Well, they finally did it. They shut down my favorite place in the entire universe.
The Scottsdale Drive-In.
It was, incidentally, also the only thing in Scottsdale that I loved and/or respected.
The drive-in is the absolute best way to watch movies. We'd sneak in pizza, soda, bouncing castles, and the occasional endangered species.
I read about why the drive-in shut down. Since they didn't make money off of the movies, they had to make up for it with their concessions. And they didn't. That's when I realized that the drive-in shut down because of me.
It was really kind of a humbling experience. You see, I learned something about myself today. I learned that the movie industry is full of money hungry vultures and douche bags. I guess that's not really about me at all. I mean, I kind of learned that I should support the places I love instead of going there for the atmosphere. In the end, I suppose I'm the real vulture douche bag.
Sadly, it took something I love being taken away from me to realize that. Did your eyes get a little watery there? Neither did mine. I suppose it's difficult to mine for emotions when you're writing from a Starbucks.
Seriously though, Starbucks is an attractive succubus.
As I sit here enjoying the free Wi-Fi to compliment my cold glass of free water (I didn't even have to use my gift card!), I've realized that's it's all about independently owned businesses. The bigger we let these big companies get, the fewer cool places we'll have to go to. The truth is big companies are the reasons all of our jobs are going to China and India. And we all complain about it like we don't have a choice, but we're the ones who are financing these companies every time we buy something from them.
Small companies and little shops make me realize that any one of us can do the same thing. Big companies make me feel like a slave who does what he's told. The American dream isn't getting the cheapest price at Wal-Mart. I'd like to believe that the American dream is about finding your niche, doing what you love, and establishing yourself as a creator rather than a consumer. It's about becoming an individual who thinks for themselves and buys popcorn from the local drive-in.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
The iPad 3
The Ghost of Christmas Future is about ready to knock down my front door with a barrage of television ads and gingerbread lattes. And he'll knock louder and louder as the days go by.
There will be traffic accidents, screaming customers, fist fights, road rage, credit card debt, layaway plans, obligations to buy gifts for people at the office, and then suddenly... there will be an awed hush on Christmas day.
Stores will be closed. Parking lots will be empty. Schools will be abandonded. Streets will only be trickling with a few randomly distributed cars as they make their way home. Smoke will rise from chimneys. The smell of fresh baked ham will permeate neighborhood streets. And for a few hours the animals will contemplate taking back the cities as their own land.
Then the next day there will be traffic accidents, screaming customers, fist fights, road rage, credit card declines, gift card declines, returns, regifting the things we got from people at the office, and then suddenly... we'll make some new year's resolutions to be better people.
And we do all of this because of one day out of the year.
Christmas, like the iPhone, is just another example of how controllable we humans are by the power of suggestion. I'm actually quite certain that if the devil were to come to Earth he would manifest himself in the form an iPad 3.
I've known some pretty cool Jehova's Witnesses who really opened my eyes. They told me they give gifts to each other on random days just for the hell of it. And I said to them, " Wait... you give gifts out of appreciation instead of obligation? What kind of fucked up religion is that?"
There's no law that states we will have our citizenship revoked if we celebrate Christmas on another day. We celebrate on December 25th because everyone else does it. We just do it because retailers tell us we should. God forbid we buy gifts for our friends and family any other day of the year. Jesus might come down from heaven, ripping his clothes off of his body in an Incredible-Hulk-like display of rage, and throw down the script he had written entitled "Earth!" to show us where we fucked up our lines.
That would never happen, of course. Christmas isn't about Jesus.
There will be traffic accidents, screaming customers, fist fights, road rage, credit card debt, layaway plans, obligations to buy gifts for people at the office, and then suddenly... there will be an awed hush on Christmas day.
Stores will be closed. Parking lots will be empty. Schools will be abandonded. Streets will only be trickling with a few randomly distributed cars as they make their way home. Smoke will rise from chimneys. The smell of fresh baked ham will permeate neighborhood streets. And for a few hours the animals will contemplate taking back the cities as their own land.
Then the next day there will be traffic accidents, screaming customers, fist fights, road rage, credit card declines, gift card declines, returns, regifting the things we got from people at the office, and then suddenly... we'll make some new year's resolutions to be better people.
And we do all of this because of one day out of the year.
Christmas, like the iPhone, is just another example of how controllable we humans are by the power of suggestion. I'm actually quite certain that if the devil were to come to Earth he would manifest himself in the form an iPad 3.
I've known some pretty cool Jehova's Witnesses who really opened my eyes. They told me they give gifts to each other on random days just for the hell of it. And I said to them, " Wait... you give gifts out of appreciation instead of obligation? What kind of fucked up religion is that?"
There's no law that states we will have our citizenship revoked if we celebrate Christmas on another day. We celebrate on December 25th because everyone else does it. We just do it because retailers tell us we should. God forbid we buy gifts for our friends and family any other day of the year. Jesus might come down from heaven, ripping his clothes off of his body in an Incredible-Hulk-like display of rage, and throw down the script he had written entitled "Earth!" to show us where we fucked up our lines.
That would never happen, of course. Christmas isn't about Jesus.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Humans are the Bees' Knees
We humans think we're pretty impressive.
