Dick Cheney Planned 9/11!

No, not really. But I am tring to expand my reader base through sensationalist claims.

Hey.

How's it going?

You new here?

You might want to check out some of my other posts as long as I have your attention. I really do hate the administration, you know.

My Top Ten Favorite Rock Bands

1. Radiohead

While the appeal of their more experimental albums is debatable, I've loved just about everything that they've put out. It is said that Eskimos have over 100 different words for our word "snow". I think Radiohead manages to do the same thing with sorrow - every subtle variation seems to have its own separate song.

Favorite Album: The Bends
Favorite Song: Street Spirit (Fade Out)

2. Failure

Perhaps the least mainstream entry on this list, Failure is one of those bands that surfaced when alternative music was in full swing in the mid-Nineties. They possess a really unique sound - a combination of heavy guitars, creative feedback, and the unique vocal stylings of the lead singer, Ken Andrews. He has almost hollow quality to his voice that lends it an eerie echo.

Favorite Album: Fantastic Planet
Favorite Song: While I think new listeners will get a good feel for their musical style without delving into unfamiliar territory by listening to their cover of Enjoy the Silence, I first gravitated to Failure through their abrasive radio hit Pitiful

3. Tool

Dark, brooding, music. Everything about this band seems to be rich with hidden meaning. The lead singer's soft, understated voice contrasts sharply with heavy guitars while controversial lyrics hide deeper meanings, all without sacrificing satisfying musical composition. Often, I will find that I have listened to a track again and again, only to stop and pay closer attention to the lyrics and be shocked to hear what I had missed.

Favorite Album: Ænima
Favorite Song: Sober

4. Alice in Chains

It's a shame lead singer Layne Staley died of a heroin overdose, but if you were listening carefully to Alice in Chains' lyrics, you could see that coming. Alice in Chains had this interesting way of alternating between a full length hard core album and a shorter EP on the lighter side. Both stylings were absolutely great, though.

Favorite Album: While it's not a full length album, I'd have to say Jar of Flies. If I were to pick one of the full length albums, I'd go with Dirt
Favorite Song: Would?

5. Pearl Jam

I didn't really appreciate Pearl Jam as much as many of my friends during their heyday in the early years, but at some point I looked back on over 10 years of favorites, and realised they all came from the same band.

Favorite Album: Rearviewmirror: Greatest Hits 1991 - 2003. Like I said, it was a over a decade before I began to appreciate them. By that point, I could get all of my favorites.
Favorite Song: Corduroy

6. Ozzy Osbourne

After I got old enough to look past the false associations between Ozzy Osbourne and devil worship, Ozzy had already come and gone from the mainstream. Still, I was surprised to find how many of his songs I'd loved without knowing it. I know Sabbath came first, but I've liked the solo stuff better.

Favorite Album: The Essential Ozzy Osbourne. Another collection. I don't feel like I'm cheating.
Favorite Song: Mr. Crowley, although I remember trying to convince my Mom that there was a song about Perry Mason.

7. Modest Mouse

They've got this fresh indie feel to them that's kind of like a rock/folk mix that makes me smile. I have a feeling though, that any description I could come up with insult the hardcore fans of this band.

Favorite Album: Good News for People Who Love Bad News
Favorite Song: Although Float On was the hit that brought the band to my attention, I've come to really like Cowboy Dan for it's title character's views on life.

8. Foo Fighters

I took to Foo Fighters more easily than I did to Nirvana, which I find surprising. Perhaps it's the lighter tone, I don't know. There certainly seems to be more energy in their music, whether that's happy energy or angry energy.

Favorite Album: Foo Fighters (self-titled)
Favorite Song: Exhausted, the last track on the aforementioned album. Great use of feedback and static.

9. Rush

Familiar story by now. Great band comes to my attention decades after their prime. Unique vocals on the lead singer. Some great guitar riffs.

Favorite Album: Rush Chronicles. You wait long enough, they put all the hits on a two-disc set!
Favorite Song: Subdivisions

10. Filter

A long time ago, when alternative music was still big, this band used to be at the top of my list. I guess I'm not as angry as I used to be.

Favorite Album: Short Bus
Favorite Song: Hey Man, Nice Shot

Porn Sword?

Don't click on this link... yet:

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/02/22/porn.sword.ap/index.html?eref=rss_topstories

At work today, I received this link in an instant message from a coworker that will remain nameless. As is the case with every link I'm sent, I scan the URL real quick to determine what kind of link I'm going to, a whether or not this is something I should go check out at work.

Immediately, something jumps out at me. You probably see it too.

porn.sword

Now, I think to myself, what the hell could this be about? I look at the domain - it's CNN. It must be a real news, then. And it must be appropriate because CNN is not exactly known for it's inappropriate content.

So, I invite you to do the same. Ponder the ineffable mystery of the porn sword. What do you think this story is about? Open your mind and let it wander ... where does it lead you?

Take another minute...

OK. Click on the link.

Read.

Not quite what you expected, was it? Funny, of course, but likely way different from what you had in mind. What kind of story did you envision? Please feel free to comment.

My Dark Master

Since I have begun playing The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for the Wii, I have come to accept a new master in my life.

Her name is Midna. I met her soon after I began playing the game. After a short introduction where I was introduced to my life as a ranch hand, I was ambushed by some sort of goblin, knocked unconscious, and sucked into a dark realm of some sort, where I turned into a wolf. Here is a video of our encounter:

She floats through the air, and speak in a sort of hollow gibberish that I can understand. She teases me mercilessly, she promises that she will help me escape my wolf form and rescue my friends if I will only accept that I am now her bitch.

