Déjà vu

Déjà vu.  We've all experienced it, though some of you may not know it by that name, or even that it had a name.  It means 'already seen' in French, and  is the experience of feeling sure that one has already witnessed or experienced a current situation, even though the exact circumstances of the prior encounter are uncertain and were perhaps imagined.

Some say that a déjà vu is a glitch in the Matrix

I can haz teh invizibl glitchez?

Another explanation (and it's going to be far-fetched, but I don't see you coming up with anything, so sit down and shut up) is that Earth has always been populated with a certain group of time-travelers, ones whose mission has been to go back in time and try to change specific events in our history, such as the Lincoln assassination.

Of course, that still happened, so either they figured out it would behoove them not to do it, or we were left in this dimension, and the time travelers created a new timeline.  Something like that.  Anyone with a cursory knowledge of theoretical time travel knows that going into the past is impossible, due to the whole feedback thing. 

You know how when you put a microphone up to a speaker, the sound and interference builds and builds until the speaker explodes?  Well it's the same with wormholes.  The radiation getting transferred to the past as the time traveler goes through joins the same radiation in the past, which stays around until it gets to the present, where it doubles and builds up, and much like the music speaker, the wormhole can't handle it, so it explodes or implodes.  Either way, it ceases to be.  And word on the street is that the radiation builds up so quickly the time passage expires almost before it was created.

But lets say time travel to the past were possible and there were time travelers going back and changing specific events.  Each time they go back, they're creating another layer, or dimension, on top of all the pre-existing timelines.  And each time they do, the layers of alternate timelines get thinner and thinner.  Of course, since they try to maintain things as unchanged as possible (except, of course, what they went back to change), not much will change in your life.  You will probably do mostly the same things in your life in the alternate timeline as in the original one.  For example, you may go to the bathroom at 12:30 in one dimension, but at 12 in another.  When you and the alternate you cross offset paths like that, you sense it.  Deja vu.  That's the hypothesis, anyway. 

Here's an article on how deja vu works from a more scientific angle

I'll find a title for this later

I don't know how many people actually read my posts regularly, but you may have noticed that they've been declining in frequency. 

I don't know what it is.  Maybe it's my penchant for noticing the squirrels when the situation calls for focus.  I guess if like me, you've been living for close to 30 years with unmedicated ADHD and possible (undiagnosed) Asperger's syndrome you would have some understanding of the need to go charging off after shiny things in the middle of a tense hostage situation.

Either that or it would just make people want to 'slap some sense' into you.  I just went off onto a tangent, didn't I?  See what I'm talking about?  It's a wonder I've made it through school or accomplished anything.  I'm as procrastinating as they come, yet always seem to get things done at the last minute, and done pretty well.  Any time I have a project, this is what I feel like for the first 75% of the time leading up to the deadline:

Eh, whatever, I got time

Then, when I notice I'm a few days away from the deadline, I start freaking out, knowing there's no way I can actually get the project done in time.

Why didn't I start when I had the time?

But unfailingly, after a few days (or usually hours) of harrowing work or cramming, the project turns out fine, sometimes even better than everyone else (if it's a test or something) and I wonder why I was even worried.

And repeat.

Anyway, back to the original topic.  I haven't written anything in forever, because ever since I got back from Afghanistan, it's like my muse has been lost.  While I was over there, the only things to do in your precious free time were work out and...  Yeah, pretty much just that.  Of course, you could watch movies or find a hobby or something.  For me, that hobby became writing.  There was always some subject that incensed me and got the creative juices flowing.  The thoughts poured out of my mind through my fingers in perfectly worded sentences engineered to deliver the greatest comedic effect or ridicule or whatever the goal was.  But I got back.  Life returned to normal (read: boring) and while I'm glad to be out of that hellhole, I miss the experiences that made writing so interesting.

I think another reason was that I got kind of lethargic.  Whenever an idea popped into my head in Afghanistan, I'd write it down as fast as possible for use later.  Now, I'm too lazy and can't be bothered to do that.

God, this post sucks.  Hope you enjoyed

Gay marriage

New York passed gay marriage yesterday, becoming the sixth state (plus DC, though they don't really count.  "Taxation without representation" and all that.  It's even on their licence plates.  Why would they even advertise that?  But I'm rambling.  Here's the rest of the sentence) to do so.  First of all, I think many, if not all of the rights afforded to straight couples should have been given to gays a long time ago, and withholding them is just stupid.  Hospital rights, inheritance and military service are a few of the things that come to mind.  Many on the religious right would argue that homosexuality is wrong, period, and while I personally am not comfortable with the thought of two sweaty dudes going at it, the morality of it is not where my beef lies.

Though this is pretty much wrong no matter who you ask

We lost much valuable manpower and skills by not allowing gays to serve in the military up until now.  They can turn a wrench, fire a rifle or type on a keyboard just as well as their straight counterparts.  There are certain areas where it wouldn't be wise, in my opinion, such as the battlefield,  for the same reason they don't allow women into some types of combat; because it can degrade morale, some people would be uncomfortable, etc.  However, most of the military today is now in either a support position or working in offices.  Only a small percentage fights in the traditional infantry position that comes to mind when you say 'soldier'.

