDtoI6tKmwfqNVzUzsQco65Gd0I2dGuUe0q18pYLyE00-iVTkjnY2-/s1600/The_Road_bleak_scenery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt=""Ooo! Can we go on the Tilt-A-Whirl next? Can we? Huh?"" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TS_8damdQAu0iR5B8xP2SoCPxVJNEywX0lQhy17FKgehlHaLNnHkbY50EMgnXer8EKV5XDU9hVyXINoWo1F5KboDtoI6tKmwfqNVzUzsQco65Gd0I2dGuUe0q18pYLyE00-iVTkjnY2-/s1600/The_Road_bleak_scenery.jpg" height="214" title=""Ooo! Can we go on the Tilt-A-Whirl next? Can we? Huh?"" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Rustic and
peaceful” was just how you said “they didn't give a shit about anything” when
in mixed company. The origin, story, and fate of Conneaut Lake Park can and
should be made into an original series for HBO or Showtime. It’s a long and
intriguing tale chronicling the death of the American Dream. Case and point, Conneaut
Lake Park’s biggest claim to fame came in 2009, when it was prominently
featured in <u><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_(2009_film)" target="_blank">The Road</a></u>. No, seriously -- the amusement park I went to as a kid didn’t look like that -- it <i>was</i> that. As in, I recognized the building that they guy was standing in front of when he was hit by the arrow. That was the Beach Club (formerly, The American Pie), the bar I worked at back in college. It was run by a good friend of mine -- who, for legal reasons, I can only call “Bugsy.” Long story short, it was a sitcom, and it ended predictably.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Of course, by “ended predictably,” I mean that we were
both fired. Ironically, it was because of nepotism, and not any of the many,
horrible things that should’ve gotten us fired, but went entirely unnoticed. Like
all things Conneaut Lake Park, the Beach Club was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1avG2ldq9M" target="_blank">completely destroyed in a suspicious fire</a>. Only memories remained. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Those are stories for another time, because you don’t
want to hear those stories. No, you want to hear the good stories -- and that’s
so weird to me, because the stories that people love the most are the ones
which seem the most mundane to me. Sometimes I spend days writing well-researched,
well-planned treatises on philosophy, which no one will ever read -- people just
want to hear about the time I got into a fistfight with a hummingbird when I
was fifteen. Whatever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
By the time I was a kid, the park was already a fixture
of my life. See, up until the mid-90’s there was no admission. None. It was
free. The rides weren’t free; for that you had to get individual tickets, or a
day pass (the “All Day Ride-a-Rama”), but admission was free. So if you wanted
to walk around, eat some French fries, play skee-ball, loiter with juvenile
delinquents, or take your wee-tiny toddler on a single carousel ride -- you
could -- and it was nice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnN2jU4nIuVm1PJ8LAsEx3QkmiN36dtEzUNUeocQZxWSmsD1bbt50j1cdTv7FnqMfLtzUJ6IClC-Py-K9krzLG0QC2lrXsrqTXegb1q7BLdjDVgTZTAW2Xk_S6P25vaEum3bfc9fYx9MIa/s1600/clp9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Surprisingly, I've never had nightmares about this." border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnN2jU4nIuVm1PJ8LAsEx3QkmiN36dtEzUNUeocQZxWSmsD1bbt50j1cdTv7FnqMfLtzUJ6IClC-Py-K9krzLG0QC2lrXsrqTXegb1q7BLdjDVgTZTAW2Xk_S6P25vaEum3bfc9fYx9MIa/s1600/clp9.jpg" height="240" title="Surprisingly, I've never had nightmares about this." width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Most of my time was spent in Kiddieland. The gateway leading
into Kiddieland wasn’t that majestic, but when you are three feet tall and know
precisely dick about the world and life itself, it was perceived as this thirty
foot monstrosity. Although this would send Ruchela into panic attacks,
gazing into the hollow eye sockets of clowns was just what I did. Like most
Kiddielands, it was only fun because you didn’t know what awesome was. Every
other ride in the park was explicitly labeled as a “thrill ride,” except these.
As such, most of the rides were just things that spun in circles at ground
level. They had a rickety two-hill rollercoaster from the 1950’s though, and I
rode the hell out of that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Years later, when I was studying at Oxford<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxford,_Ohio" target="_blank">*</a>, I started dating one
on my colleagues. I found myself in a story-telling mood during the three-week
unicorns-and-rainbows period that kicks off every relationship, as I told my
stories about the Park. She countered with her own lurid stories. The more and
more we talked, the more detail we added, the more we came to realize we were
talking about the same place. Her grandma in Ohio would take her there when they
flew in to visit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What if were there together?” I asked. “Like, what if we
rode the coaster together, as kids? Then the strangers from those happy days
were brought together again by fate or chance to become lovers? Yeah, it’s a
longshot, but there still is a chance that we’ve met before.” The aftermath of that last bit of dialogue,
was sickeningly cute -- like a magical volcano which endlessly spews kittens. This however, was the first, last, and only
one of these stories. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember the day well -- well, at least moments --
flashes of it. It was July 12, 1988 -- my seventh birthday. My parents decided
to treat me with a trip to Conneaut Lake Park.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Once we got our ride tickets, I remember strolling down
the midway, and my parents asked if I was amped up about heading to Kiddieland;
if I would ride the rickety coaster first, or the carousel, or the cars that go
in a fixed circle, or the tiny boats that went in a fixed circle, ad nauseum.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I told them that I would do nothing of the sort. I was seven, and such things were beneath me
now, for I was a brash man-of-action who wanted to experience all that life had
to offer -- which meant riding every thrill ride in the park. I’d been toying
with the idea for some time; everything else seemed so strange, so new. Now,
finally, I had the 42 inches I needed to bring these plans to fruition. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Their most prominent ride was the Blue Streak, but that’s
not the one people fondly recall with <a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ThousandYardStare" target="_blank">thousand-yard stares</a> -- that was… The
Ultimate Trip.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8l8EoeqSf19jniY1jMkEsP5Sbu_sP1jru7JyFfGmGtYkckZ-tAaqyiGIpIOaxPEWperH3_W_WlFSP8mL5oFFLWb49fRr_PVM378WLXFtky1i31Ca85HhTQ4yyrwKyYWBmR2gs-0rcZFnY/s1600/0565a040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="IT EXISTED." border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8l8EoeqSf19jniY1jMkEsP5Sbu_sP1jru7JyFfGmGtYkckZ-tAaqyiGIpIOaxPEWperH3_W_WlFSP8mL5oFFLWb49fRr_PVM378WLXFtky1i31Ca85HhTQ4yyrwKyYWBmR2gs-0rcZFnY/s1600/0565a040.jpg" height="240" title="IT EXISTED." width="320" /></a>The Ultimate Trip was stored inside a grey building at the end of the midway; in the abandoned fun house from the 1920’s. While that sounds exactly like the beginning to a slasher movie, that didn't phase me at all -- mostly because I'd never seen a slasher movie before. I just turned seven. The line was out the door, but what was it? You had to go inside to see. When
you finally got inside, there was just another line, standing in a long
corridor. Every surface of the wall was covered in a rainbow mosaic of chewed
gum. Even the ceiling, somehow, was covered in gum, placed there by the legions
of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jsArcMMqbhw" target="_blank">beer-buzzed, jean-jacketed, heavy metal enthusiasts</a>, and their Dallas-haired girlfriends. Rather than clean the gum off the walls, they encouraged the behavior, making it part of the attraction, until it formed stalactites. I know it was real, for my gum adorned those walls as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yeah,” said a guy desperately trying to be <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jpf-eC-Xlk&feature=kp" target="_blank">Sebastian Bach</a>, as he looked down at me and nodded in approval, as he chewed more gum to
stick to the walls. His heart was warmed by watching seven year-old me disrespect other people’s
property, simply because it wasn't ours -- as I stood next to my mom -- who
gave the me gum --for that sole reason. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDCr9Cs7ebTQyDWivs7SJ6Ut25u1MzltIaXaB9DRxWnldk_XGqBSX5Umg-wKiEN42dk6VnZhFVX9VB4-PmkJ9wh1_GKAfhx6-aG7153rhWg8kHXUrJAMwf3wTz8rTa2Z4CRX_FJlK5PCc/s1600/0573ced0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt=""Where we're going, you won't need eyes to see."" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDCr9Cs7ebTQyDWivs7SJ6Ut25u1MzltIaXaB9DRxWnldk_XGqBSX5Umg-wKiEN42dk6VnZhFVX9VB4-PmkJ9wh1_GKAfhx6-aG7153rhWg8kHXUrJAMwf3wTz8rTa2Z4CRX_FJlK5PCc/s1600/0573ced0.jpg" title=""Where we're going, you won't need eyes to see."" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When I finally entered the inner sanctum, I was disappointed
by the Ultimate Trip. It was just an indoors version of the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6KQcYycDqE" target="_blank">Scrambler</a>,
something I had learned all about some four hours earlier. I took my seat, next
to my mom, and then the Ultimate Trip began.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The room was built to exactly meet safe operating parameters
of a Scrambler. The cars at maximum extension from the center spindle, were
