It's time. I'm sorry, but it's just time.
Time for what?
Time for the future, that's what.
It's time to start using an electronic tablet, e-book or smartphone to do your reading. Whether it's a Kindle, Nook, Android or iPad, it's time to join us in the 21st century.
I hear the arguments right now: "But I love the feel of a book in my hand, or I love reading the paper on a Sunday afternoon. It's an intimate, tactile sensation that connects us with the words." Ya, ya ya and grandma loved eating pulled possum in shit sauce.
Are you afraid that no one will read anymore if they don't have big, cumbersome books or floppy, unwieldy newspapers? Well, let me tell you, they aren't reading now. The National Endowment for the Arts study Reading at Risk from 2004 found that fewer than half of American adults now read books. With a decline of 28 percent in the youngest age groups. I could quote a dozen other reports that say the same thing, but you get the idea.
Literacy is in danger, and one of the ways we can counteract that is to make reading special again. One of the ways that we can do that is through e-books and tablets. Much like the Internet changed the way we communicate with each other, tablets and reading apps such as kindle have the potential to change the way we read by allowing us unfettered access to books, newspapers, blogs and magazines.
Books, newspapers and magazines are wonderful things and they aren't going to go away. But they are changing to meet a new reality. Why carry around a huge book, when you can carry around one small portable device that does everything you need?
Seriously Martha, put down your knitting and push away the bowl of prunes. Don't be afeared of them new-fangled gadgets like the Intertubes and the Blueyrays. Embrace them and discover a world of thought and philosophy. A world where information is always with you. A world where you favorite stories come to life anew.
Many tablets and e-book readers are designed to make reading easier and more intuitive than ever. The e-paper of a Kindle is so close to a printed page as to be indistinguishable. Except for the fact that it can hold 3,500 volumes, change the text size so that even if your eyesight is failing you can still read with ease. And let's not forget the Kindle's text-to-speech abilities that can read a book to you. Seems like a godsend for a blind person to have complete access to a library anytime and anywhere they choose.
Heck, the iPad even lets you flip the pages, like a regular book, for those who just can't let go.
What? Now you want to tell me you don't want to buy something and then have it replaced by another gadget in a year. Alright, that's a possibility. I know soon we will all have the chips implanted in our heads so that we can download any information we want and live in our own virtual world, but until then this is the best we can do. Oh,how I long for the day when I can begin living as a firetruck in my own virtual world. Wait, what? Am I still typing? Damn.
Oh, yeah, here's one more selling point. Once the zombie apocalypse happens, it's not like you're going to be able to carry around a library. But you can make room for a tablet. You can carry more ammo toting a Kindle than a thesaurus.
I'll let the CEO of Amazon Jeff Bezos say it best, "The most elegant feature of a physical book is that it disappears while you're reading. Immersed in the author's world and ideas, you don't notice a book's glue, the stitching, or ink. Our top design objective is to make Kindle disappear — just like a physical book — so you can get lost in your reading, not the technology."
Don't become a no-button wearing, horse and buggy driving anachronism like the Amish.
I have your silver unitard and go-go space boots right here waiting for you when you want to join us in Tomorrowland.
Those of us using tablets to read would just like to quote the great Charles Sheen when we think of you carrying around a thousand books, "They lay down with their ugly wives in front of their ugly children and just look at their loser lives, and then they look at me and they say 'I can't process it.'"
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
One last trip
"Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep." -- 18th century child's prayer.
I am consumed by thoughts of ritual and death. We cling to the comfort of ritual to handle the death of loved ones, The prayers, the symbolic clothes and the movements of the priest help us to give structure to the end of structure. It helps us to focus on keeping our grief under control by giving it boundaries beyond which it shouldn't go.
It's OK to cry and feel sad. It's not OK to wail uncontrollably. It's OK to bring flowers. It's not OK to throw yourself on the casket, screaming.