I get that two people of the same gender can love each other.  I really do.  But the only thing I disagree with is the term 'marriage' to describe a homosexual union.  Marriage has always been a religious institution.  Even though many LGBT supporters will argue that its current definition as the union between one man and one woman is relatively new, homsexuality has never been accepted by most religions.  And I doubt that's going to change any time soon.  In fact, why would gays even want to subscribe to something promoted by groups that have persecuted them for millenia?  That's like an African American demanding entrance into the KKK, because...I don't know, equality or something. 

Just...no.

My point here is that instead of trying to get the religious right to accept gay marriage as a thing, homosexuals should focus on getting the same rights offered to straight couples.  Leave 'marriage' to the religious.  Be the bigger person.  Let the baby have its bottle.  Smell what I'm serving here?  Gays complain about their rights being infringed, and that's true for the most part, but marriage is an intrinsic part of the life of faith of (non-gay accepting) religious people, and demanding entrance tramples upon the beliefs of a large segment of the population.

What I propose is that it be called something different.  Call it a domestic partnership.  Call it a legal union, call it whatever the fuck you want, just not marriage.  I think it would have been passed a lot sooner if they hadn't stubbornly insisted on using that term.

Update

Hey everyone, sorry I haven't written in a while, I just got back from Afghanistan.  It's been a long week  Lots of inprocessing and stuff to do.  I was there for 6 months, and though I was the one that volunteered for the deployment and was really excited to go, mostly to see the country I'd studied so much about, and practice the language with the natives, by about week 3, I was ready to leave.

This is an excerpt from one of my weekly emails home a few weeks before I left:

"Have I mentioned I can’t wait to leave?  It’s not that life is terrible here.  Not anymore anyway, since the last rotation of people left, taking she-who-must-not-be-named (see the note below) with them .  Everyone’s getting along just fine, I have a place to sleep and food to eat.  Not great food - it’s been chicken wings, hamburgers, corn dogs and mini frozen pizzas every day; no fruit or desert and hardy any vegetables – but food nonetheless.  I just think they stopped caring.  There isn’t any one factor in particular that makes me want out.  I’m just restless and yearn for some freedom, the beach, hiking in the mountains, regular clothes and an actual weekend.  I want to hang out with people who aren’t in uniform.  I want to do something outside of this monotony.  I want to be able to jump the rails of this fixed route I must take, stop having to carry this rifle around, stop having to throw myself to the ground in the middle of my night due to an impending rocket attack because some asshole insurgent decided he’d spend $800 on a rocket to shoot at us instead of using that money to educate the next generation of kids who know nothing but war and to whom “making it in life” means selling opium or becoming a corrupt government official."

Note: The unnamed lady in the excerpt was a female supervisor who took an intense dislike to me from the very start and made my life hell while I was there, the single biggest factor in making me good and ready to leave by the end.  She was a very unpleasant person, and just to give you an idea, think Naomi from the movie "Waiting..."  

The personality resemblance was uncanny

Though, other than the perpetual scowl and cigarette smoking, she didn't look much like her.  Plus, she was about a foot taller than Naomi, making her not just mentally but also physically imposing.  

You've got Spam!

If you are the owner of an email address, chances are you've received Spam.  Most of us see these emails for what they are and delete them immediately.  There are people, however, mostly the gullible newcomers to the wondrous web, who actually open spam and read it.  Those same people are the ones who send chain emails to all their friends.  If you are lucky enough not to know what a chain email is, I envy you.  It's a type of spam that basically tries to get people to forward the email to as many people as possible through emotionally manipulative stories, get-rich quick pyramid schemes, and the exploitation of superstition to threaten the recipient with bad luck if he or she "breaks the chain."  In fact, by the late 90s, approximately 572% of all email was a chain email. 

Thankfully, it's not as widespread anymore, as people have mostly wised up, though I still find one in my inbox every now and again.  Most recently, I got this one from a co-worker:

"Pass this on...

This year we are going to experience 4 unusual dates: 1-1-11; 1-11-11; 11-1-11; 11-11-11 and that's not all.... Take the last two (2) digits of the year you were born - now add the age you will be THIS year, and the result will be 111 for everyone!!! This year October will have 5 Sundays, 5 Mondays, and 5 Saturdays. This only happens every 823 years...."

This is the reply email I fired off shortly afterwards:


I hope to Edward Cullen and Jacob Black's love child that this is supposed to be satire and you're just making fun of the feeble-minded sorority girls passing this around to all their friends. I would have expected this from my sweet old great aunt Ethel, as she always sends me chain emails about cats with bowties and Bill Lumberg giving away half his Microsoft fortune to people who perpetuate the chain ("keep the cycle going and it will bring you good luck"); but not you, Chris.

First of all, October, 2011 will not have 5 weekends.  That was last year.  Yes, the first two statements are true, but of course your age plus the year of your birth will be 111, because we are in 2011. (19)84 (year of birth) + 27 (age I will turn this year) = (20)11. Holy Twilight! It's merely a coincidence. In the same way as next year it will be 112, and in 2023, the last two digits of your birth year plus your age that year will add up to 123.