less than a foot away from the walls. As such, you were constantly careening into the walls, only to be snatched back a few <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hair's_breadth" target="_blank">RCH</a> away from impact. Like all thrill rides (read: everything not in
Kiddieland) the Ultimate Trip was clearly labeled at the gate as “ride at your own
risk.” They had no liability insurance, anywhere. They simply weren't liable
for what happened. Anytime you climbed on that thing, you had to acknowledge
that you might not make it out -- but that’s another story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As soon as the ride started, the ride operator/DJ shut
off the overhead fluorescent lights, replacing them with blacklights and intermittent
strobe lights. The walls were covered in blacklight posters and highlighter
art, and the corners of the room were laden with oddities, like a stuffed gorilla
breaking out of handcuffs. They left you in there for 10-15 minutes at a time,
while playing at least three songs, mostly <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qEsTCTuajE&feature=kp" target="_blank">Pink</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8fFVOoqepc" target="_blank">Floyd</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KByxC7B9WH0" target="_blank">David</a> <a href="http://youtu.be/XRKjDHVJOow?t=2m" target="_blank">Bowie</a>, or <a href="http://www.mojvideo.com/video-prince-when-doves-cry/63806cee6342494500af" target="_blank">Prince</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Prince? Why Prince?” said your internal monologue, just
a second ago. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Why indeed! The confusion only added another layer to
your disorientation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My buddy Kyle used to run thing once upon a time. Holy
shit, <i>that dude’s got stories</i>. Other
rides, not so much though. You can see the same rides at pretty much any park
-- after all, they’re just another consumer product. There’s nothing special
about them. There was only one Ultimate Trip. It was special, it was unique,
and that made it an adventure. If I can’t get an experience like that, why go
to a park at all?<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-10357380313879955742014-04-26T22:18:00.001-07:002014-05-26T21:21:29.089-07:00Death and Mayhem are Both Hilarious Under Certain Conditions.Recently, <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/italy/10786410/Man-crushed-to-death-by-giant-crucifix-dedicated-to-Pope.html" target="_blank">a young man was crushed, and horribly killed, by an 100-foot, oddly-shaped, and poorly cable-reinforced crucifix</a>. I, being Coons, cackled madly, and shared the story on my Facebook wall, with just the aforementioned mad cackle as a caption. I know I should have dreamt up a witty one-liner for the occasion, but I was taking a breif tea break while troubleshooting a system at work, and my thoughts were elsewhere. All I could come up with were unfunny derogatory statements about Notre Dame's Civil Engineering program, or the fact that the builders should have just asked Jesus if the structure was sound. After all, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VkD-kxZEQ6E" target="_blank">they had an experienced tradesman just hangin' around.</a><br />
<br />
All day, people kept coming up to me, tell me that it was "wrong" and "not funny" to post that. The thing is though,<i> is that I'm <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4awCbpYbfbI" target="_blank">pretty sure</a> that it is funny</i>. I've spent the last few years hanging around with a few comedians, as well as comediennes, because I still use gender-specific nouns, even when a gender-neutral one would suffice. These people have been pressuring me into comedy for a while, and while I've seriously looked into doing so, I'm still unsure how I would go about translating this blog into a stage show. Well, that that and I lack people skills to such an alarming degree, that it's apparently caused an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Integer_overflow" target="_blank">integer-overflow error</a>, and became charming.<br />
<br />
Granted, it's not <i>de facto</i> funny. There are a number of things in this world which are intrinsically funny in all situations and instances. I carry this list within the small book I carry with me whenever I leave the house, to dutifully log another of these items when they are spotted. The things which are intrinsically funny include, but are not limited to, the following:<br />
<ul>
<li>Garbagemen (because they smell like garbage, and they ride on the outside of trucks and not the inside).</li>
<li>Revolvers (hands down, the funniest type of gun; try it).</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCl4PbeaOQ4" target="_blank">Dwarfs, midgets, and/or little people</a>.</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KlgbKIswpzI" target="_blank">Beards</a>.</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXgokniKNE4" target="_blank">Skeletons</a>.</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4nknAzQPHE">Flamethrowers</a>.</li>
<li>Backing over things (because it's more deliberate).</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKUipxR3bDc" target="_blank">Walking into a strong headwind</a>.</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cr2wAyLBwlg" target="_blank">Groin injury</a>.</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wCCBMlHnRM" target="_blank">Foreign accents</a>.</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oytVy8CgUZI" target="_blank">Higher primates acting like people</a>.</li>
<li>The big foaming brush from the car wash (because it is obviously phallic, and it makes dirty things clean from far away.).</li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjxhuKsPLqE" target="_blank">Public bathrooms</a> (because you do a whole host of embarrassing things in public).</li>
<li>Pre-1940's sporting goods (in particular, the <a href="http://www.qtpi1969.net/wp-content/uploads/2008/01/pennyfarthingy.jpg" target="_blank">Penny-Farthing bicycle</a>, and the <a href="http://magazine.uc.edu/content/dam/magazine/images/0413/JimmyNippert/Nippert%20pic%20in%20helmet.jpg" target="_blank">leather football helmet</a>).</li>
<li>Environmental suits (including but not limited to, SCUBA gear, spacesuits, MOPP gear, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JIM_suit" target="_blank">JIM suits</a>.)</li>
<li>...and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYnlzpSSevM" target="_blank">bees</a>. </li>
</ul>
<div>
However, just because something is not <i>de facto</i> funny, doesn't mean that it isn't funny. In his treatise on Comedy, the Greek philosopher Aristotle listed a number of elements which are critical for something to be funny.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A joke is just a change of perspective, that takes you by surprise in a moment of clarity, much like like a Zen <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K%C5%8Dan" target="_blank">koan</a>. Like a koan, jokes are vehicles for enlightenment; they answer a question in such an obvious way that you wonder why you ever questioned it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Comedy is not transmitted through <i>logos --</i> it is more like music -- in that it reaches people on another level, from another direction. It addresses the essence of a matter by acting through the essence of our own vulnerabilities. We never laugh at the ones who cause pain; only the receivers. We do this to relieve the tension of the situation. That's all laughter is, and all that it need to be; a release of tension as a response to things coming together or coming apart. This is always achieved trough a disparity; making the mighty trivial (e.g., religion, death, etc.) or by making trivial things mighty (e.g., the annoyed feeling that fellow air travelers cause). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Based upon the above criterion, I find that the above-mentioned crucifix-smooshing was, indeed, funny.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After all, I laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-88400244354926129382014-04-10T07:43:00.001-07:002014-04-10T07:43:14.026-07:00To Seek the Spear<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
90% of all the dreams I have follow the same general
form. I have this reoccurring dream roughly once a week, and have done so for
over twenty-five years. This story is not about that post.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Another 9% of dreams are awesomesauce adventures where I
get to stomp asses and slay monsters and fly and generally be the person I
ought to have been in my waking life. As
I younger man, I meticulously logged many of these, and have over 180,000 words
of material, which I occasionally mine for my other writing projects. This post
is not about those dreams either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve had a few dreams -- maybe ten, ever -- that stick
with me, like they’re trying to tell me something. That happened again last
week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
* * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I dreamt that I came to own a yari, A Japanese
spear. It was not ornate, nor should it
have been. -- weapons are tools, and not art objects. Its straight blade was
about 10” (25 cm) long, mounted to a black-lacquered oak pole. The shaft was
one solid piece; it wasn’t one of those chintzy screw-together jobs. The
fittings and furniture were all Spartan, and made from weathered-looking brass.
The whole thing was about 8’ (244 cm) long, which is short for a yari, but as
large as the dual constraints of apartment-dwelling and hatchback-driving will
permit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It arrived at my door in a rectangular box, wrapped in
brown paper. I’m not quite sure who mailed it, or why, but I knew that it was
definitively mine now, and that I needed to learn how to use it properly.