The Buddha says, "All life is suffering" and that's true enough. We are all ravaged by time and finally spiral down into the inevitability of death. It's a difficult thing to accept that it all just ends and that's probably why we need these structures to help ourselves through such tough times. I know I find comfort in them as much as anyone. Why am I writing this? I'm going to the funeral of a friend's mother today, she's the second person I know who died this week and it brings me up thoughts of death.
Do we need grief?
I'd like to think that we can just move on, satisfied that a person's life was well lived and that all of the good memories of them will just keep their memory and light alive. However, that's just not the case with me, or I suspect most of us. We feel that hole where that person was and it's a raw wound. It's a selfish thing to grieve, but then we are all selfish creatures. We need those people we hold dear. Their loss leaves us with less and we feel that. So we grieve.
We all feel grief to one extent or another and yet none of us knows how to talk about it. Why? I think it's because everyone's grief is such a person mash up of different feelings that no one can talk about another's grief with any certitude.
(Fair warning: This is where you should leave. It gets personal after this point)
Loss + Need + Guilt (squared) = Grief
My grief equation when my dad died 22 years ago was Loss+Need+Guilt(squared).
It's a strange equation, a mix of emotions that all added up to a life-changing time. Loss is easy enough to understand. He was a central figure in my life up until that point and I loved him dearly, though he was a deeply flawed individual. But we all are. If you think you aren't -- that's a flaw.
Need is also understandable. We all need our parental figures. They shape who we are and help guide us on our way.
Guilt? How does that factor into my grief? Well, it just does. My guilt (squared) comes from two incidents as his life ended. The first is that I wasn't there when he collapsed from a heart arrhythmia in the kitchen. I had just left 15 minutes earlier to go hang out with some friends. So, why guilt? Could I have done anything to stop it? No, he had been on a downward spiral for months, but I was Red Cross certified in CPR and maybe if I had been there I could have helped. Could you? Maybe, and that's where the guilt comes from. The compounding guilt comes after he had been in the hospital for 10 days. He came out of his coma, but couldn't talk because of the respirator tube down his throat. He could still communicate with glances and holding hands. It was pretty clear that he knew my mom and my brother Philip, but it was also clear he didn't know me. So, after a days of trying to jog his memory, and just being there, I decided not to visit him for a day. That's the day he died. Guilt (squared). Once again, it didn't really matter if I was there or not. It would have happened anyway. But there's guilt because I feel like I didn't do everything I could have for him.
That's my grief equation. It's also why Ruth couldn't really talk to me about it, though she had lost both her parents. In fact, none of my friends could talk about it. Grief is just too personal, and we all have to work our own way out of it.
When is death the best option?
Some would say death is never the best option, but I know they're wrong. Sure we all want to say, "Do not go gentle into that good night. ... Rage Rage against the dying of the light" as Dylan Thomas exhorted his father. It's good to fight as long as you can, but there is a time for everything to end and that's when it becomes the best option. I think of my dad with a respirator tube and various monitors and medication IVs tied up to him and I know that's not how he would have wanted to live that way in the long term. Sometimes, it's time to let go. I find myself feeling more and more like the Buddha these days, and I think his last words are appropriate, "All component things in the world are changeable. They are not lasting. Work hard to gain your own salvation."
Is there an everlasting paradise at the end of the road? I'd like to think so, but it's not certain. That's why this life matters. We need to be the best we can be to each other, so that when we draw our last breath we know we did what we could to have a good life. If that happens, then death doesn't matter.
"I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
When in the morning light I wake,
Teach me the path of love to take."
I am consumed by thoughts of ritual and death. We cling to the comfort of ritual to handle the death of loved ones, The prayers, the symbolic clothes and the movements of the priest help us to give structure to the end of structure. It helps us to focus on keeping our grief under control by giving it boundaries beyond which it shouldn't go.
It's OK to cry and feel sad. It's not OK to wail uncontrollably. It's OK to bring flowers. It's not OK to throw yourself on the casket, screaming.