As for the 5 weekends in October happening every 823 years, let's think about this, a year can only start on one of seven days, so there are seven possible basic calendar years. Add leap years, and there are fourteen basic calendars. Period. And one of those calendars only gets used every 823 years? How would that be possible? It's not of course, all 14 calendars get cycled through regularly; in fact 2010 uses the exact same calendar as 1999.

So 1999 ALSO had 5 Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays in October. So did 1993. 1982 as well. 2021 (the next time it will happen) will probably see another round of pernicious chain emails (or thought messages or whatever we will have by then) going around telling people to "Rejoice, for this only happens once every 823 years!! Just send me your banking information and I'll see that all your astrological dreams are fulfilled"
 For more information on Twilight and other nonsense, refer to the article I wrote on the subject: http://spacebetweenmyears.blogspot.com/2011/03/twilight-blows.html

Fox News Confrims

Fox News, you've done it again.  In your race against the obviously superior and less-biased CNN, you've not only failed to put out an actual front-page article, but also failed to use a spell checker.

Usama bin Landen Dead Fox News Confrims.

bin Landen.  As in "yeah, dem terrists bin landen dem planes in them buildings in New Yawk.  Der terker jerbs!"

It's gotta be true, since Fox News confrimed it.  Way to go, Faux News.

CNN, while a couple of minutes late to the party, actually took the time to post a front page article, mercifully free of spelling and grammar errors. 

But of course, since a large majority of Fox's viewership can barely read, I guess it doesn't really matter, does it, Fox?

They killed Osama?  I didn't know we was after the president

The People vs. Luke Bryan

Deputy: All rise for the entrance of the honorable Judge Max Fightmaster

Judge: Please be seated.  Now, first we'll have the prosecutor state his case.

Marshall Eriksson: Thank you, your honor.  In his recent hit song, the defendant talks about rain being a good thing.  However, we all know that rain is the leading cause of April showers and...

Judge: Hang on, I want to hear this from the horse's mouth.  Mr Bryan, would you please tell me the lyrics to your song?

Luke Bryan: Yes, yer Highness, see, mah sawng goes a lil sumthing lahk this: rain makes corn, corn makes whiskey, whiskey makes my baby feel a little frisky - back roads are boggin' up, my buddies pile up in my truck...

Judge: Get to the point

Luke Bryan: Rain is a good thing

Judge: I see.  Mr Eriksson, your rebuttal?
 

Marshall Eriksson: As I was saying, rain is the leading cause of April showers.  April showers, as we all know, bring May flowers.  Mayflowers bring the Pilgrims, who bring smallpox.  Rain is definitely NOT a "good thang."  Lawyered.

Boom

Luke Bryan: What now?  Pilgrims?  Whazzat?

Judge: Pilgrims, Mr Bryan.  Don't you know anything about American history?

Luke Bryan: Nah, I got out at fourth grade to pursue mah music career.  My momma said I could sing real good.

Judge: I see.  Well, short of any further evidence in support of rain being a good thing, I'm going to rule in favor of the plaintiff.  Mr Bryan, your argument is invalid.  From now on, you are banned from singing that song.  I'd also suggest you don't reproduce, but I don't have that authority.  You're now free to go get drunk on "whiskeh" and have unprotected sex with your girlfriend.  God help us all.

Next case, The People Vs Nickelback

Lord of the Fly Kills

It's starting to get warmer, and with the warm weather comes something very annoying - flies.  And tons of them.

They're everywhere; buzzing around outside frolicking with the fly ladies, savoring the tasty garbage heaps and raw sewage, and generally being a nuisance.  The flies have even infiltrated my office, and they are seriously annoying.  They buzz around your head and land on your face and they're driving us crazy.  Over the past 3 days I think we've killed close to 100.  At first, we kept track on a whiteboard, but got tired of that after about 35 kills. 

Anyway, so today I was prowling the office with a rolled up magazine looking for the few remaining stragglers (until the door opens and reinforcements pour in to take their places).  On my way around the office, I stopped by one room and addressed one of my co-workers:

(This was in a southern drawl, so you're going to have to sound it out for full effect) 

"Howdy, ma'am.  I'm just on the prowl for some escaped convicts.  Are yew folks harborin' any fugitives?  Ya'll know it's a felony to shelter the flies?"

For some reason she just bursts out laughing.  Maybe because that accent's just ridiculous if you're not wearing a cowboy hat?

"Ma'am, this is serious.  These pesky criminals are a serious health and mental wellness risk to the whole office, have you seen 'em?"

She's wasn't very helpful, so I continued the search on my own.  I finally encountered one of the bastards at rest, and as I snuck up behind it, it was blissfully ignorant to the world of pain that was about to happen.

Pictured: a world of pain

Just before I smacked it into mush (come to think of it, we're really going to need to start cleaning the fly guts off the walls, ceilings, printers and... you know what?, probably the entire office), I murmured: "I'm going to teach you that it is NOT ok to be a fly."

Here's the aftermath:

Myatt Daaamon.

 I swear the placement was unintentional.  I guess Matt Damon just really wanted to headbutt a fly.