Weapons are tools, not art objects, and the devotion it takes to acquire a
skill is what separates martial artists from the neckbearded collectors of
Asian-y things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, I dug up my classic black karate uniform, packed up my yari, and drove
from strip mall to strip mall, seeking lessons, being turned away at each
school. Despite being one of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cultural_universal" target="_blank">cultural universals</a>, no one seemed to know how
to use a spear. Though I was disappointed at every opportunity, I felt like
myself -- like the person I should be, as I swaggered around town, in all
black, carrying a giant spear o’er my shoulder. Having spent my entire day off looking, I
stood in the parking lot, wondering where to go next. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was at that point, when a certain young woman from my
past (who shall remain anonymous) dressed in white robes came up to me, from
nowhere, and muttered at me:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Another, different young woman from my past passed behind
me, and with a playful smile, told me the same.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
More and more, the ghosts of the past filtered in,
speaking with one voice, like the chorus of some lost <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wcqRm_loB0" target="_blank">Greek drama</a>:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then I woke up, peed, and went back to bed, as per usual.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then I woke up again, showered, dressed, ate oatmeal,
derped around on Facebook, and went back to the grind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I sat there in my cube, I found it hard to
concentrate. That line kept cycling through my thoughts; a venomous mantra. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>“You seek the
spear, none will teach you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Fortunately, my shift ended before I had the opportunity
to be driven mad. I drove home, and pulled out some old notes and books of mine
to review the smatterings of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lvbCfbrMbs" target="_blank">classical sōjutsu</a> that I picked up in undergrad --
but it’s not enough though; at least I don’t think. While it felt good, it
brings me no closer to closure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
No -- there has to be more to that chant. There’s another
level to that -- but what? I feel like I’m trying to tell myself something --
but what? <i>What am I hiding from me?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Even if there is a statement that reveals that meaning,
for it to truly resonate it must also take on that same 4-and-4 syllable rhyming
scheme, otherwise it’d just seem wonky and forced. Besides, constrained writing
is always easier (at least for me). I have no idea what the solution could be, though “You sought the spear” feels right for the first four syllables. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The whole thing is silly, yet it continues to capture my
thoughts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Input appreciated; serious inquiries only.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-63216903600835061052014-03-25T21:10:00.001-07:002014-03-25T21:10:31.089-07:00AORchaeological Discoveries: DeviceA quick Google search reveals that Device is a industrial metal band formed from the remnants of Disturbed and Filter, who released their first, self-titled album last year.<br />
<br />
This post is not about them.<br />
<br />
This post is about the <i>other</i> Device, which only existed for a brief period in 1986, and produced one album, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHu-dhUSF9Q" target="_blank">22B3</a>. Athough they were not around for long, they did not fuck around <i>at all</i>:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/XxkiYJ5udqc" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<br />
Keytars! Permed mullets! Electric drums! Spotlights! Blue-hued cityscapes at night!<br />
BY YOUR POWERS COMBINED...!<br />
<br />
"Yeah, this is pure alchemy," said Luc. "They're dead serious too."<br />
<br />
It's the perfect storm of 80's aesthetics, and I freely admit to enjoying it unironically.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have to warn you though, their one single, "Fall Apart, Golden Heart" is one of the most viscous earworms man has ever devised. However, it will add a spring to your step, as opposed to slowly grinding at you until madness, like most <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydXenL7iu0w" target="_blank">other earworrms</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Gc-QdTEHMBs" width="420"></iframe><br /></div>
<br />
<br />
The lead singer was Paul Engemann from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIs5StN8J-0" target="_blank">Animotion</a>, who also did that "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vT8OU5WtfkQ" target="_blank">Push it to the Limit</a>" song from Scarface, which Trey Parker always seems to be channeling on <a href="http://www.southparkstudios.com/clips/185666/thats-called-a-montage" target="_blank">South Park</a>. The keytar-wielding brunette was Holly Knight. What else did she do? Shit dude, what <i>didn't</i> she do? Holly Knight worked on <i>everything</i> for <i>everyone</i> -- no seriously -- her <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holly_Knight#Songs" target="_blank">résumé is like a 3-disc K-Tel compilation</a>.<br />
<br />
"Dude...she's the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Lukather" target="_blank">Steve Lukather</a> of songwriting," said Luc.<br />
<br />
Dude, she wrote "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1vO6QoACPk&feature=kp" target="_blank">There's the Girl</a>" -- one <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Cw1ng75KP0" target="_blank">Heart</a>'s finest moments -- and the only reason why we ever heard of Holy Knight because she showed her face briefly, in a long-forgotten 80's synthpop/AOR band. You probably wrote her off as a nobody when you first saw the video at the top of this post. The reason why she couldn't compete with the likes of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYXyalVaCys" target="_blank">Aerosmith</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35bIIH2RWoE" target="_blank">KISS</a>, or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKzWabwp-co&feature=kp" target="_blank">Bon Jovi</a> is because she was secretly the one propping them all up.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
One of the lemmas-to-come in my continuing campaign to unscrew-up Steph is <i>prodesse quam conspici</i>: to accomplish without being conspicuous. Holly Knight understands this, and probably enjoys the quiet satisfaction that achievement brings, without the fickle, vain trappings of fame. I'm just kind of enthralled with the idea that a seemingly inconsequential person can make sweeping contributions to American culture. How many people like her, are doing this? It seems far-fetched that a humble few control our culture -- but then again you've probably never heard of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_Welker" target="_blank">Frank Welker</a> either -- even though <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_Welker_filmography" target="_blank">he was responsible for your entire childhood.</a><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-64233875852132235622014-03-09T23:48:00.000-07:002014-03-09T23:48:58.432-07:00Another Unapologetic Look at ApologiesContinuing with my previous post <a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2014/03/an-unapologetic-look-at-apologies.html" target="_blank">on the nature apologies</a>, I present the next cornerstone of my personal philosophy:<br /><br /><b>LEMMA III: DO NOT APOLOGIZE.</b><br />
<br />
There are two ways of interpreting this lemma: one active, and one passive.<br />
<br />
The passive interpretation is that you should live your life in such a way that you <i>never have to</i> apologize to anyone. This should not be confused with an endorsement of the Christian principle of "love they neighbor." The scriptures and holy texts of any and all of the world's religions only provide the shakiest of moral guidance for the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hx3Bz6cIPiw" target="_blank">primitive screwheads</a> who wrote them. The scriptures are in no way relevant to life in the modern world -- Jesus only loved his neighbor because he didn't own a car alarm. Instead, I mean that you should strive to be competent and reliable in all your endeavors.<br />
<br />
When I say "do not apologize" in the active sense, I mean <i>exactly</i> that -- <i>do not apologize</i>.<br />
<br />
No, seriously. Like, don't fuckin' do it. Don't.<br />
<br />
Since I previously discussed how apologies don't actually solve problems, you will only waste time that could be used to resolve the issue at hand. You have a finite lifespan; to waste your time is to waste your life.<br />
<br />
"Well, what if somebody demands an apology? Do I owe them an apology then? Should I just give them one if they are making a big stink about it?" said your internal monologue, just now.<br />
<br />
<i>Demand an</i> <i>apology</i>? <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faaeotH0njA&NR=1" target="_blank">Ha!</a> Their arrogance astounds! When ever someone demands an apology, what they are really saying is this: "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKDFop0aqYQ&feature=youtu.be#t=47s" target="_blank">I want to watch you grovel before me</a>, because I am emotionally weak." Groveling will not fix the issue; instead, it only demeans you. Never grovel, to anyone. I don't care who they are -- if someone tries this, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItHAieKE5GM" target="_blank">defy them</a>. You know you want too; do it. It's as easy as saying "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1woiiOxpJ4M" target="_blank">No</a>."<br />
<br />