Which I accept.

And then she proceeds to ride me like the jackass I am.

I do what she says, I go where she tells me. I listen to her make fun of me and tell me I should be smart enough to figure out this part by myself. Obediently, I obey her every whimsical beck and call while she yawns and stretches out on my back.

What a fascinating character! I have grown quite fond of Midna throughout the course of my adventures. The way you interact with her through the story is like being led by the nose by a very powerful, dark, spoiled, mischievous and playful little child.

I can never quite shake the feeling that her intentions don't have a sinister edge to them, but she does help me out quite a bit in return. When the way forward is not clear, she glides forward to show me places to jump where I can find sure footing. After a while, all the taunting and "You gotta do what I say" drops off a bit and it feels like a strange buddy flick - the stoic hero and the dark child partnered up to save the world.

I feel like I am following her lead but also that I am her guardian at the same time. She reacts with fascination at events that don't seem to phase me.

You may be thinking, the first person perspective is a little much for a blog post about a character in a video game, but if you know me well enough by now, you'll know that I take these things very seriously. I like to completely immerse myself in each gameplay experience, and little touches like this are what makes the difference between a fun game that I pick up and play and put away and a game that I remember years later like a favorite bedtime story.

Wiiblogging

 This post is being written from within my wii, with my little wiimote.
Using beta version of Opera browser for Wii.
Blogger's default editor won't work here so I'm manually editing HTML.
Slow?
Yes.
Painful?
Yes.
Freakin' sweet anyway?
Hell, yeah.

Let this day be forever hallowed across the land...

... for this day, my Wii has come home.

Of late, my otherwise peaceful slumber has been disturbed by fevered dreams, to which I rise with a start, bathed in sweat and wild-eyed, gasping as I hear myself utter, only with a ghost of a breath:

"Wii."

Now, the time for jubilation has come! It is finally here! My very own.

My... precious.



Now, if only the big screen wasn't being repaired at the moment, I'd really have some fun.

Words fail me...

I don't think I've seen anything more beautiful in my entire life.

Words fail me.

Reno thinks it's retarded, but I cried a little. This kind of vision is what all men should aspire to.

New domain!

Just a quick note. This blog is now hosted at http://www.rabbert.com. Anyone tired of remembering the old address can remember this simple domain. Hooray!

My Top Ten Futurama Quotes

Every now and then, when I need a little pick me up, I remember some line from Futurama, and laugh. Here are my top ten favorites - I know I've forgotten some, but they didn't come to the top of my head:

1.
Mrs. Wong: Yeah. This time we get most decorated law man in the whole universe!
Kif: You mean-- Oh, no, please. I beg you! Oh, for the love of--
Zapp: I am the man with no name. Zapp Brannigan, at your service!

2.
Gypsy: Well, there is perhaps one way. Have you heard of the Monks of Deshuba?
Fry: I've not heard of them.

3.
*Fry is locked in a battle with Zoidberg on his home planet, in a giant arena. As he is about to claim victory, he stops and addresses the crowd*
Fry: My fellow fish monsters, far be it for me to question your stupid civilization or its dumb customs, but is squeezing each other's brains out with a giant nutcracker really going to solve anything?

4.
Fry: Hey, wait! I'm having one of those things. You know, a headache with pictures?
Leela: An idea?

5.
In response to Zapp Brannigan's testimony before court:
DOOP Leader: Captain Leela, is this rambling tale of magic and heroism true?
Leela: Well...
Professor: That's it, if they fire him, we can keep him as captain
Leela: It's all true! My female incompetence! Zapp's cat-like reflexes! The stuff that made no sense! All of it!

6.
Fry: Leela! You shouldn't be listening. I don't want you to hear it till it's done.
Leela: But it's so beautiful.
Fry: So's a peacock but you don't eat it until it's cooked.

7.
[Fry turns the stereo on and Sir Mix-a-Lot's Baby Got Back plays. Leela turns it off.]
Leela: You can't just sit here in the dark listening to classical music.

8.
Ken: Oh, my. Anyway, your immunity is due to the fact that you lack the delta brainwave. It's a genetic abnormality which resulted when you went back in time and performed certain actions which made you your own grandfather.
Fry: I did do the nasty in the past-y!
Nibbler: Verily. And that past nastification is what shields you from the brains. You are the last hope of the universe.

9.
Big Brain: Well, here we are. Trapped for eternity.
Brain #2: We could sing American Pie.
Fry: Go ahead. I deserve it.

10.
Zapp: Precisely. Now, in the name of all that is good and honourable, we'll call the Neutral President with a message of peace, then blast him.
Bender: Yes, sir, sirdy-sir-sir-sir!
Zapp: Fly the white flag of war.

Quiznos Vs. Subway

And the winner is Subway.

I used to make a regular habit of going to Subway at lunch alone. I'd bring a book with me, and order one of the 6-inch sub combos, and be content with that. I'd get one of the 6 grams of fat or less subs, some baked chips or sun chips, eat slowly, then read for the remainder of my lunch hour. I eventually got adjusted to the lighter portion, and came to enjoy my little ritual, until my life got derailed and I had to quit that.

Now, I'm trying to get back into that groove, and I decided to start again today. However, I recalled the Quizno's commercials, and their assault on Subway, and decided to give it a try. The commercials pointed out two things:

1) Quizno's subs are toasted.

Then Subway offered to toast there subs, and the commercials turned into:

2) Subway doesn't give you any meat. If you compare the two side by side, Quizno's meat overflows the sub. Subway does not

I felt a little guilty for "betraying" my local Subway guys by testing out the competition, but I believe that any opinion, be it culinary, political, or video game, is more worth having if you try to see what's good about the other side before blindly choosing one.