The Buddha says, "All life is suffering" and that's true enough. We are all ravaged by time and finally spiral down into the inevitability of death. It's a difficult thing to accept that it all just ends and that's probably why we need these structures to help ourselves through such tough times. I know I find comfort in them as much as anyone. Why am I writing this? I'm going to the funeral of a friend's mother today, she's the second person I know who died this week and it brings me up thoughts of death.
Do we need grief?
I'd like to think that we can just move on, satisfied that a person's life was well lived and that all of the good memories of them will just keep their memory and light alive. However, that's just not the case with me, or I suspect most of us. We feel that hole where that person was and it's a raw wound. It's a selfish thing to grieve, but then we are all selfish creatures. We need those people we hold dear. Their loss leaves us with less and we feel that. So we grieve.
We all feel grief to one extent or another and yet none of us knows how to talk about it. Why? I think it's because everyone's grief is such a person mash up of different feelings that no one can talk about another's grief with any certitude.
(Fair warning: This is where you should leave. It gets personal after this point)
Loss + Need + Guilt (squared) = Grief
My grief equation when my dad died 22 years ago was Loss+Need+Guilt(squared).
It's a strange equation, a mix of emotions that all added up to a life-changing time. Loss is easy enough to understand. He was a central figure in my life up until that point and I loved him dearly, though he was a deeply flawed individual. But we all are. If you think you aren't -- that's a flaw.
Need is also understandable. We all need our parental figures. They shape who we are and help guide us on our way.
Guilt? How does that factor into my grief? Well, it just does. My guilt (squared) comes from two incidents as his life ended. The first is that I wasn't there when he collapsed from a heart arrhythmia in the kitchen. I had just left 15 minutes earlier to go hang out with some friends. So, why guilt? Could I have done anything to stop it? No, he had been on a downward spiral for months, but I was Red Cross certified in CPR and maybe if I had been there I could have helped. Could you? Maybe, and that's where the guilt comes from. The compounding guilt comes after he had been in the hospital for 10 days. He came out of his coma, but couldn't talk because of the respirator tube down his throat. He could still communicate with glances and holding hands. It was pretty clear that he knew my mom and my brother Philip, but it was also clear he didn't know me. So, after a days of trying to jog his memory, and just being there, I decided not to visit him for a day. That's the day he died. Guilt (squared). Once again, it didn't really matter if I was there or not. It would have happened anyway. But there's guilt because I feel like I didn't do everything I could have for him.
That's my grief equation. It's also why Ruth couldn't really talk to me about it, though she had lost both her parents. In fact, none of my friends could talk about it. Grief is just too personal, and we all have to work our own way out of it.
When is death the best option?
Some would say death is never the best option, but I know they're wrong. Sure we all want to say, "Do not go gentle into that good night. ... Rage Rage against the dying of the light" as Dylan Thomas exhorted his father. It's good to fight as long as you can, but there is a time for everything to end and that's when it becomes the best option. I think of my dad with a respirator tube and various monitors and medication IVs tied up to him and I know that's not how he would have wanted to live that way in the long term. Sometimes, it's time to let go. I find myself feeling more and more like the Buddha these days, and I think his last words are appropriate, "All component things in the world are changeable. They are not lasting. Work hard to gain your own salvation."
Is there an everlasting paradise at the end of the road? I'd like to think so, but it's not certain. That's why this life matters. We need to be the best we can be to each other, so that when we draw our last breath we know we did what we could to have a good life. If that happens, then death doesn't matter.
"I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
When in the morning light I wake,
Teach me the path of love to take."
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Splenda Daddy
Oh, sure, we've all heard of the sugar daddy. We know what he brings to the game. He's got money and is perfectly willing to use it to buy the woman he wants.
But there's another man out there: Splenda Daddy. He'll dote on his lovely lass with all the gusto of a sugar daddy. Telling her what she needs to hear and making sure she's taken care of. But he ain't gonna go broke for no woman no how.
Splenda Daddy vs Sugar Daddy
Sweet Thang: Get me a cool ride.
Sugar Daddy: Here you go baby: a Mercedes convertible.