Twilight sucks

If you haven’t heard of the Twilight series, you’re either luckier than a double lottery winner who stood under a metal pole in a thunderstorm and didn't get hit by lightning, or you have been living under a rock for the past few years. Maybe you're just old.

Twilight is an unholy series of books crapped out by Stephenie Meyer, which got turned into even unholier movies and has teenage and twenty-something girls going inexplicably apeshit crazy over its male characters, especially Edward Cullen.

 

Why they do is anyone's guess, as this is what the actor actually looks like in real life:

   

"Jimmy, call security and the janitorial staff.  I think Pattinson is about to crap his pants again.  Looks like a big one this time."

Twilight is what people in literary circles like to refer to as ‘Mary Sue’ fiction and what I like to refer to as "drivel I wouldn't line my birdcage with."

According to a Cracked.com article on fan fiction,

"A Mary Sue is a thinly veiled representation of the author, or more accurately, the person the author wishes she could be. Her main characteristic is her utter amazingness, which is so strong it creates a kind of black hole that sucks in the established personalities of the characters around her.

Wise characters are baffled by the Mary Sue's superior intellect; emotionally distant men cave in and fall in love with her, and cold characters are impressed by her tragic past. She usually features a striking appearance and unusual name (think Sookie Stackhouse from the ‘True Blood’ series) and spends her days surrounded by people telling her how wonderful she is."

Even Stieg Larsson (the guy who wrote "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo") is guilty of writing Mary Sue fiction. Before writing his best selling trilogy, Larsson was a Swedish magazine writer whose life's mission was exposing corruption. Coincidentally, the fictional version is a Swedish magazine writer whose life mission is (you guessed it) exposing corruption. He is also very rich and talented, admired by many important people and constantly being seduced by beautiful women, including a former abuse victim whose fear of men is cured by his cock. But I’ll let this one slide, because his books are pretty awesome.

By all accounts, ‘Mary Sue’ authors are some of the richest and most successful authors on earth. Stephenie Meyer is a prime example of an author that churns out Mary Sue "literature." So is Charlaine Harris of 'True Blood' fame. Most romance novels fall into this category; fantasy books written by women, for women (sad, lonely women), about the perfect man coming and sweeping the timid, insecure protagonist off her feet. Incidentally, this picture of Charlaine Harris is a good example of what most romance novelists look like:

People who don't get any, tend to have a very active fantasy life

I'm not saying everyone who reads romance novels is a lonely, overweight woman who builds up the concept of the impossibly perfect man in her head while stuffing her pudgy face with Dove chocolates, telling herself that some day her prince will come, all while crying herself to sleep every night in the paws of the only male who will ever love her (as long as the food keeps coming - and can we really call cats' attitudes towards their owners 'love'?), her tomcat Mittens, which she dresses up in inane costumes and carries around the house until he finally snaps from all the unwanted affection and scratches her face up.

Yes, this cat is dressed up as Edward

Just like I'm not saying that everyone that watches weird anime porn is an inexplicably arrogant nerd who lives in his mother's basement and subsists on Cheetos and Mountain Dew, which fuel his poorly written online tirades on subjects like WoW and Star Wars.

Hey ladies, I'm single and ready to mingle, but you have to be at least a 7.5 for me to even consider you

Anyway, back to Twilight.  It's essentially just a masturbatory aid for Stephenie Meyer, who found out she could get rich by pandering this nonsense to the female masses.  I found this (very accurate) post about Twilight on TheOatmeal:

"First off, the author creates a main character which is an empty shell. Her appearance isn't described in detail; that way, any female can slip into it and easily fantasize about being this person. You can read 400 pages of Twilight and barely have any idea of what Bella Swan looks like; as far as anyone is concerned, she’s a giant Lego brick. Appearance aside, her personality is portrayed as insecure, fumbling, and awkward - a combination anyone who ever went through puberty can relate to. By creating this "empty shell," the character becomes less of a person and more of something a female reader can put on and wear.

So after a few chapters of listening to Bella whine about high school, sucking at volleyball, and being the center of attention, the second major character is introduced. Imagine everything women want in a man, then exaggerate it by ten thousand - and you've got Edward Cullen. The level of detail that the author goes into while describing Edward's appearance is remarkable. Stephenie Meyer’s use of the phrase “Edward's perfect face" is far into the double digits, in the first book alone. The author describes in excruciating detail his muscular pecs, clothing, hair, eye color - even his goddamn breath (I'm not joking).

Probably not what Stephenie Meyer envisioned when she wrote: "Bella felt Edward's passionate breath on the back of her neck"

Edward intensely listens to everything Bella has to say, even if she's bitching about having diarrhea on Christmas or her preferred method for cutting a sandwich in half. As far as the reader is concerned, Edward cares about nothing in the world more than Bella. What the author has done is create a perfect male figure - a pale Greek statue which the reader can worship and in turn be worshipped by."

If you’re still not convinced Twilight is gayer than Elton John, consider this. Did you know that male bats have the highest rates of homosexuality of any mammal? Twilight explained.

Anyway, in case you needed more proof, it looks like Edward has been getting it on with Jacob behind Bella’s back.