We've sent men to the moon, split atoms, and created jelly beans that taste just like fingernails.
We feel pretty confident that if an alien race were to visit Earth we would be the first living thing they would want to make contact with. But what if as soon as the hatch of their flying saucers opened up, our people ran to the alien creatures to barrage them with questions and Mexican blankets only to be silenced?
"Hey, we appreciate the warm welcome, humans, but we're actually here for the honey badgers."
We tend to think we're the most advanced and intelligent lifeform on this planet, but it's on a human scale. I'm sure every lifeform thinks it's the most important one. Sure, we were probably all awe struck when the first airplane took flight, but I'm pretty sure the other millions of other lifeforms on the planet didn't notice (except for the migrating geese that found it more of an annoyance). To me, that represents complete and utter insignificance.
Let's imagine for a moment that a bee wasted its valuable time learning English and was able to have a discussion with a human.
Bee: "What'd you do today?"
Human: "Well, I drove my polluting Lexus to work where I then made sales calls from my iPhone 4 to people who probably don't really need to have what I'm selling. Then they bought it with the money they made from their job because they feel they need to spend money on possessions that will clutter their house until they die. Then their family will throw it all away or sell to someone else and the cycle will repeat itself. What did you do today?"
Bee: "I left my colony, in which we all do equal parts and don't pay a dime, to fly around the air all day and stop to suckle nectar from the occasional flower and spread pollen in order to pollinate other plants in the area. Then I made honey and slept like a baby that had slipped into a bee-sting-induced coma."
Human: "Are you accepting applications?"
Bee: "I'm afraid we're looking for someone with a different skill set."
We've sent men to the moon, split atoms, and created jelly beans that taste just like fingernails.
We feel pretty confident that if an alien race were to visit Earth we would be the first living thing they would want to make contact with. But what if as soon as the hatch of their flying saucers opened up, our people ran to the alien creatures to barrage them with questions and Mexican blankets only to be silenced?
"Hey, we appreciate the warm welcome, humans, but we're actually here for the honey badgers."
We tend to think we're the most advanced and intelligent lifeform on this planet, but it's on a human scale. I'm sure every lifeform thinks it's the most important one. Sure, we were probably all awe struck when the first airplane took flight, but I'm pretty sure the other millions of other lifeforms on the planet didn't notice (except for the migrating geese that found it more of an annoyance). To me, that represents complete and utter insignificance.
Let's imagine for a moment that a bee wasted its valuable time learning English and was able to have a discussion with a human.
Bee: "What'd you do today?"
Human: "Well, I drove my polluting Lexus to work where I then made sales calls from my iPhone 4 to people who probably don't really need to have what I'm selling. Then they bought it with the money they made from their job because they feel they need to spend money on possessions that will clutter their house until they die. Then their family will throw it all away or sell to someone else and the cycle will repeat itself. What did you do today?"
Bee: "I left my colony, in which we all do equal parts and don't pay a dime, to fly around the air all day and stop to suckle nectar from the occasional flower and spread pollen in order to pollinate other plants in the area. Then I made honey and slept like a baby that had slipped into a bee-sting-induced coma."
Human: "Are you accepting applications?"
Bee: "I'm afraid we're looking for someone with a different skill set."
Monday, November 7, 2011
'Tis the Season
I don't know about you people (and I'm not saying that because all of my readers are black), but I'm getting a little tired of having Christmas thrust in my face like a stripper's money-hungry, pine-scented crotch the day after Halloween.
We're now celebrating Christmas for a full two months before its calendar date. That's one sixth of the year that is devoted to Christmas. During the Christmas season, I'll get two oil changes.
I predict that twenty years from now the Christmas season will begin immediately following Labor Day.
Christmas is by far the most greed-fueled holiday in the entire Milky Way galaxy. When I think about Jesus and the things he taught us, I don't remember the part about punching someone in the spleen in order to get the last Call of Duty game. It's ironic that we celebrate the birth of someone who taught us about love, compassion, sacrifice, and forgiveness this way.
I'm not even a religious man, but I know hypocrisy when I see it. That's why I'm proposing a new set of rules for how Christmas is to be celebrated.
1. Instead of presents, we will exchange children for the day and force them to act out scenes from 'Total Recall'.
2. Instead of cutting down trees to put in our living rooms, we'll hang up pictures of Katy Perry made entirely of macaroni.
3. Instead of Christmas music, we'll only be able to listen to recordings of great political debates reenacted by Patrick Stewart and Oscar the Grouch.
4. Instead of putting lights on our houses, we'll stick catnip in our pants.
5. And instead of kissing someone every time we step beneath mistletoe, we'll cover ourselves in chicken broth every time someone says the word 'cynicism'.
We're now celebrating Christmas for a full two months before its calendar date. That's one sixth of the year that is devoted to Christmas. During the Christmas season, I'll get two oil changes.
I predict that twenty years from now the Christmas season will begin immediately following Labor Day.
Christmas is by far the most greed-fueled holiday in the entire Milky Way galaxy. When I think about Jesus and the things he taught us, I don't remember the part about punching someone in the spleen in order to get the last Call of Duty game. It's ironic that we celebrate the birth of someone who taught us about love, compassion, sacrifice, and forgiveness this way.