So, I went today and got a medium Italian sub, and came to the following conclusions:

1) Quizno's give you more meat.

Perhaps too much meat - they certainly don't have any spokespeople advocating the health benefits of eating Quizno's every day.

The problem is, you pay for all that extra meat. My combo cost me nearly $10. Subway has always offered to double your meat for a nominal charge for as long as I can remember ($1 for a 6" and $2 for a footlong), and the price works out the same. As far as I can see, Quizno's isn't making me a better offer; they're just not giving me an option for normal meat.

2) Subway's bread is magical.

The first thing I smell coming into Subway is that bread. Part of the reason I don't get my sub toasted very often is that the bread is just so tasty. It's got just the right amount of gluten for that texture that's soft, yet firm, without being spongy like everything I've ever tried to make subs with at home.

3) I like variety of vegetable toppings.

What they show in the Quizno's commercials is a Subway sub with lettuce on it. No wonder it looks pathetic. If you're going for a meat-only sub, then you don't go to Subway. You go to Subway for that delicious variety of fresh vegetables. I always get everything but mayo when I go - wonderful. Every bite has it's own combination of flavors - sometimes you get some pickles and tomatoes, sometimes it's olives and banana peppers, and every now and then a jalapeno. I always announce "everything but mayo" right away so the sandwich artist has the opportunity to put together the sub without overstuffing it, but it still barely closes by the time they're done.

4) The yellow theme really works

For some reason, the yellow colors of the benches and walls really soothe me. I think there's some science behind colors that explains it all. I know red is supposed to make you hungry, but I think yellow makes you happy.

OK, I'm done. I know I sound like a Subway spokesman - I'm not. I'm pissed that my local Subway stopped the Subway club, and raised the prices on the 3 subs after 5 promotion. Still, I think they're the best sandwich out there, and probably my favorite guilt-free meal anywhere.

Why I deserve a Nintendo Wii

A couple of weeks ago, my sister emailed me to inform me of a radio contest in her area. They were taking submissions from listeners about why they deserve a Nintendo Wii, and awarding two winners a day for a week.

I didn't win (by the time I got to writing my entry, it was already Thursday night), but here it is:

Unlike many others, whose motivation for a Nintendo Wii stems merely from a selfish desire for a technological plaything, my need for a Wii stems from a deeply personal tale of tragedy, heroism, and a promise I made that I will never forget.

I was carrying out my annual tradition of volunteering to provide presents in the guise of Santa Claus to Saint Mary Agnes' Oprhanage for the Lonesome and Forgotten, when I met the most extraordinary youg man. Little Timmy had been placed in the orphanage at the tender age of 5, when he had been maimed in the car accident that killed his parents.

Tragically, they had been involved in a head-on collision with his only remaining grandparents as they were both driving home to celebrate Christmas, when they hit a patch of ice an the road. Ironically, the family forture had been transferred to bearer bonds the day of the accident, and burned along with the wreckage, leaving Little Timmy not only missing an arm and a leg, but destitute as well.

As Little Timmy, now 7, came and sat on my lap, I could not help but tear up at the sight of him. Little Timmy had not had the medical coverage to provide him with a prosthetic arm and leg, and had to bear an iron hook in place of his hand and a wooden peg leg. Still, I soldiered on, and asked Little Timmy what he wanted. "Santa," he asked, "will you bring my family back to me?". My voice cracked as I told him "I'm afraid I can't do that right now, they're with God now, so they can watch over you from heaven".

"I understand, Santa", Little Timmy said, and I marvelled at his strength. "Do you think I could get a Nintendo Wii instead? Everyone says they're so much fun, and Mommy and Daddy can watch me play from heaven." The orphanage only had a small 6 inch, black and white screen TV, but Little Timmy's eyes shone bright with the promise of things to come. "Santa will see what he can do," I replied, adding with a confidential wink "you know, Santa wouldn't mind having one of those himself."

We both chuckled to ourselves over our little joke, when we were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. Four figures rushed inside the room. The orphanage had been invaded by an Al-Qaeda sleeper cell. Apparently, they had devised their most heinous plan yet, to hold those most unfortunate Americans - our orphans - as hostages while they negotiated the release of convicted terrorists in Guantanamo Bay.

Setting Little Timmy down, I told him, "Let Santa handle this menace." Swinging my sack of toys around my head, I hurled it at the nearest terrorist knocking him out cold. I heard the sickening crunch of shattered toys as I took out the second with a roundhouse to the face, bitterly musing that there would be no toys this year. The remaining terrorists aimed their guns at me and opened fire, but I arched backward out the line of fire, like in the Matrix, and in one swift move, slung the heavy belt buckle that was part of my Santa outfit in a wide arc, knocking out the remaining two terrorists. Then, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and noticed one more hitherto unnoticed terrorist leap from the window into the street. I burst out of the window to chase him down, only to stop dead in my tacks, mouth agape.

It was none other than Osama bin Laden himself. He smiled evilly as he levelled a pistol straight at my heart. "Farewell, you decadent American swine", he leered. I winced, and shut my eyes, as I heard the shot fire. But I didn't feel anything. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Little Timmy staggered before me and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. The sound of sirens rang out, and Osama dropped his gun and fled. I knelt down to pick up the fallen angel who had rescued me.

He was looking bad. He wasn't going to make it. Black blood seeped out of a wound in his stomach. Tears began to fall from my eyes. It began to rain softly.