The gummy worm story

A couple of years back I was visiting some friends in LA and stopped by a gas station to get some snacks.  I picked up some soda, some chips and a bag containing about 2 pounds of gummy worms.  When we got back to the house, I completely forgot about the bag.  This was a hot summer day, already in the triple digits, so the car's interior promptly climbed to about 140 F.
 
2 hours later, I remembered the bag and went out to get it.  The gummy worms had completely liquefied, leaving me with a plastic bag of hot sloshing color.  I stuck it in the fridge to let it cool down.  When I checked on it a few hours later, it had hardened back up into a solid block of gummy, which was surprisingly hard to cut.  I ate about a quarter of it.

In case you were wondering, nothing bad happened.  I didn't get sick or constipated.  The one notable thing was that it turned my poop green.

FYI, crystal meth does that too.  Not that I personally do meth.  It's just a little factoid I thought appropriate to pass along, given that today's March 17th.

 

So in a nutshell, if you want green poop for St Patrick's day, eat a bunch of gummy bears/worms or do some meth, though the gummy bears are probably less addictive.  Happy St Patty's day!

Am I right or what? Part 2: John Boehner

You know what really chafes my privates?  The way John Boehner pronounces his name.  In case you haven't heard of him, he's the current Speaker of the House, a position held until recently by Nancy Pelosi.  It seems I can't turn on the news without seeing him and hearing the retarded way he pronounces his name. 

John Boehner is a member of the Republican party, but that's not the only kind of member he is.  He's gone to great lengths to ensure people pronounce his name 'Bayner' instead of 'boner.'  I don't know where he gets off changing the proper pronunciation of his name, but he seems like kind of a tool.  I don't know much about his policies, but he has the kind of douche-y face that kind of makes you want to punch him:

"He had a face only my fist could love"

And it's not just me.  Apparently, he's such a dick, he even got his own Dickipedia entry.  Just look at the gavel he chose:

No, I'm not overcompensating for anything, why do you ask?

He even puts the douchenozzles from the Jersey Shore to shame with his tan.

Tell me I'm wrong

He needs to stop pronouncing his last name 'Bayner', and insisting everyone else do the same.  Here's the reasoning:

I'm pretty well traveled, having visited many cultures and learned several languages, even achieving fluency in a couple of them, and in all of my travels and language studies, never have I ever seen the combination 'oe' even come close to being pronounced 'ay'. 

His Wikipedia page says he's of German and Irish descent, and I'm fairly certain 'Boehner' is German.  German happens to be one of the languages I know, and I'm pretty sure it's not pronounced 'Bayner'.  In fact, if I'm not mistaken, it's spelled Böner in German, and the closest pronunciation in English would be 'Berner' or 'Buurner'. 

The only language I know of that pronounces the letter combination 'OE' as 'AY' is Korean.  For example, the Korean last name 최 is spelled Ch-o-i (choi), but pronounced 'chay'.  That is the ONLY language I know of that has that rule.  And even though he's doing a fairly decent job of changing his skin color from white to leather due to repeated visits to the tanning salon, he will never be Korean.

So, Mr Speaker of the House, please, stop trying to reject your heritage, accept your true name, and next time you're behind the podium, stand up with an erect posture and a stiff upper lip and announce to America and the world: "I am John Boner."

No matter how much it hurts

Everything is trying to kill me

I swear, everything here is trying to kill me, from the people biting my head off for minor uniform infractions to the van we ride to and from work with its heart-stopping static shocks and our driver almost rolling us into a ditch; a co-worker of mine downloading an extreme workout regimen and pushing me beyond what I thought possible in the gym, to my cursed M-16 rifle almost getting me killed me on my way home.

It's bone dry here in Afghanistan, and the lack of humidity combined with our rubber soled shoes dragging over the filty carpets on the floor of the 15 passenger van we use for transportation make for some truly hair-raising static shocks after each ride.  Without fail, every time we step out of the van and grab onto the door to avoid falling out,  there's a series of loud cracks (from skin touching metal and the ensuing electrical discharges) and profanities issuing from the mouths of the crew filing out of the rolling tin can of death.

On the way to work one day our driver almost rolled us into a ditch.  In Afghanistan there are ditches (for sewage and the odd rainstorm/flash flood) along the side of the roads which vary in depth from 3 to 5 feet.  I guess she miscalculated the length of the vehicle and the right rear tire rolled into one of them.  We were all thrown around like rag dolls, and I hit my head on the ceiling and almost knocked myself out on the butt of my rifle.  Fortunately, we all escaped injury, save for a few bruises and almost toxic levels of adrenaline.  The Captain sitting on the seat next to me kept asking if I was alright, because he swore he could feel his knee slam into my ribs.  I assured him I was alright, and if he did hit me, I hadn't felt it.  If our driver had been driving any slower, I have no doubt the van would have rolled right on into it and we would have had injuries a bit more serious than our lives flashing before our eyes.

Even things that aren't normally considered sentient are out to get me.  A few days ago, a shelf attacked me.  It happened when I was working at my desk.  I got up to tell a coworker of a change I had made to a spreadsheet (isn't war exciting?) and that's when it happened.  My skull made contact with the sharp metal corner of the shelf that's over my computer.  I yelped in pain, clutched my head and ran outside.