I'm not even a religious man, but I know hypocrisy when I see it. That's why I'm proposing a new set of rules for how Christmas is to be celebrated.
1. Instead of presents, we will exchange children for the day and force them to act out scenes from 'Total Recall'.
2. Instead of cutting down trees to put in our living rooms, we'll hang up pictures of Katy Perry made entirely of macaroni.
3. Instead of Christmas music, we'll only be able to listen to recordings of great political debates reenacted by Patrick Stewart and Oscar the Grouch.
4. Instead of putting lights on our houses, we'll stick catnip in our pants.
5. And instead of kissing someone every time we step beneath mistletoe, we'll cover ourselves in chicken broth every time someone says the word 'cynicism'.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Reincarnation Instant Breakfast
The other day two coworkers of mine were discussing reincarnation.
"... like if you're good in this life you come back as a human, but if you're bad then you'll come back as a frog?" one of them clarified.
At that moment I considered the papers scattered across my cubicle desk, my two dozen unanswered emails, the work I was having to come in and do this weekend, my bills, my inevitable hour drive home through rush-hour traffic, and the constant threat of nuclear war.
Yup. I can't wait to come back and do all this over again.
Maybe that's why the world is overpopulated. There were a lot of insects and sea creatures doing such kick-ass jobs that they got promoted to human status. But the only real experience they had when they were locusts was destroying crops, so now they just do things like consume large amounts of gasoline and join the Tea Party.
The truth is I love the idea of reincarnation. I'd like to think that I get to come back and try something new. But there's no chance in hell I'm ever coming back as a human, because I'm positive that we got it all backwards. My cats get free food, free shelter, free sand to shit in AND someone to clean it up (occasionally). I think it's safe to say that my cats are enjoying a stress-free life.
I brought this up to the gods recently at our last underground fight club. They all took a look at my report, nodded, and whispered amongst each other before coming to a conclusion. "I think I speak for us all," Vishnu said to me, "when I say... woops."
Together we drew up a new hierarchy of desired incarnations. These are the top ten. You'll notice humans didn't make the list as they are 'desired incarnation number 32,978' just below 'plastic bag'.
10. a dog
9. a great white shark
8. a kangaroo signed up as a last minute replacement in a boxing match
7. a 17th century manuscript about the oppression of robots
6. a venti Mocha Frappucino from Starbucks
5. an original 1973 vinyl copy of The Dark Side of the Moon
4. a rare dolphin born with the ability to spray orange soda from its blow hole
3. a nice set of decorative towels
2. Super Mario
1. a bowl of Capn Crunch
"... like if you're good in this life you come back as a human, but if you're bad then you'll come back as a frog?" one of them clarified.
At that moment I considered the papers scattered across my cubicle desk, my two dozen unanswered emails, the work I was having to come in and do this weekend, my bills, my inevitable hour drive home through rush-hour traffic, and the constant threat of nuclear war.
Yup. I can't wait to come back and do all this over again.
Maybe that's why the world is overpopulated. There were a lot of insects and sea creatures doing such kick-ass jobs that they got promoted to human status. But the only real experience they had when they were locusts was destroying crops, so now they just do things like consume large amounts of gasoline and join the Tea Party.
The truth is I love the idea of reincarnation. I'd like to think that I get to come back and try something new. But there's no chance in hell I'm ever coming back as a human, because I'm positive that we got it all backwards. My cats get free food, free shelter, free sand to shit in AND someone to clean it up (occasionally). I think it's safe to say that my cats are enjoying a stress-free life.
I brought this up to the gods recently at our last underground fight club. They all took a look at my report, nodded, and whispered amongst each other before coming to a conclusion. "I think I speak for us all," Vishnu said to me, "when I say... woops."
Together we drew up a new hierarchy of desired incarnations. These are the top ten. You'll notice humans didn't make the list as they are 'desired incarnation number 32,978' just below 'plastic bag'.
10. a dog
9. a great white shark
8. a kangaroo signed up as a last minute replacement in a boxing match
7. a 17th century manuscript about the oppression of robots
6. a venti Mocha Frappucino from Starbucks
5. an original 1973 vinyl copy of The Dark Side of the Moon
4. a rare dolphin born with the ability to spray orange soda from its blow hole
3. a nice set of decorative towels
2. Super Mario
1. a bowl of Capn Crunch
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Bert & Ernie: Another Great Loss for Gay Rights
It came to my attention the other day that the great debate over whether or not Bert and Ernie were to become the first recognized gay puppet couple came to an end.
Despite the myriad petitions and the increasing pressure on PBS, Bert and Ernie were not meant to be a gay couple.
And I said to myself, "Thank puppet God."
Now don't get me wrong. Any of you who know me well know that I am a major defender of gay rights. If a man wants to marry a man, give me a pen. I'll sign your petition and I'll march in your parade. People love who they love and that's that. Let everyone be happy and free.
Except puppets.
I am categorically opposed to gay puppet rights. "For what reason?" you ask. "Puppets deserve equal rights!" you say. Because it goes against what I was raised to believe in the puppet bible when I went to puppet Sunday School.