Splenda Daddy: Here you go baby: It's my old Toyota Corolla. I got the engine fixed for you. Ya, it don't have no back seat anymore.
Sweet Thang: Baby I need some bling.
Sugar Daddy: A diamond necklace and a Sapphire ring.
Splenda Daddy: I got you a ring pop and a candy necklace.
Sweet Thang: I need some clothes.
Sugar Daddy: Prada and Versace. Nothing is too good for my girl.
Splenda Daddy: Let's go to the Gap. My mom gave me a gift card for my last birthday.
Sweet Thang: Take me some place nice.
Sugar Daddy: I'll take you to the best restaurant in town for steak and lobster. Don't forget the champagne. Then we'll go to the club.
Splenda Daddy: I'll make you a steak on the bbq. Then I'll take you to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica and watch the free street entertainers.
Sweet Thang: Get me plastic surgery so I'll look hotter for you.
Sugar Daddy: You'd better. Here's some cash, get some boobs and fix that face.
Splenda Daddy: You're fine the way you are, but if you want boobs I'll pay for them. But it's going to be on the installment plan, so you'll be lopsided for a few months.
Sweet Thang: I don't have to care about you, do I?
Sugar Daddy: No. Just look good and do what I want when I tell you to.
Splenda Daddy: If you don't then leave.
30 years later
Old Thang: You still want me?
Sugar Daddy: Who the hell are you?
Splenda Daddy: All that money I saved bought us a retirement home in Hawaii. Let's go.
But there's another man out there: Splenda Daddy. He'll dote on his lovely lass with all the gusto of a sugar daddy. Telling her what she needs to hear and making sure she's taken care of. But he ain't gonna go broke for no woman no how.
Splenda Daddy vs Sugar Daddy
Sweet Thang: Get me a cool ride.
Sugar Daddy: Here you go baby: a Mercedes convertible.
Splenda Daddy: Here you go baby: It's my old Toyota Corolla. I got the engine fixed for you. Ya, it don't have no back seat anymore.
Sweet Thang: Baby I need some bling.
Sugar Daddy: A diamond necklace and a Sapphire ring.
Splenda Daddy: I got you a ring pop and a candy necklace.
Sweet Thang: I need some clothes.
Sugar Daddy: Prada and Versace. Nothing is too good for my girl.
Splenda Daddy: Let's go to the Gap. My mom gave me a gift card for my last birthday.
Sweet Thang: Take me some place nice.
Sugar Daddy: I'll take you to the best restaurant in town for steak and lobster. Don't forget the champagne. Then we'll go to the club.
Splenda Daddy: I'll make you a steak on the bbq. Then I'll take you to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica and watch the free street entertainers.
Sweet Thang: Get me plastic surgery so I'll look hotter for you.
Sugar Daddy: You'd better. Here's some cash, get some boobs and fix that face.
Splenda Daddy: You're fine the way you are, but if you want boobs I'll pay for them. But it's going to be on the installment plan, so you'll be lopsided for a few months.
Sweet Thang: I don't have to care about you, do I?
Sugar Daddy: No. Just look good and do what I want when I tell you to.
Splenda Daddy: If you don't then leave.
30 years later
Old Thang: You still want me?
Sugar Daddy: Who the hell are you?
Splenda Daddy: All that money I saved bought us a retirement home in Hawaii. Let's go.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
My dark shame
It happened again today. I slipped up. I try so hard, and it is so wrong.
I hide my shame deep down inside. I push it down and crush it with the vice-like grip of my will.
But I am damaged, warped. Something definitely is askew in my world.
I hide like a beast, frightened of the truth. And I pretend I am successful. Outwardly, I appear mostly normal. I am educated. I have degrees and honors from the workaday society. Occasionally, people even look up to me for my abilities.
But God knows I am unworthy. I feel his steely gaze judging me for my failures.
I lay on the couch, my feet up and feeling fine, when it happened. The TV shifted from the news to commercials and I was undone.
Engine noise blared from the speakers and metal gods rolled across the screen.