"Santa," Timmy began, as he gripped my fingers tightly, "is that God crying?" "Yes," I replied, "God is crying, along with your parents. They're happy that you're coming home." "I never did get to see the Wii," he sighed regretfully. "Santa," ... His voice was fading ... "will you play it for me? I want to watch you play from heaven." "It's a promise," I replied. Little Timmy smiled at me warmly. His eyes closed. I felt his little hand squeeze my fingers once more, and then they went limp.

He was gone.

The rain began to pour.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!", I cried. "WHY, GOD, WHY?!?!! TAKE ME INSTEAD!!!!!"

But sadly, my prayers fell on deaf ears.

To this day, I have tried to fulfill my promise to Timmy as he died in my arms. The success of the Wii has made it impossible for me to find one, and until then, Timmy's soul will never rest. At the last store I tried, they said they had sold their entire remaining stock to fulfill a radio promotion.

Please, send me a Nintendo Wii. Do it so Little Timmy, who died bravely fighting the War on Terror, can finally rest.

For Mom

I've been on quite a long sabbatical. I know I need to get back to writing, or at least some form of creative outlet, but I promised myself that I'd address this before I continued on.

I don't know if I really want anyone to read this.

I've recently lost my mother to cancer. It's been both a very long and a very short ordeal. It seemed like it was a long ordeal when it was happening, but now that I really put it into perspective, it really hasn't been that long at all. About 2 1/2 years ago, my mother went to get a pain in her stomach checked out and it turned out to that she had cancer in her pancreas. It was a stage 2 tumor, which meant that it was a significant growth but it had not spread. She was given some statistics. I don't remember fully well, but I think they said that gave her a 30% survival rate over a 5 year term.

I was upset to find this out, but it was still very early then; still too far in the future to give up hope. And when they called her in for regular chemo and radiation treatments, I assisted in taking her home in the afternoon. My boss was very generous about it; I took off for an hour or two in the afternoon, picked my omther up from the hospital, and drove her home, and worked a little later in the evening.

An it wasn't bad. They didn't give her the kind of dose of radiation that would have made her lose her hair, and for my part, I tried to keep her in good spirits by antagonizing her. I know that sounds really awful, but it was the kind of well-meaning challenging that kept her talking, kept her debating, and kept her mind off of the purpose of what we were there to do. My mother was a very intelligent woman, and strong-willed - all you needed to do was to present the challenege and she would rise to it. I challeneged her politics, we discussed books (mostly the Dan Brown series), and all in all, I'd say that things were actually kind of nice. I got a nice break from work, and on the longer trips, I'd read in the lobby while I waited.

Spurred by the change in circumstances, and through some intervention of my mother, I proposed to my girlfriend of 5 years (the story of the ring is for another time). Strangely enough, we set our wedding date on the one year anniversary of her surgery, April 8. Even more strange is that we missed out on our opportunity to book the 8th, and had to push it up to the 1st of April (if I ever forget my anniversary I can always claim April Fools), when on the same day, my mother's surgery was pushed up to the 1st of April.

The surgery seemed to be an astounding success, and to this day I regret that I sent out an email to just about everyone I knew, apologizing for my distant behavior in the previous months, and explaining the whole ordeal. At the time, I was convinced that the surgery had been 100% successful, that they had gotten all the cancer, and that everything was OK from here.

The only apparent side-effect was that in removing a part of her pancreas and some other organs in the vicinity, my mother had become newly diabetic, and she was not adjusting to it well at all. She had not been given the full course in the nature of insulin, and when to take it, and my mother would take it at the wrong times, such as when she had not eaten and her blood sugar was low. Then, it would really drop, and she'd pass out and break a bone and hurt herself.

Throughout the year, the insulin incidents occurerd fairly frequently. I confess that by the time my wedding rolled around, I resented my mother somewhat. She was so insistent upon taking her insulin that nothing could convince her that she didn't need to be doing it when she hadn't eaten. She wasn't eating very much - she had dropped a lot of weight all throughout the cancer treatments, and she continued to lose weight afterward. Her stomach gave her pain when she ate, so she often skipped eating. At our wedding, which we held outdoors at Duke Gardens, my mother quickly left thhe outdoor area where we were taking pictures and retreated to the receiption hall, and would not come to join us for the pictures when they were being taken. Even at the reception, she left early because she wasn't feeling well. At the time, I greatly resented her for this, and felt that she was trying to overshadow my wedding day by playing the sick card. I know it sounds horrible now, but she was true-blue Catholic; she knew how to take sympathy and milk it for all it was worth, and she could wield guilt like a sword.

Sometime after the honeymoon, I got word of some bad news. She had gone in for a check-up, and they detected that she still had cancer in her system. What I did not know at the time (and neither did she, or most of my family, except the ones that were reading between the lines), was that she had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer - where it has spread to other organs, and the time frame they give you from that point is about 6 months.

So for about 6 months, she was and I was under the delusion that she was going to get more chemo treatment to go after the remaining cancer, but the big problem was the diabetes-induced dizzy spells and falls that had weakened her system to the point that she need to get strong before she could get more treatment. And I continued to get upset with he over every hospital trip, because I was convinced that if only she would stop taking that damn insulin when she didn't eat, she would be fine. I thought that subconciously, she was doing it to herself to get some attention from the family, and that one of these daysit was going to bite her in the ass and she was going to put herself into a coma or die on a sugar low.

It never even occurred to me that she was really dying from the cancer.