Our puppet priest pointed out a passage with his puppety fingers in Puppetians 4:28 which read, "One puppet shall not lay down with another puppet, for it is a sin." Then he closed the puppet bible and placed his hand on mine. "But it is not a sin for a human to lay with his puppet priest."
And even though it was about that time that my parents decided we should no longer attend puppet church, that passage resonated with me. So I apologize, puppets. But you shall never have my vote.
Despite the myriad petitions and the increasing pressure on PBS, Bert and Ernie were not meant to be a gay couple.
And I said to myself, "Thank puppet God."
Now don't get me wrong. Any of you who know me well know that I am a major defender of gay rights. If a man wants to marry a man, give me a pen. I'll sign your petition and I'll march in your parade. People love who they love and that's that. Let everyone be happy and free.
Except puppets.
I am categorically opposed to gay puppet rights. "For what reason?" you ask. "Puppets deserve equal rights!" you say. Because it goes against what I was raised to believe in the puppet bible when I went to puppet Sunday School.
Our puppet priest pointed out a passage with his puppety fingers in Puppetians 4:28 which read, "One puppet shall not lay down with another puppet, for it is a sin." Then he closed the puppet bible and placed his hand on mine. "But it is not a sin for a human to lay with his puppet priest."
And even though it was about that time that my parents decided we should no longer attend puppet church, that passage resonated with me. So I apologize, puppets. But you shall never have my vote.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Fantasy Football
I tried fantasy football once.
It didn't work out very well for me.
The other guys in my league might argue that I didn't commit enough time to setting up my team every week. Sheepishly, I told them that I just didn't have the time.
And that was a bold-faced lie.
The truth is that I was led to believe I was playing fantasy football! Are you confused? Yeah, so was I.
I'm sorry, but when I think of "fantasy sports" I don't think of all my favorite football players on one team together playing sports in harmony. That's stupid. They would last ten minutes before their egos destroyed the whole team. It was an unrealistic idea.
You see, when I was told we'd be starting a fantasy football league I concentrated too much on the "fantasy" part. I thought we were going to be meeting every weekend to play football with elves and unicorns.
Choosing teams would have required a lot more consideration than athletic ability.
"I'll taaaaaake... Pegasus."
"What?! You always get Pegasus!"
"Yeah, well, you know why? First of all Pegasus can fly just above your heads and kick you guys in the face with its hooves when you get too close. And second of all I won the coin toss, so man up and accept it, you little bitch."
"Fine. I'll take Cyclops."
"Cyclops? Are you sure?"
"What's wrong with Cyclops?"
"Oh nothing! He's a big guy. He's strong. He's a good pick. I mean, he doesn't have any depth perception so don't expect him to be able to throw or catch a ball, but you know it's your choice. He might not keep getting off-sides called on him again this week. It might be a better week for him."
One can only fantasize about real fantasy football.
It didn't work out very well for me.
The other guys in my league might argue that I didn't commit enough time to setting up my team every week. Sheepishly, I told them that I just didn't have the time.
And that was a bold-faced lie.
The truth is that I was led to believe I was playing fantasy football! Are you confused? Yeah, so was I.
I'm sorry, but when I think of "fantasy sports" I don't think of all my favorite football players on one team together playing sports in harmony. That's stupid. They would last ten minutes before their egos destroyed the whole team. It was an unrealistic idea.
You see, when I was told we'd be starting a fantasy football league I concentrated too much on the "fantasy" part. I thought we were going to be meeting every weekend to play football with elves and unicorns.
Choosing teams would have required a lot more consideration than athletic ability.
"I'll taaaaaake... Pegasus."
"What?! You always get Pegasus!"
"Yeah, well, you know why? First of all Pegasus can fly just above your heads and kick you guys in the face with its hooves when you get too close. And second of all I won the coin toss, so man up and accept it, you little bitch."
"Fine. I'll take Cyclops."
"Cyclops? Are you sure?"
"What's wrong with Cyclops?"
"Oh nothing! He's a big guy. He's strong. He's a good pick. I mean, he doesn't have any depth perception so don't expect him to be able to throw or catch a ball, but you know it's your choice. He might not keep getting off-sides called on him again this week. It might be a better week for him."
One can only fantasize about real fantasy football.
This Blog Brought to You by Pepsi
I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting a little tired of this recession.
However, you won't find me getting angry at the president for not pulling us out of this mess. You won't even find me blaming the House Republicans for filibustering every good idea that comes across their desks so that they have a 2012 political platform. I know... I was as shocked as you must be right now.
Heaven forbid our government, with it's evil socialist police departments and school systems, gets too big and is able to start fixing the problems that people living on food stamps and unemployment benefits keep complaining about.
The biggest problem is that people of every social class are greedy and they don't know how to manage their money. That's it.
And I have a solution that will solve everyone's problems: Corporate Sponsored Catastrophes.
When I first heard that the government was considering having corporate sponsorship of national parks I thought they were losing their minds. I thought they were getting desperate for funds. Then I thought, "Pepsi Presents Hurricane Katrina".
Just think about it. There must be dozens of catastrophes every day! Imagine the amount of money that would be coming in if Nabisco paid the government to get their name on an earthquake. It would be advertising in the form of panic. Everybody wins.