"MONSTER TRUCK JAM IN ANAHEIM ON JANUARY 26," the screen blared and my heart lept. "$10 tickets for the kids!!!!"
My gaze is fixed; my mouth drooling, and I do believe a whispered "whooo doggy" escaped my lips.
Thus my dirty shame is revealed. My white trash genes are activated.
That's right,I must admit it, finally. I am white trash.
I put on a Mac Truck hat and a Skoal T-shirt and I feel pride. I tell my hipster friends and educated colleagues that I wear my STP button-up shirt because it's ironic. But that's just a lie.
Inside I crave to chaw and spit and grow my sideburns long. If only I could find a pair of comfortable overalls, I'd never take them off. I want to talk about trucks and hemi's and dual-intake valves. The sight of a tricked out semi gives me the vapors. Sometimes, when no one is around, I feel the need to scream YEEEEE-HAAAAAWWWWW, drink a Budweiser (the KING OF BEERS) and fart the national anthem.
I want to own the NFL Sunday Night Theme song CD. Because I am ready to play some football.
Now you know my shame. Turn away. Turn away.
Top ten white trash meals
1. Chicken fried steak, mashed taters and green beans.
2. Buffalo wings and a PBR.
3. Biscuits and white gravy. (my dad Claude Edward Lindsey's fave)
4. BBQ from a gas station.
5. Frito pie with mac N cheese
6. Anything off a truck
7. Fried chicken, okra and beans. (my Aunt Bobbi and Uncle Skeeters fave. Yes those are real members of my family)
8. Pork chops and greens
9. Beanie Weenies (cut up hot dogs in boston baked beans)
10. Pulled pork samich, tater tots and Green Jello salad (you know the kind with mayo and walnuts in it)
I hide my shame deep down inside. I push it down and crush it with the vice-like grip of my will.
But I am damaged, warped. Something definitely is askew in my world.
I hide like a beast, frightened of the truth. And I pretend I am successful. Outwardly, I appear mostly normal. I am educated. I have degrees and honors from the workaday society. Occasionally, people even look up to me for my abilities.
But God knows I am unworthy. I feel his steely gaze judging me for my failures.
I lay on the couch, my feet up and feeling fine, when it happened. The TV shifted from the news to commercials and I was undone.
Engine noise blared from the speakers and metal gods rolled across the screen.
"MONSTER TRUCK JAM IN ANAHEIM ON JANUARY 26," the screen blared and my heart lept. "$10 tickets for the kids!!!!"
My gaze is fixed; my mouth drooling, and I do believe a whispered "whooo doggy" escaped my lips.
Thus my dirty shame is revealed. My white trash genes are activated.
That's right,I must admit it, finally. I am white trash.
I put on a Mac Truck hat and a Skoal T-shirt and I feel pride. I tell my hipster friends and educated colleagues that I wear my STP button-up shirt because it's ironic. But that's just a lie.
Inside I crave to chaw and spit and grow my sideburns long. If only I could find a pair of comfortable overalls, I'd never take them off. I want to talk about trucks and hemi's and dual-intake valves. The sight of a tricked out semi gives me the vapors. Sometimes, when no one is around, I feel the need to scream YEEEEE-HAAAAAWWWWW, drink a Budweiser (the KING OF BEERS) and fart the national anthem.
I want to own the NFL Sunday Night Theme song CD. Because I am ready to play some football.
Now you know my shame. Turn away. Turn away.
Top ten white trash meals
1. Chicken fried steak, mashed taters and green beans.
2. Buffalo wings and a PBR.
3. Biscuits and white gravy. (my dad Claude Edward Lindsey's fave)
4. BBQ from a gas station.
5. Frito pie with mac N cheese
6. Anything off a truck
7. Fried chicken, okra and beans. (my Aunt Bobbi and Uncle Skeeters fave. Yes those are real members of my family)
8. Pork chops and greens
9. Beanie Weenies (cut up hot dogs in boston baked beans)
10. Pulled pork samich, tater tots and Green Jello salad (you know the kind with mayo and walnuts in it)
Monday, January 3, 2011
Money is the root of all hapiness
Money is the root of all happiness. There, I've said it, and it feels good.