How can you <i>owe</i> someone an apology? The existence of a debt implies a contract. Sure, one could argue that the apology is to rectify a debt caused by a breach of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Social_contract" target="_blank">social contract</a>, but I don't remember signing one of those. In spite of this, people will persist for apologies, for something you did.<br />
<br />
After all, you owe them.<br />
You have to atone for your sins.<br />
You're a sociopath!<br />
It's indecent not to apologize.<br />
You should be ashamed!<br />
<br />
If a situation forced you to cross the line, then the situation is at fault, and not you. Why are others think themselves to be entitled to watch others grovel? Why must you atone, and who determines what is sin? Why is it wrong to follow your heart? Why should you <i>ever</i> feel ashamed, and who his the right to tell you what you <i>should</i> do? The rhetoric of apologetic pleas is all based on inflicting guilt -- a constraint another places on you, and will not take away until you change your behavior to their liking.<br />
<br />
Only the shittiest of people will stoop low enough to use guilt as a weapon to manipulate others.<br />
<br />
The worst part is, that once you apologize; it won't end. Recall, that "<a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2014/03/an-unapologetic-look-at-apologies.html" target="_blank">sorry isn't enough</a>." Once other people can get you to so talk and act how they please, they'll try and to see what else can they get from you. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vm4TG56KGZ4" target="_blank">Money</a>, power, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luMoGdwixTM" target="_blank">sex</a> -- all of these could be extorted with guilt as well -- and unfortunately, they are.<br />
<br />
The only thing guilt is good for is robbing people of their dignity. Maybe guilt has robbed you in your past; maybe you're feeling meta-guilty about your prior weakness, which betrayed your earlier self by succumbing to the burden of guilt. Worse yet, maybe you cannot come to terms with your guilt; or that it is so encumbering that you cannot function. No worries; there is always another way. If one cannot shed guilt, or have it rescinded by its inflictor, then one must attack the source of guilt.<br />
<br />
One Saturday afternoon, back in undergrad, I was at Mike's house after karate, when a pipe in his basement exploded, for literally no reason. None. The basement was flooding, and he was freaking out because he saw there was no way to stop the rushing water, because the pipe in question turned out to be the water main, which burst right before the master shutoff valve. Did we stand there all day and night bailing out the basement? No, I went to the the breaker box and shut down the water pump, because Mike lived in a rural area, and did not have city water. Now, replace water with guilt, and the anecdote gains relevancy.<br />
<br />
In life, you will unfortunately run into these shitty people who demand that you experience guilt. However, you can live a life free of guilt, by shutting it off at its source -- by alienating such people, and eliminating them from your life. The fact of the matter is, <i>there are some bridges which can -- and should -- be burned</i>. So do so, and deny them the joy of watching your emotional distress.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosqvvP0x-nqj-8SHsZPp1gc7z4iWBZVptVbnzGwEfPT6hw_NZdxe4BP_MbM02l5OFqZl_pgX_EshbavaxyZt08WJ49TeACLvRBCVgwv6HGZIA-JgXsfxNnfNAUCL7MclfAkEWCH1xh62Q/s1600/give-the-man-the-finger-708923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosqvvP0x-nqj-8SHsZPp1gc7z4iWBZVptVbnzGwEfPT6hw_NZdxe4BP_MbM02l5OFqZl_pgX_EshbavaxyZt08WJ49TeACLvRBCVgwv6HGZIA-JgXsfxNnfNAUCL7MclfAkEWCH1xh62Q/s1600/give-the-man-the-finger-708923.jpg" height="308" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Already, I can hear my detractors tell me that "the bridge you burn today may be the one that you have to cross later." -- but y'know what? Fuck proverbial wisdom. Wait, hang on:<br />
<div>
<br />
<b>LEMMA IV: FUCK PROVERBIAL WISDOM.</b><br />
<br />
I'll get to that one later; I can probably make a full post out of that one. My next post though will give an example of the "do not apologize" principle in action, and how it applies to an office setting.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-52929414617065902982014-03-04T17:09:00.002-08:002014-03-09T23:36:41.219-07:00An Unapologetic Look at ApologiesMy friends apparently provide people with a twenty-minute briefing before introducing them to me; or so I've been told. I've never sat through one of these, for I, being Coons, have to deal with me all of the time, so I'm good at it. Apparently, this briefing consists of an overview of my personality quirks, distorted worldview, and a helpful list of do's-and-don't's; much like the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-oB6DN5dYWo" target="_blank">industrial workplace safety videos</a> they show during employee on-boarding.<br />
<br />
I am aware that my acerbic personality repels people, and I like this, because it only repels the<i> wrong </i>people. I make it a point to intentionally offend and repulse the people who want to bring me down. There are absolutely no disadvantages or harsh consequences to my choices, because if there were, they would have happened by now. Throughout my life, I was told that my poor attitude would get me nowhere, but this is demonstrably false, because I've been in a number of warm relationships, and I am doing well in my professional life.<br />
<br />
Not everyone is as fortunate. My friend Steph, despite being smart, amiable, and pretty, was prone to feeling depressed, constrained, and belittled. (This was due, in part, to her habit of dating inferior, non-Ryan Coons men.) Her's was a life devoid of synergy, where venomous people would sedate her into submission with their Four Poisons. (I'll discuss the Four Poisons in a later post.) Eventually, she would crack, and call these people out on their bullshit -- and they instantly <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmgmXgoBZFo" target="_blank">lose their power over her</a> -- because they never had any power to begin with; just weaponized bullshit.<br />
<br />
"Whenever I ask 'what would Ryan say to this person?' it always works out for the best," she said. "I want you to teach me!"<br />
<br />
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. I was kinda shocked, really, because:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>There existed an actual, human person, somewhere, what wants <i>me</i> to teach <i>them</i> about how to properly conduct interpersonal relations.</li>
<li>That person was Steph, of all people.</li>
<li>I never gave much thought as to what I do, or why.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAEEPzHDgg_qDMMp3D4uqEFRN_HO1Q63hCnqlHzBQG5WRg3ZsXYTHikOAcUeOF1zwNdNylZbGpbk0dtx8V0wVekAQ_idhrbwUPcG5MXgfb_QSJhXa6XCGBCH5zHqVtwnt9e3B-0wC6Jc5/s1600/Steph-n-Coons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="I like how this picture can't be definitively traced to any one decade." border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAEEPzHDgg_qDMMp3D4uqEFRN_HO1Q63hCnqlHzBQG5WRg3ZsXYTHikOAcUeOF1zwNdNylZbGpbk0dtx8V0wVekAQ_idhrbwUPcG5MXgfb_QSJhXa6XCGBCH5zHqVtwnt9e3B-0wC6Jc5/s1600/Steph-n-Coons.jpg" height="240" title="I like how this picture can't be definitively traced to any one decade." width="320" /></a>So, in my Bodhisattva compassion, I'm writing all of this out for others to enjoy. I have to warn you though, this is all a work in progress. Sections will need to be written and re-written for it to all tie together. The only real dogma is that there are no dogmas. I assume no liabilities regarding the consequences of following my advice. This is because I am not responsible for your actions -- you are -- and that's somethin' you need learn to deal with. You may take issue with my methods; if so, then go fuck yourself with a hammer, asshole. Steph wants and needs this -- and she is special to me.<br />
<br />
I don't know where I should begin. I've no real way to know the pedagogically best way to present the thoughts I have to compile. However, the first thing to come to mind is:<br />
<br />
<b>LEMMA I: DO NOT ACCEPT APOLOGI</b><b>ES.</b><br />
<br />
This was revealed to me as a kid, I was playing at a friend's house, when something happened. I don't remember what, but is was dumb little kid stuff -- maybe his sister took his juice box, or bumped his head, or something. Anyway, he was crying, because he was a kid. His mom told his sister to apologize.<br />
<br />
"Sorry," she said.<br />
"Sorry isn't enough!" he shouted.<br />
<br />
That struck me as being kinda deep, and it was at that moment, that I realized that apologies were crap. See, apologizing only acknowledges -- and does not resolve -- the transgression. Apologizing does not fix anything; only fixing things can ever fix things. Apologizing will never make anything better, but we are conditioned to think that they do. Without action, apologies are just <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m0AKJMGxwpE" target="_blank">words, which are meaningless and forgettable</a>. This is readily apparent by the current trend of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Non-apology_apology" target="_blank">notpologies</a>, which are now an acceptable form of apology. This slippery slope will lead to the death of accountability, watch.<br />
<br />
Hell, if I were placated by empty apologies, I'd be out $400 right now, because <a href="http://yellowhatguy.blogspot.com/2014/01/costcocom-will-screw-you-over-at-every.html" target="_blank">Costco.com has terrible customer service that <i>will </i>try to screw you over.</a> Was I rude in the process of getting my $400 back? Yes. Was it rude to try to screw me out of $400? Very yes. Do I feel bad about things I said? No, very no. While I'm sure the people I spoke with (and later jeopardized with legal action) did not approve of my heavy-handed approach. No worries, because:<br />
<br />
<b>LEMMA II: APPROVAL IS NOT VALUABLE.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I see people go through great lengths to win the approval of their peers, or to court their way into some clique -- but why? Approval cannot charge a battery; it can't open cans; it doesn't remove stains; it cannot make your old vinyl car top look like new. What does approval <i>do </i>exactly -- and why do you <i>need it?</i><br />