"The people of Los Angeles were awaken this morning by a magnitude 6.5 earthquake. You can see some of the structural damage in the wall of this Oreo factory, which by the way is milk's favorite cookie, that I'm reporting from right now."
People would be watching the news and saying to their families, "My God! The humanity! The Oreo factory?! Do you think the double stuffs were affected? You guys stay here, I'd better get to the store to stock up in case... shit! The neighbors are already running off to Safeway! I'd better take the shotgun."
Hurricane Katrina might have worked out much better.
"It seems that a levy had failed and you can see that the streets of New Orleans have virtually become canals. Hundreds are dead or unaccounted for. This may very well be the worst disaster this country has seen since the prohibition era when people couldn't even get a Budweiser, the king of beers, to save their lives."
Advertising is infectious. People in the area would have been evacuating their homes saying, "No! We have to go right now! You can't take your jewelry, honey, we have to leave it! We can only take the important things! We're all we got now. We are ALL... WE... GOT. Grab that 24 pack of Budweiser. The Budweiser! I don't know why, just fucking grab it! Leave the cat! Now you can use that arm!"
The government would have made some good money off of Hurricane Katrina, and they would have actually had the money and resources to help the people of New Orleans much faster.
There would be so many opportunities to make money from corporate sponsorship it's not even funny. Tornadoes, droughts, tsunamis, nuclear meltdowns, genocides, prison riots... the list goes on and on.
Then with the excess money, the government could afford to send everyone to finance classes to learn about such topics as "Why buying a house for $350,000 isn't a good idea when you only make $9 an hour" or "Why paying slightly higher income taxes so that the government doesn't have to make up for it by taxing the shit out of businesses that in turn have to outsource their work to China is a good thing".
However, you won't find me getting angry at the president for not pulling us out of this mess. You won't even find me blaming the House Republicans for filibustering every good idea that comes across their desks so that they have a 2012 political platform. I know... I was as shocked as you must be right now.
Heaven forbid our government, with it's evil socialist police departments and school systems, gets too big and is able to start fixing the problems that people living on food stamps and unemployment benefits keep complaining about.
The biggest problem is that people of every social class are greedy and they don't know how to manage their money. That's it.
And I have a solution that will solve everyone's problems: Corporate Sponsored Catastrophes.
When I first heard that the government was considering having corporate sponsorship of national parks I thought they were losing their minds. I thought they were getting desperate for funds. Then I thought, "Pepsi Presents Hurricane Katrina".
Just think about it. There must be dozens of catastrophes every day! Imagine the amount of money that would be coming in if Nabisco paid the government to get their name on an earthquake. It would be advertising in the form of panic. Everybody wins.
"The people of Los Angeles were awaken this morning by a magnitude 6.5 earthquake. You can see some of the structural damage in the wall of this Oreo factory, which by the way is milk's favorite cookie, that I'm reporting from right now."
People would be watching the news and saying to their families, "My God! The humanity! The Oreo factory?! Do you think the double stuffs were affected? You guys stay here, I'd better get to the store to stock up in case... shit! The neighbors are already running off to Safeway! I'd better take the shotgun."
Hurricane Katrina might have worked out much better.
"It seems that a levy had failed and you can see that the streets of New Orleans have virtually become canals. Hundreds are dead or unaccounted for. This may very well be the worst disaster this country has seen since the prohibition era when people couldn't even get a Budweiser, the king of beers, to save their lives."
Advertising is infectious. People in the area would have been evacuating their homes saying, "No! We have to go right now! You can't take your jewelry, honey, we have to leave it! We can only take the important things! We're all we got now. We are ALL... WE... GOT. Grab that 24 pack of Budweiser. The Budweiser! I don't know why, just fucking grab it! Leave the cat! Now you can use that arm!"
The government would have made some good money off of Hurricane Katrina, and they would have actually had the money and resources to help the people of New Orleans much faster.
There would be so many opportunities to make money from corporate sponsorship it's not even funny. Tornadoes, droughts, tsunamis, nuclear meltdowns, genocides, prison riots... the list goes on and on.
Then with the excess money, the government could afford to send everyone to finance classes to learn about such topics as "Why buying a house for $350,000 isn't a good idea when you only make $9 an hour" or "Why paying slightly higher income taxes so that the government doesn't have to make up for it by taxing the shit out of businesses that in turn have to outsource their work to China is a good thing".
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Salad Parable
As many of you already know, I wait tables at my second job.
As many of you already know, people drive me crazy.
As many of you already know, I made a poor job choice in this aspect.
When people ask me for more butter, more lemons, or more water it doesn't bother me. That's my job. But when I bring out a salad and the person at my table (and it is my table because we're required to bring them from home) takes a piece of lettuce with their fingers, holds it up to me with a condescending smile on their face, and says, "This doesn't look very fresh", I have to smile, apologize, and get them a new one. I'd much rather explain to them that slight discoloration is often caused by the amount of iron in the soil, but it wouldn't matter. In fact, they might get more upset that I'm more intelligent than they are, and that would somehow result in them getting a discount on their bill.
Even more than explaining agriculture to these kinds of customers, I'd like to give them a history lesson that would go something like this.
"Ah, I see you have brought the lettuce to my attention, sir. Your lettuce predicament reminds me of a tale from the paleolithic era."