I thought that maybe I'd just bumped my head and I had made a bigger deal of it than there needed to be (though I assure you, it was the most painful thing I had felt in months).  But a few moments later, I felt blood starting to course down my face.  I grabbed a napkin and applied pressure to the wound, hoping that it'd close shortly, but the worried looks on the faces of my co-workers who had followed me outside dictated otherwise.  "I'm going to have to see a doctor, huh?"  They replied in the affirmative. 

It turned out I had sliced my head open and needed 3 staples to close the wound.  The next day, I dropped my rifle on my foot, almost breaking the bones.  The day after that, I hit my funny bone while I was doing pull ups at the gym, and somehow cut my knuckle.  See what I mean when I say everything is trying to kill me?

Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!

I'd completely forgotten that yesterday was Valentine's day.  I noticed it was February 14th, but that held no significance.  Working 12 hours a day every day, the days tend to run into each other.  I was only reminded by the happy/sad facebook statuses (and a few well wishers) populating my feed when I got back to my room.

I hope you lovebirds all had a memorable day, and if you're single, I hope you celebrated Singles Awareness Day in style.

Like this guy

I also hope you all didn't buy into the corporate brainwashing and get an excessive amount of roses for your special lady.  Romantic gestures are all well and good, but some people (*cough* flower companies *cough*) take it too far.  I was watching CNN, and apparently certain numbers mean certain things when it comes to flower arrangements.  365 roses, I found out, means "I can't stop thinking about you, each and every day") and 999 roses symbolizes everlasting and eternal love.  A dozen roses are fine, but get into the triple digits, and that's just overkill.



Flowers are the worst symbol of love.  Love is supposed to be eternal.  Flowers are temporary.  They die within a few days.  Is that what you want to tell your significant other?  "Our love is vibrant and alive now, but give it a few days, maybe a week tops and it'll be dead."  Screw that.

Take the ridiculous amount of money you were going to spend on the stupid flowers and use it to buy her something a bit more substantial, like some make up, or a cruise or something like that. 

One Valentine's Day, I got my (now ex) wife a potted tulip, some make up from Sephora, some lingerie from Victoria's Secret and a box of chocolates.  And still spent (slightly) less than the $100 some florists charge for a dozen roses.  The tulips lasted a whole 3 weeks, and grew back again the next year.

Of course, by next V-day we were no longer married, so take any relationship advice I give you with a grain of salt.

I have the attention span of a hyperactive chihuaha on crack. Squirrel!

I always set goals and start projects which I soon neglect.  Then a few months later I tell myself I need to get back into (insert goal here).  When I first got to Afghanistan about 2 months ago, I made a resolution to learn Farsi.  I have this audio language course I started listening to on the trip to and from work, which was all good for about 2 weeks, and then I got bored.  That's about the most time I can devote to any one interest or project before either getting bored or moving on to another project.  I swear, I have the attention span of a – hey, look a squirrel!

He knows what I'm talking about

What was I talking about?  Oh, yeah, setting goals and getting distracted.  It's a lot easier to do something when I have to do it, like school or work or if it's part of a routine.  Another resolution I made was to work out regularly.  I've been able to keep that one because I go to the gym almost every day, right after I get off of work. 

Back in the States, I almost never went to the gym on the weekends, because I couldn't force my lazy butt to get off the couch or computer and drive the 3 miles to the gym.  But I work every day here, so I don't have to fight much with my own willpower.  It's gotten to be a routine, and I fully expect to have a beach body by the time I return to the States

YAAGHHHH!  Gahtta pahmp it AHP!

When I was a kid, my mother tried to get my sister and I to play the piano.  It was quite the conundrum, as music wasn't allowed in the house (I guess the early 90s was all NWA or something and my mother thought music was a bad influence).  Since I had nothing to base my interest on, my skills as a pianist never really took off.  But now I kind of wish I had that ability.  I hear all these songs with piano riffs in them, and I really want to reproduce them, so I promised myself that once I get back home, I'm going to buy a keyboard and start re-learning the piano.  Of course, that will probably last for all of 2 weeks as well, before it's relegated to the garage in the active position of dust collector.

Only to be found by this squirrel, who will get better at it than I ever will

My inability to catch onto certain things doesn't help much either.  I've tried to get into physical activities like dancing, but either I'm the clumsiest person on Earth or I just completely lack the ability to pick up something new if it's not in my muscle memory.  I roller bladed as a kid, so when I tried ice skating as an adult, I picked it up in a matter of minutes. 

I tried skiing and snowboarding last year, both once, and after a day of crashes and falls, I can say with complete certainty that they're not for me.  People told me I just needed practice, but it didn't seem like I was getting anywhere after 6 straight hours, and I really didn't want to fall on my face again.  However, that doesn't preclude me from all winter sports.  Give me a sled with some kind of control mechanism (like brakes), and I'll take that thing down a black diamond.

I don't know how to end this post, so here's another picture of a squirrel.

Hello, ladies

Theory of Temporal Relativity

We've all been there.  There are 30 minutes left on the clock before your shift ends and you can go home.  You resolve not to watch the clock, because time always drags ass when you do.  An hour later, you look back at the clock and to your great surprise and dismay, only 5 minutes have passed!  Inversely, whenever you're doing something light and enjoyable, time seems to fly by.  Why is this?