<br />
In a lot of ways, approval is like virginity. It's a useless and arbitrary social construct used to inflict guilt upon those who lack it. Approval is not an "award," so much as it is the "absence of a punishment;" but it is still manipulation -- it just rebrands negative reinforcement (infliction of guilt) as being a positive thing (in this case, a passive indifference). No one ever praises someone for complying with social norms. No one praises the status quo; but the violators are punished with guilt. Life is much more enjoyable when you no longer strive to be approved off (so again, it's like virginity) because to do so denies others the means to inflict guilt upon you. To be truly free from negative emotional manipulation, you must free yourself from positive manipulation. <br />
<br />
I could do a couple of posts on this topic alone; and I probably will, in time. In the end, the worthlessness of approval, and mathematics, were the only important lessons I learned in my high school years; the rest was just filler.<br />
<br />
One example leaps out at me. I was back home on break from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygTMaDm3vWU" target="_blank">Purdue</a>, when our... "interesting"... neighbors made the grievous error of trying to witness to me, wherein I had to smite them, outing myself as an antitheist to my mother in the process. Once the dust had settled, my mom and I had a nice <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9W4veOA51c&feature=youtu.be#t=16m24s" target="_blank">heart-to-heart</a> private conversation:<br />
<br />
"Why did you say all those things?" asked my mom.<br />
"I hate the Christ, and his Church on earth," I said.<br />
"Since when?" she asked.<br />
"September 2006," I said.<br />
"Well, you can feel that way, but you just can't tell people that! What do you think will happen when everybody down at Our Lady of the Lake [my old parish] found out?"<br />
"You never have to worry about that," I assured.<br />
"How?" asked my mom.<br />
"You never have to worry about them finding out, because <i>they</i> <i>already know</i>. I went down to the church, and asked to talk to a priest. I then explained who I was, and my relation to you, and Barb [my sister], and I listed all of my crimes against the church, and then demanded that he excommunicate me."<br />
"What happened?" she said, with concern.<br />
"He tried to lecture me in theology, but walked off in anger and disgust, after ten minutes."<br />
"Ryan!" she shouted, with a pained expression. "And what'll happen when [prominent family of gossips within my old church] find out? Then what?"<br />
"Do you see them around a lot?" I asked.<br />
"Not really," she said.<br />
"Have you had an extended conversation with them lately? "I asked.<br />
"No," she said.<br />
"...and... have you talked to them in the last... fifteen years?" I asked.<br />
"No," she said.<br />
"Do they<i> really</i> know who we even are?" I asked.<br />
Then, my mother achieved <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satori" target="_blank">enlightenment</a>. Everything was as it should be.<br />
<b><br /></b>There's a funny Part II to this story, but I'll save it for later. I though that the best part of that whole fiasco was that I had to introduce myself to Fr. Bill, which is kinda funny, because he straight-up perpetrated an assault against me -- in front of a crowd of people -- on X-Mas, 2006. Apparently priests almost-punch so many people that they can't keep 'em all straight. Apparently I "violated the sacred species" -- which, according to Catholic dogma, is <i>literally worse then genocide </i>-- but that's a story for another time.<br />
<br />
This post is the first third, or so, of what I want to say, regarding apologies. I will post the other parts soon.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-63568283393310614752014-02-16T12:52:00.000-08:002014-03-05T20:21:28.653-08:00AORchaeological Discoveries: SarayaBack in '87 a couple of kids from Jersey formed a band, Alsace-Lorraine, and headed west to find fame and fortune. They failed. However, much like that which is called "the Way" is not the true Way, that which is called failure is not true failure. That which is called "failure" is really just a setback; true failure is giving up.<br />
<br />
These people were no failures. Returning to Jersey later, they continued to write new songs, perform locally, and recruit new talent via networking, which included some cross-pollination from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hetN7a9Maa0" target="_blank">Danger Danger</a>. Emerging as Saraya, they went on to produce two albums, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRuLwT_YSqc" target="_blank">Both of which</a> are totally <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YkT33a4r8o" target="_blank">worth your time</a>. I didn't discover their music until later in life, and that should not have been. I won't let them drown in the sands of time.<br />
<br />
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First off -- we need to clear the air and get the elephant out of the room now -- Sandi Saraya is disturbingly attractive. She's an 80's rocker chick, a<span style="text-align: center;"> trope of human that went extinct when the </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2d0AKKQRxUQ" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">last known example</a><span style="text-align: center;"> was killed by Jason Voorhees in the first minutes of Part VIII. We shouldn't have allowed that to happen, either. The governments of the world should have set up breeding programs, like they do with condors and panda bears, to keep 80's rocker chicks alive. The world becomes a less interesting place whenever it loses its diversity.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Compounding this is that Sandi Saraya is "80's-cute," a oddly-specific flavor of attractive. This is bothersome, because she was probably the only person we left out of the Great 80's-Cute Conversation of 2005, which means that we'll have to have it all over again to account for this new finding, and I'll need to take a vacation day for that.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
See, one night, back in grad school, my buddy Brian was feeling depressed, because he was in graduate school, and that's kinda what you do there.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
"We should go to Uptown," I suggested, because it was Oxford, and that's just what you do in Oxford.<br />
"I don't want to go out," he said. "There's nothing I want out there."<br />
"What do you want then?" I asked.<br />
Brian sighed.<br />
"I want to find someone who's 80's-cute, but they don't make those people anymore," he said.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"80's-cute is kind of a broad term," I said. "What specifically are you looking for? Who is the exemplar of 80's-cute?" I asked.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This lead to a nine-hour, sometimes-screaming debate which spanned the entirety of time, space, and popular culture. No data point (save Sandi Saraya) was left unconsidered. The great irony of all this was that by the time we were able to pin down what he was looking for, we couldn't go out, because it was 7 AM the next morning. There's probably a moral to this story, and that's weird, because it seems like there shouldn't be. The exemplar of 80's-cute turned out to be <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xb6pia_kim-wilde-you-keep-me-hangin-on-198_music" target="_blank">Kim Wilde</a>, of all people. I know you might disagree with this -- but we've probably already discussed this in lurid detail. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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Sandi Saraya was unique among scalding-hot the scalding hot women fronting bands, as she was used primarily as a musician, and not <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZ5Li4pTxl8" target="_blank">purely as sex object</a>. I could spend a lot of time trying to explain myself, but it's a lot easier if you just experience what I'm getting at. Although Ruchela is going to stab me for sure for using this particular example, watch this:</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/FFOzayDpWoI" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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Aight, now watch this:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/FRv4VQra2kc" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Notice how the second video was missing something? The something that made it so great to begin with? Music is a consumer product, bundled with a gimmick to get it to sell. Often the cart is put before the horse, and the gimmick is given priority over the music -- form over function. When this is the case, the music just becomes a necessary evil for a paycheck. When people make music just to make money, it's different than when they make music to make music. You can feel it when the musicians are doing that. It shows, and it's all very <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Zen-Art-Motorcycle-Maintenance-Inquiry/dp/0060589469" target="_blank">Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance</a>, but it's there.<br />
<br />
When art becomes work, it ceases to be a passion, then what is it? When life become work, and is lacks passion, then what is it?<br />
<br />
I'm not saying that Saraya was a troupe of pure artists, or that the music wasn't a product, or that there was no gimmick -- I'm saying that it's apparent that they were deliriously happy to play their songs, record their videos, sell, their albums, and live their lives.</div>
<br />
This is why I like it.</div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-73952569693051261902014-02-07T07:27:00.000-08:002014-02-07T07:34:56.987-08:00The Best Sex Music in the History of Ever<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6f7pgA0riU8" target="_blank">Doin' it to music</a> is a great idea -- it will help you keep cadence, mask her moans and squeals from propagating through <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJZPzQESq_0" target="_blank">wafer-thin</a> apartment walls, and will stop you dead with a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1d1F9zW06k" target="_blank">heavy chest and chills</a> when you hear that song play again in the grocery store years later.<br />