Since caveman Ogg met cavewoman Oggette we have been judged worthy by our wealth. Ogg had two good spears and several fine pelts to woo Oggette, and it was good. He had the means to provide for her and that meant a better chance that their offspring Ogg Jr. and Poindexter would survive. I get that. It's an intrinsic part of animal nature to go with the winner.
It's always been part of our society. Kings and the noble are wealthy and therefore they have control. Would Julius Cesar, a rich, well-connected army general, have had a chance to become emperor if he was little more than a shop owner? No, and there's no argument that's going to change that fact.
OK, let's give the world and humankind that much.
Is that all there is? Is that what we are in the end? A bunch of creatures who only look to those with the obvious trappings of wealth and fall in line behind them?
I have to honestly say, I don't know. There are such things as social and economic revolutions, but they tend to be short-lived and open to corruption from within.
The usual pattern seems to be that the wealthy continue to get wealthy until society at large is so unbalanced that there has to be a reckoning. This usually takes place in the form of a revolution of some kind. It can be anything from a proletariat uprising to something as simple as a return to religious roots that call for a more just distribution of wealth. Heck, it could just be people deciding that being rich isn't everything. That was the upshot of the Depression. The common man was finally championed as a good thing and there was a great reallocation of wealth to the middle class. But in the end that gave way to the rampant consumerism of the 1950s and the eventual creation of a new class of the wealthy.
So, is wealth all there is?
No, of course not. We are much more than that. But it is true that if you don't have the basics, you will look at wealth as the ultimate goal because it eliminates the wants that plague us.
Money isn't the root of happiness, but it sure doesn't hurt. I'm going to buy a megamillions lotto ticket now.
Here's some links for thought.
http://researchnews.osu.edu/archive/relgwlth.htm
http://www.gearbits.com/archives/2010/11/on_wealth_and_s.html
http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Wealth
http://www.faculty.fairfield.edu/faculty/hodgson/Courses/so11/stratification/income&wealth.htm
http://www.federalreserve.gov/pubs/oss/oss2/2007/scf2007home.html
Since caveman Ogg met cavewoman Oggette we have been judged worthy by our wealth. Ogg had two good spears and several fine pelts to woo Oggette, and it was good. He had the means to provide for her and that meant a better chance that their offspring Ogg Jr. and Poindexter would survive. I get that. It's an intrinsic part of animal nature to go with the winner.
It's always been part of our society. Kings and the noble are wealthy and therefore they have control. Would Julius Cesar, a rich, well-connected army general, have had a chance to become emperor if he was little more than a shop owner? No, and there's no argument that's going to change that fact.
OK, let's give the world and humankind that much.
Is that all there is? Is that what we are in the end? A bunch of creatures who only look to those with the obvious trappings of wealth and fall in line behind them?
I have to honestly say, I don't know. There are such things as social and economic revolutions, but they tend to be short-lived and open to corruption from within.
The usual pattern seems to be that the wealthy continue to get wealthy until society at large is so unbalanced that there has to be a reckoning. This usually takes place in the form of a revolution of some kind. It can be anything from a proletariat uprising to something as simple as a return to religious roots that call for a more just distribution of wealth. Heck, it could just be people deciding that being rich isn't everything. That was the upshot of the Depression. The common man was finally championed as a good thing and there was a great reallocation of wealth to the middle class. But in the end that gave way to the rampant consumerism of the 1950s and the eventual creation of a new class of the wealthy.
So, is wealth all there is?
No, of course not. We are much more than that. But it is true that if you don't have the basics, you will look at wealth as the ultimate goal because it eliminates the wants that plague us.
Money isn't the root of happiness, but it sure doesn't hurt. I'm going to buy a megamillions lotto ticket now.