One day, shortly after I had returned from a business trip abroad in London, my father called me in the middle of the night. My mother had fallen in the middle of the night on her way to the bathroom, and broken her hip. I took note of it at the time, but it bothered me more than it worried me. There had been so many falls and breaks that it just seemed like just another, and that I would go see her for a few days and then she would come home again.

The next day, when he announced that he was calling in the family, and came by my office to pick me up, it started to sink in that this was serious. Over the next few days, I came to understand a few things. The cancer was back in full effect, and the 6 month time frame had already passed - my mother was living on borrowed time. Furthermore, she wasn't coming home again - she was too weak to take care of herself, and she might not survive another fall.

Within a week, I quickly came to terms with the fact my mother was dying, life was never going to be the same for her again, and all this time I had been wrong about what was happening. The cancer was killing her, and not her own stubborness.

She wound up staying in a nursing home - a very nice one, but a nursing home still - she never wanted to end up in one. I came often, but I did not see her every day. It's a terrible shame that you can never know in advance how you'll feel when you look back on an opportunity wasted. At the time, it was very hard to deal with. When you're expecting that someone's going to die any day now, and you're already braced for it, it can wear you out when days turn to weeks.

When Halloween came and went, my mother was still in Duke Hospital, getting ready to be discharged to the nursing home. When the November elections came, and my party retook the House and the Senate, my mother was in the nursing home, and we watched TV together. Not the news, of course - it didn't seem to interest her too much (she had backed the wrong team), but a documentary on Jack the Ripper, or some of the Nero Wolfe episodes I bought on DVD, or half of the movie "28 grams" (another regret, we got about halfway through it when I had to go - she wanted to pick it up another time, but from the beginning again, and we never did). Thanksgiving was the last holiday we spent together, and it turned out to be the last day she was really there with us and (mostly) alert. We brought it in to the nursing home, and we had booked a private room, and it was a nice spread. She ate a little, but she had to retire early.

From there, things quickly took a turn for the worse. She died about a week and a half later, but the final days were really rough. It hurts to think about the details, and I don't want to share them, but I was both disgusted and ashamed and horrified that I was so callous. It is debatable whether or not she died well. What she must have gone through, and what her mental state must have been with all the morphine, is something I've come to dread. My sister has a more upbeat note on it - she noted that we were all (her husband, children, and grandchildren) there with her that day.

I lost whatever shreds of faith I had left throughout the whole ordeal. The pain is still very fresh, and it's like looking at the sun - it's too painful to deal with directly, to think about and to focus on. Every time I dwell on it too long it hurts, and I have to turn my thoughts elsewhere.

I'm glad, at least for the times I did have, although when I think of them, it's even worse than the rough times at the end. When I think about the bad times, I'm glad she's finally free of the pain, but when I think about the good times - that's when I miss her and the pain that she's not coming back really hurts.

RECAP

OK, So it's been a little while. I got some comments like this:

Hey, you haven't published in twelve days. WTF? It's your job to entertain me, goddamn it. So get cracking.

Yeah, yeah. I've been busy. I had a little bet with myself... who could this be? A friend? A sister? My wife? Sadly enough, all of the people in my life are comfortable enough speaking to me with this degree of disdain that I can't distinguish when someone sends me a remoark like this. That may seem pathetic, but it's a two way street. All of my interpersonal relationships are mutually abusive.

So what have I been doing, you ask, that I cannot spare a few moments to write? Well, apart for recovering from the chaos involved in the camping trip from Hell, I've been trying to buy a house. I recently got in trouble with the apartment complex I rent from, because my lease had expired earlier than I thought it was supposed to, and my rent went up while I was still paying the old rate. So now I'm looking for a house. We found a really sweet deal the other day that we were about to make an offer for when some other agent came along and made a contract. That road bump aside, I will one day again hold a taco party.

What else have I been doing? Watching a lot of TV. Comedy Central's started airing the frist season of Scrubs and I must've been asleep for the last 5 years, because I've been missing out on the funniest shit ever. Along the same lines, my wife and I have found House, so we're going back and forth between the first season that comes in on Netflix and the stuff they're airing now. Finally, one of my sister's sent me the series Firefly on DVD, and now I've found something else I should've been watching a few years ago. This trifecta of TV nose candy has kept me busy enough in the evening's so that I don't want to write anything more.

But tonight, I'm catching up, and recommitting to writing. Another sister of mine had asked me for my birthday wishlist, and I have complied. If you'll look to the right, a friend of mine has exposed a sweet little script for me that allows me to display a few items from my Amazon wishlist, by getting the feed they expose and making a template from the results. Feel free to buy me something.

Another update - I plan to move all of the political commentary to a new blog - Rabbertics. I've gotten some mixed responses to my left leaning rantings. Some appreciate the commentary, some choose to engage me in debate, and some would rather I did not preach. Politics, I think, is like religion. There is no argument that going to change anyone's mind unless they're already sitting the fence and looking for direction. The only thing that will change the mind of someone who's already picked their position are the events that shape their experience. It was the same case for me - no pundit managed to change my mind about the GOP. I was certainly willing to stand behind the President until the decision to invade Iraq came, when I hesitated. While I beleived it to be a mistake, I still thought good could come of it if it were done right. When the Abu Ghraib scandal broke, I broke my ties and burned my bridges. After that, I started watching what the pundits said, but only to confirm the position I had already chosen.

Still, they keep doing shit that pisses me off, and I can't keep quiet about it. So I'll take the forum somewhere else, and preach to the choir. Here, I'll bitch about my life and my wife and create serial killer fan fiction, and save bitching about the President for Rabbertics - soon to be.