<br />
Normally I leave the music-yes/music-no/music-which decision to the young woman I happen to be cavorting with -- because I'm just happy to be there, not gonna lie -- though, some of their selections were more appropriate than others -- <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opBe5z0qwRE" target="_blank">especially on infinite loop</a>.<br />
<br />
However, the best sex music is, of course, the popular works of the American composer <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfDqR4fqIWE" target="_blank">Raymond Scott</a>. In particular, the bridge from his most famous composition, Powerhouse, placed on an infinite loop:<br />
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/N9-7uLg-DZU" width="420"></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
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BEST. SEX MUSIC. EVER. Try it, I'm sure you'll agree. No, seriously. Try it. I'll totally buy you two* a beer if you do this. It'll be awesome, I promise. <br />
<br />
<br />
* Please note that my saying "you two" should not be construed as hating on the polyamorous. I just know that if I don't introduce qualifiers, some clever person will play this at a ginormous orgy; then I'll be out a whole paycheck.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-14633430395563624202014-01-17T23:01:00.001-08:002014-10-12T13:43:39.858-07:00Costco.com Will Screw You Over at Every Opportunity.Well before X-Mas, I purchased a no-frills Lenovo laptop from Costco.com. My sister and I pooled some money together to get a laptop for my mom, as the one she was using for her simple email and word processing needs hailed from 2005, and was not long for the world. It was an amazing deal, and I got exactly what I paid for.<br />
<br />
For the sake of convenience, I had it shipped to the house. My sister was going to set the computer up for my mom, so she could enjoy it without having to get rid of the bloatware first. Right out of the box, the computer made a sickening whir, and the hard disk died shortly thereafter. Since my sister fixes laptops for a living, she could have fixed it -- but why should she have too? It was brand-new out of the box, and this wasn’t an “as-is” deal.<br />
<br />
Frantically, I purchased another computer, on credit, from Newegg. Then, I bought another for myself,since my current laptop was nearing the end of a long, hard life. The Newegg computers arrived in time, and X-Mas was saved.<br />
<br />
After X-Mas, I called Costco.com to return the computer. That’s when I talked to the first customer service rep. We’ll call her Sheila S., because that is actually her real name, and she is awful. I explained the situation with the computer, and how I wanted to generate an RMA and a shipping label. This should be quick and easy, and I know this because you have to constantly RMA things in academic labs.<br />
<br />
“Why don’t you just take it back to the store?” asked Sheila, repeatedly. After ten minutes of explaining that I was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8gXzDLNWl8">over 100 miles from the nearest Costco, and would have to drive over mountains</a>, through <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxrwImCJCqk">feet of snow</a>, on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TIDudfnSCI">black ice</a>, in the worst winter storm in recent memory, she capitulated. My order was processed, and my label was generated. (However, this was a lie.) <br />
<br />
Unrelated to this, my new laptop from Newegg was also broken, right out of the box. The speakers were pre-blown, for my inconvenience. I called the manufacturer, ASUS, and they confirmed that my speakers were blown, because they have poor quality control and they manufacture shoddy products. They then offered to repair the speakers.<br />
<br />
“What else is wrong with it?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“What do you mean?” said their tech-support guy.<br />
<br />
“What else is broken on it? I mean, it seems fine, but how do I know other components won’t fail the minute I take it out of the box after repairs?”<br />
<br />
“Well, once we fix it, then it should be fine,” said the tech support guy.<br />
<br />
“What? Like when it was brand-new?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” said the tech.<br />
<br />
“Brand new means broken, remember? I want a refund. I want nothing to do with your company ever again,” I said, as I added ASUS computers to the ever-expanding list of things I’ve turned my back on.<br />
<br />
I call Newegg for to setup another RMA. Their phonelines were overwhelmed, so rather than putting me on hold, their phone tree took my number, and called me back when they were ready. This way, I didn’t have to listen to annoying ads for half an hour. Instead, I played with kitties:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-PggP4YvcvOjCRCFHqZaSDx1b3CgTnMR4NpuamP3bt2w9K4nxqU2pilE6bVps2ge7zNoV-GMhvhnh8f2cGxq59cmGmXf_SotJjoGNV4pYY52ntvFE9KikO6lEM-fI-Ryn5LVdcL_YI8x/s1600/IMAG1682.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-PggP4YvcvOjCRCFHqZaSDx1b3CgTnMR4NpuamP3bt2w9K4nxqU2pilE6bVps2ge7zNoV-GMhvhnh8f2cGxq59cmGmXf_SotJjoGNV4pYY52ntvFE9KikO6lEM-fI-Ryn5LVdcL_YI8x/s1600/IMAG1682.jpg" title="Jakey and Miss Holly-Hypatia" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Newegg called me back and I explained my situation, and asked for a refund. I was issued an RMA --no questions asked -- and I received my return label in 10 minutes. <br />
<br />
TEN. MINUTES.<br />
<br />
Ten minutes after that, Newegg called me back -- just to check that the email went through. Needless to say, I had to tell him how I really felt:<br />
<br />
“Yeah, so I didn’t expect this level of customer service, and I will write nice things about you on the internet.”<br />
<br />
See, by this time, eight days had past, and I still hadn’t heard back from Costco. So, I wrote back to Sheila, to see what the delay was. The email bounced. No such person exists, spake the mailer-daemon.<br />
<br />
So, I called again, and got a new customer service representative to handle my claim. We’ll call him Rob, because his name was Rob, and I want this story to come back and haunt him.<br />
<br />
I again, explained my situation, and provided the requested information. Apparently, the serial number did not match the one in their system, so I read it to Rob. Rob promised that I would have my order by the end of the day.<br />
<br />
Rob is a liar.<br />
<br />
Rob emails me three days later, about a problem with the serial number, which is keeping the system from processing my order.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
When I came of age, back in the early 90’s, the abandoned building foundation next to the Kwik-Fill gas station was usually haunted by the Corn Lady. Some days though, there was a white panel van, with two guys standing outside. They showed up maybe once a year. We’ll call them Cheech & Chong, because they kinda were. Cheech & Chong would try to sell me stereo equipment, but I’d never buy any because:<br />
<ol>
<li>I had no fucking money -- at all -- because I was 13. </li>
<li>I would have to lug it three miles back to my house -- because I had no car -- because I was 13. </li>
<li>Even suburban 13 year-olds were wise to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_van_speaker_scam">speaker van scam</a>. </li>
</ol>
Fast forward 20 years, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRvCvsRp5ho">and it’s all the same only the names have changed -- and every day, they were wasting my time</a>. Now, for purely legal reasons, I cannot directly state that Costco.com is a speaker van scam. However, one must note, that it in every way acts and functions like a speaker van scam. I was made a deal on defective electronics, and “problems with the serial number” artificially lag the return process to greater than 90 days, at which point sales become final -- having the net effect of skipping town.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
In the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhVr5rRRTM0">bad old days</a>, before the <a href="https://www.donotcall.gov/">FTC Do Not Call Registry</a> came to be, telemarketers would call your house pretty much nonstop from 5-8 PM each night, because most people are home then, eating dinner. However, my dad did not want to switch long distance carriers, apply for credit cards, or make charitable donations when eating. He preferred to eat.<br />
<br />
So, he developed a series of techniques, tricks, and tools to deal with unruly salesmen and customer service runaround. I watched and learned. My father passed away before he could see me graduate from graduate school -- but I achieved that feat twice only because of his methods, which allowed me to circumvent any and all red-tape and runaround that academic bureaucracy could ever throw at me. My father was not a process-oriented person, and he left no notes, for it was very ad hoc. So it isn’t a system per se, but maybe I’ll codify it someday and write a how-to. In the meantime, the following three-step process will get you started:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Obtain a copy of Dale Carnegie’s seminal classic, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/How-Win-Friends-Influence-People/dp/0671027034"><i>How to Win Friends and Influence People</i></a>. It is very famous; so your local public library or quirky used book store will have one or more copies. </li>
<li>Study all of the methods and approaches Carnegie lists. </li>
<li>Do none of those things. </li>
</ol>
Laugh, but this shit works. I’ve seen my dad get credit card companies to charge him the rates he wanted, and not versa-vice. Once, he called a phone company to tell them he was breaching his contract -- straight-up breaching his contract -- and that he would never pay them -- and they walked away. I know this because I asked him about every few months.<br />
<br />
I have only kind and warm memories of my father -- because I was not a salesman.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