Here's some links for thought.
http://researchnews.osu.edu/archive/relgwlth.htm
http://www.gearbits.com/archives/2010/11/on_wealth_and_s.html
http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Wealth
http://www.faculty.fairfield.edu/faculty/hodgson/Courses/so11/stratification/income&wealth.htm
http://www.federalreserve.gov/pubs/oss/oss2/2007/scf2007home.html
Friday, December 31, 2010
Say Hello to my little 2011
It's unavoidable when we stand on the precipice of a new year that we look back and give everything that happened the once over before putting it in the memory box. It's just human nature that we try to make sense of our careers, relationships and growth.
Of course, truth is, there's very little sense to be had. Mostly we just react to situations the best we can and hope things turn out for the best. However, that doesn't mean we should stop trying.
I started 2010 with some goals. I achieved some and failed at others. One of the big goals was to return to writing fiction. I finished a few stories, some poems and the first part of a three-part novel. But some projects were left unfinished and that needs to get rectified in 2011.
So, here's my challenge for 2011 -- finish what you start. That's all. Just finish what you start. It's simple and to the point. Think of all the small and big things that we start and only get halfway done. Imagine if you finished every project you started. It's mind blowing, isn't it?
OK here's my bold predictions for 2011.
Aliens will come to Earth, talk to us, meet our leaders and decide the trip was a waste of time.
Researchers will discover that trans fats are the only thing keeping most of us healthy and make recommendations that we all eat 100 oreos a day.
Ditto with smoking.
Gas prices will fall to 25 cents a gallon after most cars are converted to running on trans fats. That's right, trans fats are the new miracle substance.
Nabisco becomes the world's richest company (see predictions 2 and 4).
For some reason Australia becomes a wasteland and only Mel Gibson can save it. (wait that may be a series of movies from the 80s, eh, whatever)
We will have good times with each other including, but not limited to: good meals; companionship; and wacky fun.
Last thoughts on 2010:
Politics: Really? Really? The Tea Party? I oughta slap you.
Religion: Nothing terrible happened in religion this year, so that makes it a great year for religion. No popes died; this year's scandals were the same as last years and the Dalai Llama is still plugging away.
Taxes: I paid my fair share.
Death: It's only death that makes life so precious.
Zombies: No apocalypse this year. Maybe next.
Of course, truth is, there's very little sense to be had. Mostly we just react to situations the best we can and hope things turn out for the best. However, that doesn't mean we should stop trying.
I started 2010 with some goals. I achieved some and failed at others. One of the big goals was to return to writing fiction. I finished a few stories, some poems and the first part of a three-part novel. But some projects were left unfinished and that needs to get rectified in 2011.
So, here's my challenge for 2011 -- finish what you start. That's all. Just finish what you start. It's simple and to the point. Think of all the small and big things that we start and only get halfway done. Imagine if you finished every project you started. It's mind blowing, isn't it?
OK here's my bold predictions for 2011.
Aliens will come to Earth, talk to us, meet our leaders and decide the trip was a waste of time.
Researchers will discover that trans fats are the only thing keeping most of us healthy and make recommendations that we all eat 100 oreos a day.
Ditto with smoking.
Gas prices will fall to 25 cents a gallon after most cars are converted to running on trans fats. That's right, trans fats are the new miracle substance.
Nabisco becomes the world's richest company (see predictions 2 and 4).
For some reason Australia becomes a wasteland and only Mel Gibson can save it. (wait that may be a series of movies from the 80s, eh, whatever)
We will have good times with each other including, but not limited to: good meals; companionship; and wacky fun.
Last thoughts on 2010:
Politics: Really? Really? The Tea Party? I oughta slap you.
Religion: Nothing terrible happened in religion this year, so that makes it a great year for religion. No popes died; this year's scandals were the same as last years and the Dalai Llama is still plugging away.
Taxes: I paid my fair share.
Death: It's only death that makes life so precious.
Zombies: No apocalypse this year. Maybe next.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Santa is awesome. AWESOME I SAY
WHAAT? Some jerk just posted a blog calling Santa evil. How is that possible? For God's sake he brings toys to little kids. What kind of maladjusted human being goes after Santa?