So, let me end this with a good old-fashioned rant. You know what I would like to see? A keyboard made for big boys. I continually make typos because I'm typing on this instrument that's obviously designed to accomodate fine feminine fingers, and not my big fat ones. They make men's clothing and accessories bigger than women's - how about men's keyboards? All you need to do is make the keys 25 to 33% larger, and I promise you in no time, my typing rate will double. Yeah, it's kind of a boring rant.

I can't be funny all the time. So get bent.

IT'S HERE!

YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
KNOW MY BIRTHDAY AND DESPAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!




You don't count.

I do.

Your opinions don't mean anything.

It's my day.

(sung to the tune of The Wind Beneath My Wings)

Fuck you.
Fuck you.
Fuck all of you,
the ants beneath my feet.

Give me your worship!
Give me your praise!!!

Ahh, sweet, sweet external validation. If I could freebase it, I would.

Birthday Fever!

The day of my birth is rapidly approaching... only a few more hours to go. Can you feel the excitement?

I have one friend who has a birthday a day before mine, and one who has one a day after, making it actually a birthday trifecta. The fact that their birthdays revolve around my own makes mine feel all the more important.

Some people think that for a 29 year old to expect gifts on his birthday is ludicrous. I think that's crap. I deserve a present for just being me.

My Birthday

My birthday is coming up this Friday; I'll be turning 29, which feels like it should be ominous, but really isn't. I guess the anxiety will start to hit a year from now when I realize that I'll be turning 30. Then I might have to make some life changes.

Last year, I had a little celebration for my birthday. I sent out a notice to my family and a few of my friends that had been inspired by something my mother had done. One day, we were at my sister's house discussing plans for the day. It was still breakfast time, and my mother had no milk for her cereal, so she said, to the best of my memory:

"You may pick me up a gallon of milk from the grocery store"

as if it were a great honor that she was bestowing on me. I was so amused by this that I responded excitedly:

"May I?!?!"

And we all had a good laugh at my mother's expense. The phrase still stuck with me, and inspired this invitation to last year's birthday party, an email titled "A celebration for the ages!":

First there was nothing...

then there was James!

Bear witness to the man behind the legend as he celebrates the culmination of the 28th year of his gracious presence on the Earth. You would be honored to attend his birthday celebration at Kanki restaurant in Durham at 8:00 pm on Thursday, September 15, 2005 (http://www.kanki.com/). Enrich your own dull lives with tales of his heroic exploits over the years. Feel like a part of history as the story of his many triumphs unfolds before you. Allow him to touch your heart and free your mind as he has done for countless millions before you. While the offering of gifts is by no means mandatory, James understands that a tangible token of one's gratitude can suffice when even the words of the great poets fail to convey the heartfelt joy and ephoria that James has shone upon your soul like the piercing rays of the morning sun. Should words fail you, James can forward you a list of trinkets that amuse him.

P.S. Be prepared to pay for your own meal, as The Chosen does not deign to pay for the meals of The Unwashed, especially so many Unwashed (While God has gifted upon James a great many gifts, unfortunately he has not blessed James with great wealth, lest he become immodest).

This year, I don't know what I'm doing, but I know what I want to do. I want to find a party store where I can pick up a cape and scepter and crown, because I play to make sure everybody knows that I'm King for the day. Of all of the holiday's, I like birthdays the best, because they're a time for celebration and presents, but really nobody else gets to share in the glory. Everyone else is insignificant and their opinions don't count. This is true on every day, but on my birthday, people have to face facts. Do you know that you cease to exist when I'm not conceiving of you? It's sad to hear, but it's true.

When it rains...

... it not only pours, but I can hear a disembodied voice telling the neighbors to start collecting sets of male and female animals.

This is me at my wedding. I'm screaming because my wife is a half an hour later because she decided to go shoe shopping on that morning of all mornings.

But that's not what this is about.

Have you ever had something bad happen to you, and you just hang around waiting for the other shoe to drop? Except, not only does the other shoe drop, but your socks fall off as well. Then your pants fall down around your ankles, and lo, your boxers follow. Then you try to move around, but you have to take baby steps because your legs are bound by your pants, but you fall any way, face forward, and bang your head against the floor. Now you're unconcious, sprawled out on the floor, with your bare ass sticking straight up into the air.

Did I forget to mention that you're in prison?

Anyway, that was this weekend for me. What a nightmare. I started off by going to mountains to go camping for the weekend. I plan to go fishing with my wife. There's a four and a half hour drive up there, and already my blood is up because I'm leaving after work, and by the time I get there after a long drive, it's dark, and because it's the nature of all these woodsy campsites to have nice, cozy, unlit wooden signs, I'm wandering in the darkness forever.

But I get set up anyway and go to bed. Now, I've been camping before, but back in those days I used to sleep on a bunk bed, and the mattress was like fiberboard, so I had no idea what it was like to miss a good night's sleep on a decent mattress. But I felt the effects that morning as any sort of bending procedure quickly becomes a Pavlovian experiment in pain.

My wife and I begin to go fishing, when we realize that the river we're fishing in is about a foot deep, and while suitable for fly fishing if that's your thing -it's not our thing. That doesn't stop us from trying, and in the process, my wife drops part of her reel into the river. I go to fish it out for her, getting my shoes moderately wet in the process, and throw it up to her. She misses the catch and it rolls down the hill into the deeper part of the river, where I have to circumnavigate some sort of beaver dam, thoroughly soaking my shoes in the process. She insists my shoes are ruined and we go get some new ones. We hang out at the campsite the rest of the day. I wanted to read one of my books, but we had forgotten to pack them.