This conundrum has stumped scientists for millenia, but today I, your humble blogger, calling upon the tremendous ideas of the great Albert Einstein, will attempt to solve this enigma once and for all.

This is the face of a man who will simply not put up with your shit

Here are the facts:

1) Einstein's theory of relativity states that the closer you get to something heavy (of great mass), the slower time seems to go.  Part of the theory, anyway.  I think.  I saw it on a Stephen Hawking PBS special or something.

2) Einstein was German

3) The word 'schwer' in German can mean both 'heavy' and 'difficult'

Therefore, we can safely accept that Einstein, being the confusing, two-meaning German wordsmith he was, may have in fact meant that the closer you get to something difficult, the slower time seems to pass.

So it's not too much of a stretch to assume that he was not only thinking of black holes when he came up with his famous and revolutionary theory, but also of you, my loyal readers, sitting in your cubicle, at your desk (or waiting tables, or whatever it is that you do), wondering why time seems to slow down the closer you get to being released for the day.

Why do you think I used the word 'light' (in the first paragraph) to describe things you enjoy doing?  Because it's the opposite of 'heavy'!  That's precisely why time seems to fly so fast on your break or when you're on vacation.


He's just laughing at your misery

You heard this revolutionary idea here first, folks.  Just in case someone tries to steal my idea and patent it for themselves, much like Alexander Graham Bell did with the telephone, or Thomas Edison with the lightbulb.  I'm not kidding.  You can read about it here.  



To the spandex-wearing men at the gym: please cease and desist

Dear skinny Asian guy with glasses at the gym

First of all, I admire your persistent efforts to show up at the gym every day, in a valiant attempt to strengthen those noodle-thin arms you possess.  I must commend you on your lithe muscular lower half and rounded glutes any female would be proud to call her own.  I cannot, however, in any good conscience, allow you to continue the wear of black spandex shorts (and not much else) you are so fond of, which do nothing to abscond your pendulous set of family heirlooms swinging semi-freely between the aforementioned panther-like lower extremities.  No one needs to see that.

Your T-shirt, which I can only assume to be a Marine-issue olive green (because every other Marine in the joint is wearing one of the exact same color) does nothing to conceal your manhood.  If you are in fact a Marine, you would be the weakest one I've ever seen, and would probably be kicked out for breaking the dress code.  Every other Marine there is wearing shorts that do not reveal the naughty bits; would you please do the same?   

I have seen others, yea, from far flung nations of the continent of Europe, wearing shorts made of the same revealing material but of the neon green variety, and before passing judgment, I must also take into account that they don't know any better; as we all know that the 80's didn't arrive in Europe until 1996.  Newer advances in fashion and technology have likewise experienced similar delays, but you, you are American and should know better.  I know this for a fact because I heard you speaking fluent American English with your gym-appointed trainer.  You have had ample occasion to change your wardrobe, therefore I am left with no choice but to issue the following:

By order of the fashion police, you have 24 hours from the receipt of this letter, to begin wearing real shorts that don't cling to your legs, or if you unwisely insist on wearing Spandex, at least put another pair of real shorts on over them. 

You are hereby warned, that if you continue to break the fashion laws, I will have no choice but to issue you another strongly worded letter and see that all of my friends know of your plight and ridicule you accordingly.

Keyboards

A couple of weeks ago, I ordered a bluetooth keyboard for my smartphone so I wouldn't have to lug around my laptop everywhere I went.  I wanted something I could carry around in my pocket.  I considered getting a netbook, but was soon advised against it.  Tim (a guy I work with) said it was a bad idea to get a small laptop with pitiful processing power which was almost as expensive as a regular laptop, and persuaded me instead to get a full sized folding keyboard for my Droid.

When it arrived, I was surprised how big it was.  It folds in half, but even so, I can barely fit it in my cargo pocket.  My buddy Warren asked me if I could type without looking at the keyboard (the answer is not very well) and if so, why I hadn't bought one of those laser projection keyboards, as they take up less space.  I replied that I didn't trust them, as they seem to run on black magic and hocus pocus.  Honestly, how does the laser know where your fingers are supposed to be?  I'm going to leave well enough alone.

Pictured: pure evil

Now I just need to figure out how to connect the keyboard to my phone wirelessly so I can write these posts at my leisure, if I ever get a chance to read the excessively long and confusing instruction pamphlet.  Maybe I'm just getting old and technology's starting to confuse me.  Before you know it, I'm going to start carrying around butterscotch candies in my pocket, wear my pants under my armpits and yell at people to stay off my lawn before I come out there and beat their little punk asses with my shillelagh.  Damn kids these days with their Pokey Men and their Rascal scooters.  No respect for their elders.

The great Twizzler crisis of 2011

Being deployed deprives you of certain things you took for granted.  Kind of like how in the dystopian future in 'the Book of Eli', chapstick is worth its weight in gold.  A simple object or substance, which, in and of itself, isn't worth very much, experiences extreme value inflation if it's nowhere to be found.  For me, that item was Twizzlers.