Wait, it was me?
Well, let me just say, I must be wrong. Santa has made children the world over happy for generations and will continue to do so for generations to come. Although, his single-minded obsession with children seems to be a bit creepy. Not to mention that at some point he was supposed to have helpers who were either black or shackled demons.
Still, Santa is an institution. A harbinger of all that is good and heck, Coca Cola has all but given us this holly jolly good-natured fellow. They even say so on their website, "Most people can agree on what Santa Claus looks like -- jolly, with a red suit and a white beard. But he did not always look that way, and Coca-Cola® advertising actually helped shape this modern-day image of Santa. Starting in 1931, magazine ads for Coca-Cola featured St. Nick as a kind, jolly man in a red suit. Because magazines were so widely viewed, and because this image of Santa appeared for more than three decades, the image of Santa most people have today is largely based on our advertising.
Before the 1931 introduction of the Coca-Cola Santa Claus created by artist Haddon Sundblom, the image of Santa ranged from big to small and fat to tall. Santa even appeared as an elf and looked a bit spooky."
Uh, wait, does this mean Santa is an advertising whore? No, I won't believe it. He is Santa DAMNIT.
Now Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He was a shill. He was created by the Montogmery Ward's department store and he was their exclusive property. The song was written by an advertising man.
Now I'm confused. I still say Santa is awesome. Now give me a damn gift you fat bastard.
Top Signs Santa Loves You
1. He left you that inappropriate lingerie. But it was nice lingerie.
2. You take a shower on xmas morning get out and there's a heart with "You my Ho, HO Ho" written in condensation.
3. He gives you something, even if you've been a little naughty.
4. You reach into your stocking and find a Nintendo DS.
5. He ate the cookies and drank the milk.
6. He gave you a Lexus and that jerk of a cousin only got socks.
7. Hey, he brought egg nog.
8. He never asks for anything in return.
9. He left you some Coke. (uh, the drink. Ya.)
10. Duh, gifts.
Wait, it was me?
Well, let me just say, I must be wrong. Santa has made children the world over happy for generations and will continue to do so for generations to come. Although, his single-minded obsession with children seems to be a bit creepy. Not to mention that at some point he was supposed to have helpers who were either black or shackled demons.
Still, Santa is an institution. A harbinger of all that is good and heck, Coca Cola has all but given us this holly jolly good-natured fellow. They even say so on their website, "Most people can agree on what Santa Claus looks like -- jolly, with a red suit and a white beard. But he did not always look that way, and Coca-Cola® advertising actually helped shape this modern-day image of Santa. Starting in 1931, magazine ads for Coca-Cola featured St. Nick as a kind, jolly man in a red suit. Because magazines were so widely viewed, and because this image of Santa appeared for more than three decades, the image of Santa most people have today is largely based on our advertising.
Before the 1931 introduction of the Coca-Cola Santa Claus created by artist Haddon Sundblom, the image of Santa ranged from big to small and fat to tall. Santa even appeared as an elf and looked a bit spooky."
Uh, wait, does this mean Santa is an advertising whore? No, I won't believe it. He is Santa DAMNIT.
Now Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He was a shill. He was created by the Montogmery Ward's department store and he was their exclusive property. The song was written by an advertising man.
Now I'm confused. I still say Santa is awesome. Now give me a damn gift you fat bastard.
Top Signs Santa Loves You
1. He left you that inappropriate lingerie. But it was nice lingerie.
2. You take a shower on xmas morning get out and there's a heart with "You my Ho, HO Ho" written in condensation.
3. He gives you something, even if you've been a little naughty.
4. You reach into your stocking and find a Nintendo DS.
5. He ate the cookies and drank the milk.
6. He gave you a Lexus and that jerk of a cousin only got socks.
7. Hey, he brought egg nog.
8. He never asks for anything in return.
9. He left you some Coke. (uh, the drink. Ya.)
10. Duh, gifts.
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