At this point the lights in the restaurant would dim and tribal drums and flutes would begin to play.
"There once was a man by the name of Krag. Krag would sit near the cozy fire which burned in his community day and night until the rest of his tribe returned from hunting animals and gathering vegetation. When Krag was offered meat he would say, "Nay, I shall not partake in the eating of this meat, for it is underdone." The other people of his tribe shrugged and went back to eating. Later, when Krag was offered the collected vegetation he would say, "I cannot be expected to eat this vegetation, for it is somewhat shriveled and discolored." Once again the people of his tribe shrugged and went back to eating. Suddenly the community was attacked by inter-dimensional lizard-men. The members of Krag's tribe were all able to run away, but not Krag. He had grown fat and slow from never participating in anything except bitching about food preparations. The inter-dimensional lizard-men took Krag back to their king to eat for dinner. But the lizard-men king held up a hand and stopped his lizard-men. "Stop!" he shouted. "Surely you do not expect me to eat this man! For his penis is small, shriveled, and discolored. All lizard-men know this is the best part! Take him back to the kitchen, throw him into a trash can, and tell the starving children in Africa that we are so rich that we can do anything we want with our food!"
The lights would then come back on in the restaurant, the drum and flute band would disperse, and the customer would eat his god-damned salad.
As many of you already know, people drive me crazy.
As many of you already know, I made a poor job choice in this aspect.
When people ask me for more butter, more lemons, or more water it doesn't bother me. That's my job. But when I bring out a salad and the person at my table (and it is my table because we're required to bring them from home) takes a piece of lettuce with their fingers, holds it up to me with a condescending smile on their face, and says, "This doesn't look very fresh", I have to smile, apologize, and get them a new one. I'd much rather explain to them that slight discoloration is often caused by the amount of iron in the soil, but it wouldn't matter. In fact, they might get more upset that I'm more intelligent than they are, and that would somehow result in them getting a discount on their bill.
Even more than explaining agriculture to these kinds of customers, I'd like to give them a history lesson that would go something like this.
"Ah, I see you have brought the lettuce to my attention, sir. Your lettuce predicament reminds me of a tale from the paleolithic era."
At this point the lights in the restaurant would dim and tribal drums and flutes would begin to play.
"There once was a man by the name of Krag. Krag would sit near the cozy fire which burned in his community day and night until the rest of his tribe returned from hunting animals and gathering vegetation. When Krag was offered meat he would say, "Nay, I shall not partake in the eating of this meat, for it is underdone." The other people of his tribe shrugged and went back to eating. Later, when Krag was offered the collected vegetation he would say, "I cannot be expected to eat this vegetation, for it is somewhat shriveled and discolored." Once again the people of his tribe shrugged and went back to eating. Suddenly the community was attacked by inter-dimensional lizard-men. The members of Krag's tribe were all able to run away, but not Krag. He had grown fat and slow from never participating in anything except bitching about food preparations. The inter-dimensional lizard-men took Krag back to their king to eat for dinner. But the lizard-men king held up a hand and stopped his lizard-men. "Stop!" he shouted. "Surely you do not expect me to eat this man! For his penis is small, shriveled, and discolored. All lizard-men know this is the best part! Take him back to the kitchen, throw him into a trash can, and tell the starving children in Africa that we are so rich that we can do anything we want with our food!"
The lights would then come back on in the restaurant, the drum and flute band would disperse, and the customer would eat his god-damned salad.
The Omega Phone
Technology is moving at an abnormally fast rate. Someday your phone will not only be able to order a pizza for you, but it will spread wings, fly to get it, eat it for you, and then e-mail it to your iPad.
Someday touch screens will be dead. You'll just be able to think about what website you want to visit and your chosen piece of technology (phone, tablet, computer, or the eventual amalgamation of all three) will go there for you.
This leaves me with only one question: Why the hell are we so obsessed with things that have no effect on the quality of our lives?
This all starts with kids.
Kids always want what their friends have. They throw tantrums, punch holes in walls, and shit their pants until their parents are stupid enough to give in and buy them whatever toy it is they want this week because they think their kids will love them more if they buy it for them. Then these kids grow up spoiled and hating their parents because they were never taught discipline or monetary value. They become adults who call in sick to work, stand in line for 16 hours, rush into Verizon for the newest iPhone, discover there are only two left, stab the three people in front of them, buy both of them, sell one on eBay, and drive home while simultaneously updating their Facebook status and plowing through a wheelchair race.
And new technology pops up like acne on a fifteen year old because there's a market. We don't need it. There's simply a market of self-absorbed adults who used to be self-absorbed kids who want new self-absorbing toys (not to be confused with self-absorbing Brawny paper towels).
But who am I to say what's best for people? If you want to spend the rest of your life with your face in your phone that's fine with me. In the meantime, I'm going to start preparing for the enslavement of humanity by small rectangular robots that have plenty of exciting apps to keep you distracted while they lock you into contracts, charge you every time you press the number 6, and make you want to answer texts and phone calls in the middle of movies, communion, and sexual intercourse.
Someday touch screens will be dead. You'll just be able to think about what website you want to visit and your chosen piece of technology (phone, tablet, computer, or the eventual amalgamation of all three) will go there for you.