Ambrosia of the gods

I try to keep my family and friends abreast of my experiences here in Afghanistan via weekly emails.  Many of them have urged me to let them know if there was anything I ever needed or wanted, and they'd get me a care package out here lickety split.  And up until last week, I hadn't really asked for anything specific.  Just snacks, magazines, stuff like that.

But seven weeks into my deployment, all was not well.  I'd become listless of late.  Life just didn't have that spark anymore.  Then one day I saw a coworker of mine eating some Twizzlers at his desk.  At that moment, I realized my lack of lust for life (say that 5x fast) was due to a diet low in Twizzlers.  I hadn't had any in so long, it was affecting me.  I needed some now.  And I'll tell you why.

What happens is the One True God grows them on bushes in the Twizzle fields using an incantation that would kill us mere mortals if it were to hit our puny eardrums.  He then proceeds to wrap them in plastic and magic them down to your local superstore where whatever redneck cashier your Walmart has rescued from welfare that week proceeds to ring them up and pass them along to you, the fortunate consumer.  You proceed to ingest this finery in the vain hope that your obviously overmatched taste buds can somehow grasp the delectable intricacies they are suddenly faced with.  Is that Cherry Flavor number 5?  Why yes, yes it is.  As your tongue tries to process that amazing bit of information, your mind struggles to wrap itself around the wonder that is happening in your mouth.  And just as you think that all good things must come to an end, the last remaining Twizzler in the package surprises you with a conjoined friend.  You down them both, and all is well with the world.

So when I sent out my weekly update email, I asked the roughly 200 people in the 'To' field to send me some Twizzlers.  I hinted at my desperation and possible malnutrition.  I hit Send, hoping to be inundated with the delectable red ropes.  I'd been to the shop on base on previous occasions, and while they had a candy section, never had I seen any Twizzlers.  The day after I sent the email, I visited the store, and what did I happen to come across but an entire section of the stuff.

The rays emanating from the package is a graphical representation of the music produced by an angelic choir

Needless to say, I bought the store's entire supply, and then rushed back to the barracks to send out a retracting email.  Here is that email:

"Everyone!  I've just received an urgent update regarding the Twizzler crisis of 2011.

If you recall my last email, I asked you to send me Twizzlers, lots and lots of Twizzlers.  I was hoping for roughly a metric buttload, in every color of the spectrum and flavor of the rainbow.  Well, if you haven't already sent any, have no fear!  It has been revealed to me that the shop does in fact carry them and there is no need for you to waste your hard-earned money on shipping them out to me.  I don't know why they decided to hide their Twizzler supply from me by placing them in a corner of the candy rack where I would be unable to see them very easily. Maybe some wise soul with tons of foresight went ahead and did as I did, buying the store's entire supply.  I now have enough to keep myself and the family of elves that live under my bed sated with red sugary goodness for the rest of our days.

If you have already gone out and overnighted 5 lbs of the stuff to me, have no fear, as one can never have too many Twizzlers.  The elves thank you.  In fact, their king has decreed that the unit of currency used in all forms of trade, both domestic and between their kingdom and the kingdoms under far distant beds in the room be in the form of Twizzlers."


After sending the email, I proceeded to dig into the booty.  I was sick the next morning, but it was worth it.  I cherished every delicious piece of red sugary goodness.

I shudder to think how many thousands of collective dollars would have been needlessly spent on the greedy postal service if I hadn't sent the email.  $20 in postage for a 4 lb box that wont arrive for 2 weeks?  No thank you.

If Dove were more honest

A co-worker recently gave me a piece of Dove chocolate.  If you haven't had the chance to try one of them, they're delicious and there's a saccharine motivational phrase on the inside of every wrapper.  Almost like a fortune cookie, if fortune cookies catered exclusively to single desperate women past their prime.

Inside of my wrapper, I found this delightful little quote 

"You're gorgeous.
              Love, 
              Dove"

See, the Dove corporation has this 'Real Beauty' campaign that wants all women to know that they are beautiful, smart and sexy, no matter what the world (or their mirrors) say.  Of course they'd say that.  With America reaching unprecedented levels of obesity, it'd be bad for business not to.  And now I too have fallen victim to their cloying campaign, as they seem to think I'm gorgeous.  But if they were a bit more honest, they'd have put this in my wrapper:


"You're gorgeous.  Even if you're 39, single, childless and overweight, with too many cats with names like Mr Snuggles and Mittens, we will always think you're beautiful.  Unlike all the bastards who have ever disappointed you, we will never let you down.  We won't judge you or call you names.  We like you just the way you are.  Awww, now you're crying.  There, there.  It'll all be alright, you just need a friend.  A chocolatey friend.  Just dig into the bag.  That's a good girl.  Unwrap one and let the velvety goodness spread over your tongue.  Now eat another.  Yes, that's right.  We will always be there for you when you need us." 

Love,
Dove


Though I doubt they could have fit that on the wrapper.

But I appreciate the boost, Dove.  Thanks for making me feel pretty.  I think I'm going to go tuck back my sack now, put on some lipstick and dance to "Goodbye Horses" in the buff.


And if you got that 'Silence of the Lambs' reference, you're old