The rest of the trip pretty much goes smoothly, with the notable exception that as we are packing to leave, she finds one of the books I wanted to read. Damn. She wants to add a quart of oil to our tank, and asks of me and my freinds if someone strong can help her get the oil cap off of the engine. I manage to prove that I'm totally weaksauce and can't get the damn thing off when she reiterates that she meant someone strong. My freind Eric gets it off but I am convinced I loosened it for him. She also wants to stop at the state fair that we passed on the way, so after I have an argument I know I'm not going to win about getting back early so that we're not coming in late at night, we go to the fair. This is always a time of great stress for me, because I'm not only mildly phobic of crowds, but I am easily distressed (enraged, infuriated) by fair traffic and just what it takes to get a car into and out of a fair alive. We pass several happy hours at the fair, where I avoid riding all of the stomach churning rides that she wants to go on, because I know the last thing I need is to be nauseous for a 4 hour car trip.

Still, I have eaten one of those jumbo turkey legs with some Texas Pete on it, so it's not too far after we take off that a case of mudbutt starts to set in. We make a stop some 20 minutes into the trip, where I go to the bathroom and buy some chewable Rolaids, and it looks like I'm all set for the rest of the day, if I can just manage this car drive while my back is killing me (I ask my wife earlier, "Are you going to help me drive back?". She replies, "Did I drive for any part of the way up?". I responded, "No.". "Then you have your answer.").

This ends the amusing, whoa is me, funny-if-you-look-back-on-it portion of the trip. About 30 minutes after we pass Asheville begins the Nightmare Proper.

I hear a load rumbling on the road, the tell-tale sign of a flat tire. The motorists we are trying to pass gestures wildly and confirms, yes, we have a flat tire. We pull over, just before an exit. From the mile marker I can tell we are 200 miles from home. The front passenger tire has gone flat. Didn't we just buy new tires recently. Yes, we did. That was one tire of a set of two that we bought from Walmart one year and one month ago. Damn. We have a spare tire, but sadly, we left our jack in the other car. When then one got a flat. Thankfully, I have AAA. My wife's cell phone still has a charge, so we call them up and ask them for a tow. They suggest that they can come out and change the flat, which will work just as well, except that we are going to need to get a new tire anyway, because we can't ride home 200 miles on a spare, let alone avoiding exceeding 50 miles per hour on an interstate where the posted speed limit is 70 and most motorists are going close to 80.

The AAA guy shows up. While he's changing the tire, he informs us of two things. One, that the closest Walmart is likely in Hickory, 60 miles ahead of us, or in Asheville, 30 miles behind us. We could make it on a spare but we'd have to take it slow and a spare won't take us that far. The other thing is that we seem to be leaking some kind of fluid, probably radiator fluid, as evidenced by a puddle around the tire. We pop the hood, and find out that the oil cap is missing, and we've been losing engine oil.

Now I'm not laying blame here, but I seem to recall that the oil cap was there that morning when my wife emasculated me for not being able to unscrew it. She swears to me that she put it on, but it may not have been tight enough.

Now I really need a tow. The tow truck driver doesn't seem particularly happy about it, but we're covered and AAA compensates him for the tow, so we decide to take the car back to Asheville to go get a new tire for it. The new plan has us rolling home somewhere about 11:00 to midnight or so, but it can't be helped. However, after we are towed to Asheville, one thing becomes very clear. There is no tire place that's actuially open that we can use to get new tires. We're going to need to spend the night in Asheville and work on it in the morning.

The tow truck drivers drops us off at the Walmart. We can still drive, as long as we're careful to drive real slow (<50>

I also don't know how to get to a hotel, or to an auto parts store to get an oil cap. I ask the locals for directions, but they all see, to be in reference to some landmarks or roads that I don't know, and I'm not doing a very good job of conveying that I've practically been dropped into Asheville and I don't have any bearings. Thankfully, my wife remembers enough of the area from the trip in to guide us to a Days Inn, where we check in for a room for the night. At this point, a headache that has been brewing for most of the day is hitting me full force, to the point that I'm actually sick to my stomach and have to vomit. I'm not sure what brought it about, maybe the fair food, but if I were to wager a guess I'd have to say... oh, stress.

My wife orders a pizza for dinner, but I can only manage about half a slice, and I go to sleep, weak, nauseous, and drained with a headache. The next morning, my wife makes some calls and finds an AutoZone, and gets directions from the hotel staff on how to get there. It involves getting on a freeway, and driving real slow while other angry motorists pass us by, but that can't be helped, and we make our way to AutoZone, where we finally get our prized oil cap, and seal that fucker on tight. Then, we wander around Asheville for a while, trying to find the Walmart again, check in, and get our tires repaired. I remember that I'm supposed to be on an important conference call at work that morning, and after a fruitless effort in getting the cell phone charger to work, I have to make a credit card purchase for a set of pencils so I can get cash back so that I can use the pay phone to call someone at work to get them to cover my call. After wasting the first set of change calling someone's cell phone that went straight to voicemail, I get a hold of a coworker about 5 minutes before the call so he can get that straightened out.

The tire is done, and thankfully, Walmart gives us a discount on the tire, prorating the cost of the tire against the considerable amount of tread left so that we get the tire for a fraction of the price. In our excitement to get going again, we neglected to take any further preventative measure, say, buying a jack or checking out the condition of the other tires.

So I drive the rest of the way home. My wife sleeps most of the way, but the trip isn't bad. The sun is shining, and I'm just listening to my music as the hours while by. Normally, I'd be working now, so this is a change of pace and a time to reflect on my life. At the rate I'm at, I'll be able to go back into work in the early afternoon. I feel like a dick for having to take advantage of the good graces my boss has shown me in working with my missed work hours, but I can make up the hours through the rest of the week, and all will be well before long.