This leaves me with only one question: Why the hell are we so obsessed with things that have no effect on the quality of our lives?
This all starts with kids.
Kids always want what their friends have. They throw tantrums, punch holes in walls, and shit their pants until their parents are stupid enough to give in and buy them whatever toy it is they want this week because they think their kids will love them more if they buy it for them. Then these kids grow up spoiled and hating their parents because they were never taught discipline or monetary value. They become adults who call in sick to work, stand in line for 16 hours, rush into Verizon for the newest iPhone, discover there are only two left, stab the three people in front of them, buy both of them, sell one on eBay, and drive home while simultaneously updating their Facebook status and plowing through a wheelchair race.
And new technology pops up like acne on a fifteen year old because there's a market. We don't need it. There's simply a market of self-absorbed adults who used to be self-absorbed kids who want new self-absorbing toys (not to be confused with self-absorbing Brawny paper towels).
But who am I to say what's best for people? If you want to spend the rest of your life with your face in your phone that's fine with me. In the meantime, I'm going to start preparing for the enslavement of humanity by small rectangular robots that have plenty of exciting apps to keep you distracted while they lock you into contracts, charge you every time you press the number 6, and make you want to answer texts and phone calls in the middle of movies, communion, and sexual intercourse.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Ant Motel: The Parallel to the "No-Tell" Variety
I had an epiphany tonight. Strangely, I wasn't in the bathroom during this one. I was in the insecticide isle at the grocery store.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I don't like to kill anything (unless it's a bottle of Kiltlifter or Yoo-Hoo). I like to put things in perspective. For example, just before I eat a hamburger I wonder what it would be like for humans to be corralled, ground into little bits, and consumed by beings that don't give a fuck.
Tonight I was buying ant motels after our kitchen was plagued by ants. I thought to myself, "It would be strange to go inside of something, pick up a contaminant, and bring it back to our colony to spread to the others." And suddenly I realized that ant motels are no different than chlamydia.
The truth is I've been trying to fit chlamydia into a blog for about a month now.
Success!
Anyone who knows me well knows that I don't like to kill anything (unless it's a bottle of Kiltlifter or Yoo-Hoo). I like to put things in perspective. For example, just before I eat a hamburger I wonder what it would be like for humans to be corralled, ground into little bits, and consumed by beings that don't give a fuck.
Tonight I was buying ant motels after our kitchen was plagued by ants. I thought to myself, "It would be strange to go inside of something, pick up a contaminant, and bring it back to our colony to spread to the others." And suddenly I realized that ant motels are no different than chlamydia.
The truth is I've been trying to fit chlamydia into a blog for about a month now.
Success!
Monday, May 23, 2011
The Rapture: Brought to You by Apple
So here we are in May, and I haven't posted a single thought since February. There are two reasons for this:
1. I've been preparing for the rapture and am broadcasting from a military base deep in the mountains of northern Canada.
2. Despite what was illustrated in their brochure, the military base is NOT a WiFi hot spot.
Imagine my surprise when I came out of hiding and everything was still hunky dorry.
It got me thinking, though. What if the rapture came and went and no one noticed because none of us were good enough to go to Heaven? What if Jesus stepped out of his UFO, took a look around, and said, "Seriously? Well, it may not be a complete waste of time. Looks like there's an In and Out Burger in .7 miles according to my iPhone."
My hopes are still up, though, as I have an unsettling fantasy about living in a post apocalyptic future and having to fight for meals, gasoline, and Pokemon cards.
1. I've been preparing for the rapture and am broadcasting from a military base deep in the mountains of northern Canada.
2. Despite what was illustrated in their brochure, the military base is NOT a WiFi hot spot.
Imagine my surprise when I came out of hiding and everything was still hunky dorry.
It got me thinking, though. What if the rapture came and went and no one noticed because none of us were good enough to go to Heaven? What if Jesus stepped out of his UFO, took a look around, and said, "Seriously? Well, it may not be a complete waste of time. Looks like there's an In and Out Burger in .7 miles according to my iPhone."
My hopes are still up, though, as I have an unsettling fantasy about living in a post apocalyptic future and having to fight for meals, gasoline, and Pokemon cards.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Population Explosion (Figurative and Literal)
We humans have done well recently in preserving endangered animals and plants in order to save them from extinction. We’ve also done pretty well at thinning out a species that overpopulates. We’re keeping the balance. I’m not sure who gave that job to us. Perhaps it was the same person who gave America the job of policing the entire world.
Perhaps it’s guilt for the other 9,000 species that we wiped out over the years.
Fortunately, we humans are too smart and too powerful for any other species, plant or animal, to overtake us. The plague? A joke. AIDS? Nice try. Swine flu? Come on, you’re boring me. The super volcano beneath Yellowstone? Wait, that hasn’t happened yet. Nor has the enslavement of our race by the man-squids of Thorak. But I’m sure we’ll overcome both as if they were a common cold.
“An alien race wiped out a town of people, you say? Dear God, what a tragedy! Let’s go help them out! Actually, we’ll be there tomorrow. We have to exterminate a colony of bees in our shed this afternoon.”