After finishing by conversation with Rob, I sat at the kitchen table, trying to collect myself. Once I collected all of my anger, I called Costco returns for a third time, and explained everything again, speaking slowly, and clearly, with a one second pause after every three or four words.<br />
<br />
It turned out to be one of those very special days in the life of a boy -- the day you become your father.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFW-kLKeT1CR9MjDtvmZfqVmSKqIDQxo8rf6buBmYKtE_dbA-BJE-Mzm9pNLfKfSC2_I4MvVTk5mNzjYfq2XdzsNxc3ox9vuBY32PndGBjxMGFBzVGqWytpwx-N_PfQOYpWu_LZ0rUjdt/s1600/Image032.png"><img alt="" border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFW-kLKeT1CR9MjDtvmZfqVmSKqIDQxo8rf6buBmYKtE_dbA-BJE-Mzm9pNLfKfSC2_I4MvVTk5mNzjYfq2XdzsNxc3ox9vuBY32PndGBjxMGFBzVGqWytpwx-N_PfQOYpWu_LZ0rUjdt/s1600/Image032.png" title=""THIS MAN -- THIS MONSTER!!"" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
“Hello, this is --”<br />
<br />
<div>
“What is your name?”<br />
<br />
“[REDACTED].”<br />
<br />
“What is your extension number?”<br />
<br />
“[REDACTED], why?”<br />
<br />
“So you cannot escape me,” I said. “I will speak. You will listen. When I have completed, you will speak. I will not be interrupted. I was sold a computer. The hard disk failed. Returning the computer to the store is impossible, as the nearest Costco is over 100 miles away, in a deadly snowstorm. I will receive a shipping label. I will receive it today. I have placed a request twice already. It has been in your system for over three weeks. Your competitors complete the same task in ten minutes. This is beyond incompetence, and it appears that your company is intentionally dragging the process out, to finalize the sale of defective merchandise. There is no way to tell how your company is any better, worse, or different from a speaker van scam. As such, this constitutes theft by deception. This is a crime. I will call the police.<br />
<br />
In addition, I will write an article about this experience, and I will post it to the internet. I realize that your company will threaten me with legal action for doing so. However, this will not constitute the tort of defamation, because it is all true. Even if I am sued, I will still publish. I will gladly destroy my life, and all that I have earned and worked for, just to cause your company a small amount of harm.<br />
<br />
The serial number is [REDACTED]. Do not say I have not provided you with the correct serial number. I have just done so, for the fourth time. The serial number in your system does not match this. Your system is wrong. You must correct your records. I have taken photos to prove that I am correct, to prove my case in future legal action. The incorrect serial numbers is no longer a valid excuse. My refund will be processed, today. My packing slip will be emailed to me, today. If this is done, I will still write negatively about you, but I will not call the police.”<br />
<br />
“Sir, I’m sorry tha--”<br />
<br />
“Do not apologize. Apologies waste my time. Too much of my time has been wasted. Time spent groveling is time not spent processing the label. I know your forms, template and manuals tell you to make groveling apologies -- but they are wrong.”<br />
<br />
We sat in silence for a few minutes, as she typed.<br />
<br />
“Is there anything else you need?”<br />
<br />
“Who is your manager? What is his extension?”<br />
<br />
“[REDACTED], would you like to speak to him?”<br />
<br />
“No, I’ve wasted enough of my time. Inform him that I have called, and inform him of the issue.”<br />
<br />
“It looks like he has already been tagged on this issue,” she said.<br />
<br />
“Tell him that I will receive my shipping label today. Tell him that I am holding him personally responsible. I will receive my label today, or I will call the police, and I will mention him -- not you -- by name.”<br />
<br />
“I… will do that!” she said with a smile. It was over the phone, but I could tell she was smiling from her tonality.<br />
<br />
Then I hung up.<br />
<br />
BOOM. Same-day service -- just like I should have had. I’m glad this whole debacle happened to me, because I knew I could handle it, and act appropriately. Still I worry that there are others who could be intimidated into silence by the run-around of a corporate juggernaut. I implore people to purchase electronics elsewhere.<br />
<br />
I am not endorsed in anyway by Newegg, but they are staffed by mensch. This was not the first time I was wildly pleased with their customer service. My mom’s computer from Newegg was fine, and she loves it.<br />
<br />
Also, to demonstrate that I am not a paper tiger, I have sent a copy of this link to the Costco.com returns department. I will keep you posted.</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I’ve engaged in a bunch of anti-social behaviors over the years. As a teen, I would make up stories of lovers dying, just to get Casey Kasem to play a song I wanted to tape. When I was 25, I tried to get a Mormon missionary to commit </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVE7aqrva0g" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">seppuku</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> in my kitchenette. One thing I’ve never done though, is shout “Show me your tits!” to a woman from a moving car.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="text-indent: 48px;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 48px;">I really wish that I could say the reason for this is because I want to be good person, but I’m not. I’ve never shouted that for purely pragmatic reasons. Still, the pragmatic approach is by definition, always the best -- because if any new, superior philosophy were to emerge, then pragmatism will just bend itself to meet this. There’s a few reasons why I’ve never shouted at girls like that.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 48px;"><br /></span>
First and foremost, it’d just be a logistical nightmare. I’m not going to lie -- I
want to see the tits of every female between the ages of 18 and 34 -- I just
do. The only exceptions to this would be if they were covered in purulent boils
– or worse yet – silicone implants. (I came of age in the 90’s, so I’ve seen
enough grotundous, inorganic inflato-tits for one lifetime, thank you.) So, if I were to shout “Show me your tits!”
every time the thought crossed my mind, that’s all I would ever do. I’d have to
holler that, all day, every day -- except when I’m enjoying a quiet night at
home, reading a book.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="text-indent: 48px;">Another reason is that it’s just arrogance to the nth degree. I see punks riding upon a chariot and demanding random maidens disrobe, and they think this to be wise? That plan only works for one man -- </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pW3E8vs-MUI" style="text-indent: 48px;">Caligula</a><span style="text-indent: 48px;"> -- and in the end, it still didn’t work. It just made people talk, and then things ended badly for him. The James Bond movies were an integral part of my childhood. Yet, 007 never got women to disrobe </span><i style="text-indent: 48px;">that </i><span style="text-indent: 48px;">fast. There had to be a chase scene, a dialogue that advances the plot, and one or more well-timed one-liners. Yet these punks, in their maddened Caligulan hubris, forego all this, and think themselves to be </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yaly1D6ycks" style="text-indent: 48px;">more alpha than Bond</a><span style="text-indent: 48px;">. Their arrogance can only be the product of the worst of mental defectives; those who are so dense, that they noticeably warp their local spacetime.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 48px;"><br /></span>
What
really bothers me though, is the nagging question -- <i>what if I win</i>? I mean, if I shouted “Show me your tits!” out of my
window, to some nubile jogger, there always exists some extremely slight, but
non-zero chance that she’ll stop and think: “Damn it, he’s right! I really should.”
Then she’d flash me -- but since I’m in speeding car, I wouldn’t have a good view.
I play the lottery rarely -- only if the jackpot is above $300 million, because
I know that it’s silly to think I’ll win the lottery more than once. I need to
make the first time count -- and it’s the same deal. If I’m speeding away and
miss <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6B7y5vCe_H4">the show</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i28UEoLXVFQ">there ain’t gonna be another. Not ever</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
The “I
might see me some titties today” wavefunction would instantaneously and
permanently collapse, leaving the world a bleak, desolate, and ultimately
meaningless place. Realizing that I’d have blown a lifetime’s worth of luck in
a fleeting moment, I’d know that nothing good could ever come to me again. I’d
realize this and wallow in folly forever, or at least until the camera slowly zooms out, an ominous-sounding narrator says a few lines about morality,
and then shows us scenes from next week’s <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2I7vPbthvWo">Outer Limits</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
So,
I make it a point never to shout these things, condemn those who do, and treat
titties as being the supermeawesomebonustreat that they are. Do I try to live
as a good person? Yes. Do I do it for all of the wrong reasons? Also yes -- but
at least I’m trying to live as a good person. I guess the moral of the story is
that the ends justify the means -- but if they didn’t, then what would?<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-9728342742658508772014-01-11T22:04:00.000-08:002014-01-11T23:13:59.890-08:00Introduction to AORchaeology<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In that gap of lost time between
the Purdue and San Diego sagas, while I was looking for work, I applied to jobs
for 4-6 hours a day, every day, until I ran out of want ads. While I waited for
more ads to be posted, I passed the time, in part, by working out a lot. Most
of these workouts were at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edinboro_University_of_Pennsylvania" target="_blank">Edinboro University</a>’s student’s center.