If you remember the tale of Odysseus, you'll know that even after he returned home from his fucked up voyage around the Mediterranean on his return home from the Trojan War, he still had shit to deal with at home when he had to battle it out with his wife's suitors. Or so I remember.

So about 3 miles from the exit that I'm supposed to take, I hear a farmiliar rumbling sound. Do you recall that the tire that went flat was one of a set of two that I bought from Walmart a year and a month ago? Can you guess which fucking tire went flat now? Well, if you can't you must be one of those sunny, happy-go-lucky assholes for whom everything goes right. You've never even heard of Murphy's laws because they don't apply to you. Well you can can choke on a fucking beam of sunshine and die, you asshole, because you exist to balance out the spectrum for me.

Now we have to pull over kind of close to an exit, but it's a big ramp. This is important because if you recall, both cell phones are dead, so I've got to get out and walk to the nearest gas station to call AAA. Thankfully this time I've got some cash with which to get some quarters, so when I walk out to the pay phone, sweating like a pig, I call AAA, and then I call one of my friends from work to come pick me up and take me back to the car. As soon as I hang up, I wonder why I did it, when I could probably just as quickly have walked back. I think some part of me wanted a witness. I didn't think anybody would believe me that I've got another damn flat. I know I wouldn't believe me. I would think I was trying to get out of work.

I have to guide my friend the long way around, since we got stopped before the exit, and he needs to come at it from the other side. When we pull up, there's already someone else helping us changing the tire (IMAP - different from the mail protocol I know, they're the Incident Management Assistance Patrol. These guys rock). I call AAA from my friend's phone to cancel the call, and after we get the spare back on, it's back to Walmart, but this time the local one. This time, they argue that the alignment's bad, and they won't cover as much of the tire, but I don't want to argue.

My wife drops me off at work with about 30 minutes left in the work day, and I give her my card so she can go get the car aligned. Another $70 later, she relays something from the mechanics to server as a fitting footnote to this sad, fucked-up affair.

I need new rear tires.

Poker

I love poker. I usually come out ahead, but I have my streaks of really bad luck. I also take a bad beat pretty hard. Still, I like playing. Even if I have noone to play with, I'll lay down some cards and dictate who I am, and think of how I'd bet. I'll even sometimes play a verbal game of poker with my wife. That's the best:

Me: Let's play a virtual game of Texas Hold'em.

Wife - in the other room, not paying attention: OK.

Me - not actually touching a deck of cards: OK, the cards are dealt. You have an Ace of Hearts and an Ace of Spades. Do you bet?

Wife: Sure.

Me: OK, I call. The flop comes down. An Ace of Clubs, a King of Spades, and a 2 of Diamonds.

Wife: What do I have now?

Me: Three Aces. Do you bet?

Wife: Sure.

Me: OK. I call. The turn comes. It's a 2 of Clubs. You have a Full House. Do you bet?

Wife: Sure.

Me: I call. And the river comes. It's a 2 of Hearts. Do you bet? Are you all in?

Wife: Sure.

Me: OK. I have a 7 of Clubs and a 2 of Spades. I have Four of a Kind. I win.

Ignorance is bliss

Or so they say.

"They" obviously weren't women, because women want to know every damn thing. I watched House today at lunch, and it featured an episode a patient that almost got himself killed because he couldn't admit around his wife that he was bipolar. When it finally did come out, she stormed out of the room because "he didn't trust her". I was thinking to myself, is it really the end of the world? Is she going to walk out on her husband because he was ashamed to admit that we was bipolar? Apparently, the answer was yes.

Which caused me to reflect on the fact that it's not just the big things that women want to know everything about, like what you did when you were younger or how many people you've slept with, but little, stupid things, like the entire damn conversations you've had about things you don't care about. Then what did he say? And what did you say after that? Why didn't she want to come? He said he was depressed, why was he depressed? What do you mean you didn't ask him? Blah blah blah blah blah......

Now I realize I'm not being completely fair. There are some men out there who can't stand not to know everything, but there are fewer of them, and they don't take it as far. When I have a conversation with someone, I get a general gist of what's going on, but there's some goal I'm satisfying too. Everything beyond that, I don't care to know. Say for instance, I'm having a party, and someone who previously said they're coming can't make it:

Caller: Hey James, look, we've got bad news. X and I aren't going to be able to make it .

Me: Really? I'm sorry to hear that.

Caller: Yeah, it's just that X's mom is sick and yada yada yada

At this point I'm tuning out. I hear words, but the goal of this conversation is acheived. You're not coming. Make less tacos. I wait for the pause that indicates my turn.

Me: Geez. That sucks. Well, thanks for calling. Maybe next time.

Then my wife asks me who called. Ladies, pay attention. When you get brief, one or two word answers, we are telling you we do not want to recall the whole thing verbatim.

Wife: Who was that?

Me: X and Y. They're not coming.

Wife: Why not?

Me: Umm... Y's mom is sick.

Wife: Oh my God. With what?

Me: I don't know. I didn't ask.

Wife: What do you mean you didn't ask?

Me: I don't know. It didn't seem relevant.

Wife: Aren't they your friends?

Me: Yeah, but that's their business. What do you want from me?

It's like pulling out your own teeth.

Trivia Question

Who made the following statement?

"Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."

A) George W. Bush
B) Dick Cheney
C) Karl Rove
D) Nazi Reich Marshal Hermann Göring during the Nuremberg Trials