Since the ‘Boro is my alma mater, I could train at their gym for free, because
I knew how to sneak in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I would usually park in front of
a laundromat several blocks away, because although the sign said that parking
was for customers only -- under pain of towing -- this has never happened in
the history of ever. I grew up in that town, so I knew. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Joe would work out with me; he
could get into the gym because he was a professor now. As the new guy in the
education department, he was tasked with the responsibility of driving all over
creation to evaluate the student teachers in the field. Needless to say, this
put a lot of strain on his Monte Carlo, which kind of had a rough life to begin
with, being Joe’s car and all. The Monte gave up the ghost early onto this job,
so Joe bought himself a new car. Joe would offer me rides back to my car after
our work out, because by that time, the air would be thick with rain, snow,
sleet, hail, or goose shit -- because it was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edinboro,_Pennsylvania" target="_blank">Edinboro, PA</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Among
the amenities of Joe’s new car, was a satellite radio. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It
has stations for everything! They even have an all 80’s station,” because he
knew I’d enjoy that, because of my irrational affinity for the music of that
era. “I’d been listening to it a lot lately… only to discover that the only
good songs were already on my <a href="http://youtu.be/dJoo7Tgjr8U?t=10s" target="_blank">compilation albums</a>.” He then switched to the stand-up comedy station, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4nknAzQPHE" target="_blank">because everyone needs more stand-up in their lives</a>. Joe’s
words though, stuck with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Joe, in his own way,
stumbled upon <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sturgeon%27s_Law" target="_blank">Sturgeon’s Law</a>, which itself, is one
manifestation of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pareto_principle" target="_blank">80/20 rule</a> which rules business,
manufacturing, art, and physics. I didn’t do any rigorous analysis of this, but
I’m reasonably sure that songs exhibit a Gaussian distribution of
awesomeness, because everything else seems to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynOnEAQtWZdSU_bKiI04difgwAeZbvTOXcfpKqIirW-XQpNGDdwEMNb3XIoo_RDqL8uynQQyqZlRxI6kMwaxQpm7hJsqShkc3d-w8rO3A6y6NNbLS8jbCRrteekxwSwhYKV7GQqevg1AK/s1600/bellcurve.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynOnEAQtWZdSU_bKiI04difgwAeZbvTOXcfpKqIirW-XQpNGDdwEMNb3XIoo_RDqL8uynQQyqZlRxI6kMwaxQpm7hJsqShkc3d-w8rO3A6y6NNbLS8jbCRrteekxwSwhYKV7GQqevg1AK/s1600/bellcurve.png" height="150" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
My
problem isn’t that most of the music from that era was written off as trash;
after all, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIgZ7gMze7A" target="_blank">much</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTvdjlJUO8A" target="_blank">of</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5QErPDNcj4" target="_blank">it</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=By86PcLufOU" target="_blank">was</a>. My problem is that the 1980’s
went from being a time period, to a genre. There were several different
distinct sounds and movements in art during that era, but that has been
discarded for one universal, convenient label. Among other things, the late
60’s/early 70’s was home to a movement in music called “<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRtME-3rcP4" target="_blank">bubblegum</a>.” Would it be
different to say that the 60’s and 70’s <i>only</i>
produced bubblegum pop, and just discard <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGrCE2wYRsk" target="_blank">what couldn’t fit into that pigeonhole</a>?<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Comorbid
with this, is that whoever makes the tracklists for the “Greatest Hits” albums
always seem to leave out at least one hit. I know that this is intentional,
because the record labels knew that if I could get away with buying fewer
albums, I would have, because I never had much pocket money. I still don’t,
actually -- and that’s kind of dicked up considering all I do now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Between
all of the binning and cherrypicking, amazing things are bound to fall through
the cracks. Back when buying magnetic films or polycarbonate discs still made
sense, I wound up loving up the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVlDSzbrH5M" target="_blank">“fillers” (or when I was younger, “B-sides”)</a>, and not the “hit singles”<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFTLKWw542g" target="_blank"> that I originally bought the album for</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
One of my biggest problems with
the human condition is that we focus on the wrong things; we discard wheat and
eat chaff. B-sides never take you, they grow on you. The best of man’s
creations are initially denounced or discarded. The old cliché about finding a
the diamond in the rough is complicated by the fact that diamonds are themselves
rough; that’s why diamonds must be cut and polished.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, in that magic hour between walking home from the bar
and going to bed, I search for more of what I’ve forgotten or missed. I’ve given this pop-cultural dumpster-diving the
title “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Album-oriented_rock" target="_blank">AOR</a>chaeology,” because while I can appreciate other forms of
music, I keep returning to AOR, because I am uncouth beastman and unrefined
tastes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The viewpoints listed in this
post are not opinions; they are all demonstrably true, because of Winter Rose. See,
before <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_LaBrie" target="_blank">James LaBrie</a> joined <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFPV8DwB8ig" target="_blank">Dream Theater</a>, he was the
front man for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winter_Rose" target="_blank">Winter Rose</a>, which can only be described as “<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1oZFJiYV2xA" target="_blank">the hairiest hair metal band in all of hair metal land</a>.” They
produced a self-titled album in 1989, and went their <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LatorN4P9aA" target="_blank">separate ways</a> shortly thereafter. Since they never really got off the ground,
no one heard of them, and they fell into obscurity. Their album quickly went out of print, and
the existent copies grew more and more difficult to track down. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
However, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qECkG3c8y8I" target="_blank">since I live in the future</a>, I can play any songs and video on demand -- and
really, what better invention could there be, than one that gives you a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AMn8ify6H0" target="_blank">second chance to love</a>? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/zB5tH_VDRCQ" width="420"></iframe>
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112091853535867581.post-69656064052959800142014-01-07T20:41:00.000-08:002014-01-07T21:37:47.139-08:00Hello, I’m Ryan Coons.<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Hello, I’m Ryan Coons. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Once upon a time, I ran another
blog, called SuperFunAdventureTime. (The thought being, if it sounded like a breakfast cereal, people would go there.) I associate with number of
funny and creative people, and I figured that by pooling our talent and leisure time, we could pump out awesomesauce
entertainment at a constant rate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
However, it failed -- but not
for a lack of trying. For one, life
happened, and each of us became bogged down with some linear combination of
fatherhood and/or graduate school, which proved to be a timesink. The real nail
in the coffin though, is that my vision was unsustainable -- there just isn't enough funny or awesome shit that happening to us to maintain any sort of
regular publication schedule. Between the two, we wound up letting the blog
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTzMeDiv-7U">fall by the wayside</a>. I later abandoned blogging
entirely, and began work on manuscripts for novels and a series of martial arts how-to books<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Several years later, I moved
across the country, to San Diego, only to lose my mind. After 11.5 years in
academia, I find myself institutionalized, and unable to function outside of
it. I sought professional help for this. Now, I’m not sure that I can be helped,
as in I’m not sure that help even exists. All I can find are palliatives, which
treat the symptoms and not the disease -- after all, if I could be helped, then
I’d quit searching -- and then no one could sell me things. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I realize that I’m living under
a new structure, and a new set of rules. I was gently lead to along a line of
thinking which would get me to rethink the way I viewed the world -- and
towards ways to help me cope with my new lifestyle, and about my new
surroundings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While I agree that I’m playing
under a new set of rules, <i>rules are only
suggestions, which are only to be followed when it proves convenient to do so.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I don’t want to cope -- <i>I want to conquer</i>. Coping cannot cure;
coping is the cause. If I have to live and abide by the rules and social
conventions prevalent of outside of the academy, then happiness is impossible,
because the supposed cure would just make me more depressed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet, the fun
learning/discovering/growing part of life is over it seems, and everyone has
turned into the people they were going to be. I can’t relate to most people, because
my goals aren't even remotely like those of normal people. Most people’s goals
are along the lines of “finally get around to planting a garden,” while my goal
list contains elements such as “get into a fistfight atop a moving locomotive.”
I can’t connect with most people, because I find them boring. I don’t get out much
now -- and for a while I thought that was something wrong -- but then I
remembered that the things I enjoy all tend to be solitary activities. My new
life offers me few people to confide in -- but I also find myself with less of
a reason to confide.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s
a bleak feeling, but it’s not that I feel that I have nothing to life for --
it’s that <i>I have nothing</i> <i>to live against</i>. I can stand being alone, but I can’t stand
being boring. Without a venue for mischief and agonism, my life can only be
endured, not enjoyed. Although I’d like to be the Champion of justice and the
Purveyor of Truth -- for the time being, I am a man of low rank and large
obligations, struggling to survive in a society which is set up to endorse and
protect its monsters.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This seems depressing -- but
really, it is the opposite. Since I have nothing, I have <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHgqHrQBNCI">nothing to lose</a>, nothing to take!
Threats of legal actions are all jokes at this point. No, seriously -- my only
real property is a smashed-up Toyota Yaris, a laptop computer, and a large
number of used books. What stops me from
calling punks and bitches out, publicly, by name? Nothing. I am now free of legal
or financial consequences, because <i>weaknesses
are also strengths</i>. Likewise, there are no ethical or moral consequences to
calling people out, because calling people publicly out is intrinsically noble
and just, and is the correct and appropriate course of action in any and all
cases.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unlike my previous web venture, this
will be a one-man show, and I’m not here to make you laugh (…though I’m sure I
still will). I will not guarantee regular posting, because I care more about
quality than quantity -- <i>Prodesse Quam Conspici.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m here to write for writing’s sake.
I want to refine my writing skill, so I must practice more. I want to develop and refine my own
philosophical system, because I don’t feel as though any of the off-the-rack
philosophies fit me quite right. I want to call people out, because I can. <i>I’m tired of consuming; I want to produce. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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