I’d say that we humans are the biggest problem of all. I’d say that we wouldn’t have to do much saving if we did more preventing. However, I know I’d be approached by one of my fellow Arizonans who would respond with something like, “If we ain’t supposed to overpopulate then that’s the earth’s problem to solve.”
And that might be true. It is, after all, a well known scientific fact that large-scale volcanism and meteors destroyed the dinosaurs moments after they started having dozens of children and applying for food stamps.
But why let it come to that? Shouldn’t we champion the idea that we’re intelligent enough to know better? If I didn’t keep the balance of keeping my room and dishes clean, I knew I’d get smacked. And you know something? I didn’t want to get smacked. And I really don’t want to be crushed by a meteor or blown into bits by a super volcano.
Perhaps it’s guilt for the other 9,000 species that we wiped out over the years.
Fortunately, we humans are too smart and too powerful for any other species, plant or animal, to overtake us. The plague? A joke. AIDS? Nice try. Swine flu? Come on, you’re boring me. The super volcano beneath Yellowstone? Wait, that hasn’t happened yet. Nor has the enslavement of our race by the man-squids of Thorak. But I’m sure we’ll overcome both as if they were a common cold.
“An alien race wiped out a town of people, you say? Dear God, what a tragedy! Let’s go help them out! Actually, we’ll be there tomorrow. We have to exterminate a colony of bees in our shed this afternoon.”
I’d say that we humans are the biggest problem of all. I’d say that we wouldn’t have to do much saving if we did more preventing. However, I know I’d be approached by one of my fellow Arizonans who would respond with something like, “If we ain’t supposed to overpopulate then that’s the earth’s problem to solve.”
And that might be true. It is, after all, a well known scientific fact that large-scale volcanism and meteors destroyed the dinosaurs moments after they started having dozens of children and applying for food stamps.
But why let it come to that? Shouldn’t we champion the idea that we’re intelligent enough to know better? If I didn’t keep the balance of keeping my room and dishes clean, I knew I’d get smacked. And you know something? I didn’t want to get smacked. And I really don’t want to be crushed by a meteor or blown into bits by a super volcano.
Cell Your Soul
I was in a training class a few weeks ago when a woman's cell phone goes off. She picks it up while the instructor is still talking to the class. "Hello?" she says. "I... I can't talk right now. No, I can't talk right... clothes? No, just throw them in the dryer. The dryer. The dry... listen, I can't talk right now. Yes, she called and said she had a recital tomorrow. A recital. Recital. Look, I can't talk right now. I'm in a training class. I'll talk to you... a ham? Sure, I can pick one up. Avatar? Yes, I loved it! Wouldn't you love to live in a world with floating islands like that? Holy shit, I know! James Cameron is a fucking genius! Hey, I'm in a training class, I can't talk right now."
The person who picks up a phone just to say 'I can't talk right now' ranks number two on my list of annoying cell phone habits. Number one is the person who lets 'Poker Face' play through the entire chorus at 3,000 decibels while they grab the phone out of their purse, examine the incoming phone number like they're deciphering hieroglyphics, tell the people at their table that it's Heather, and put it back in their purse without ever hitting the extremely easy-to-find silence button.
I do, however, believe that someday soon people will stop doing things like texting while they’re confessing to their priest, checking their Facebook status while driving through a school zone, or having a conversation on their phone about stock trades while checking out at Food City. It's just that I think that day will have to begin with a meteor crashing into the earth.
"Can you hear me? I'm getting really shitty reception next to this crater... Hello? Look, I can't talk right now..."
The person who picks up a phone just to say 'I can't talk right now' ranks number two on my list of annoying cell phone habits. Number one is the person who lets 'Poker Face' play through the entire chorus at 3,000 decibels while they grab the phone out of their purse, examine the incoming phone number like they're deciphering hieroglyphics, tell the people at their table that it's Heather, and put it back in their purse without ever hitting the extremely easy-to-find silence button.
I do, however, believe that someday soon people will stop doing things like texting while they’re confessing to their priest, checking their Facebook status while driving through a school zone, or having a conversation on their phone about stock trades while checking out at Food City. It's just that I think that day will have to begin with a meteor crashing into the earth.
"Can you hear me? I'm getting really shitty reception next to this crater... Hello? Look, I can't talk right now..."
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Metaphorical Buffet
Even though I'd like to live forever in order to see the fall of western civilization and the rise of Native American robots from Ganymede, there was once part of me that wanted to die at 27. I wanted to be like Jim Morrison and live on forever in the memories and dreams of youth for generations to come. That plan fell through in part because no one knew who the hell I was. The other part was that I eventually turned 28.
Now I'm 31, and it may as well be just the way you read it. I don't remember 29 or 30 at all.
I work with a plethora of college kids at one of my jobs. I see how happy and carefree they are and it makes me sick. None of them are afraid of the government yet. None of them fear death. None of them have to lie to the IRS. None of them have dangerously high cholesterol.
And it doesn't make me sick in a hateful way. It makes me feel sick in the same way that you wake up from a long night of drinking with a hangover. Your thirties are a ten year hangover from your twenties.
Looking back on your twenties is like seeing a girl you dated has now become the biggest actress in the world and you stand up to say, "I slept with her before she was famous!" But you neglect to mention that you dumped her because her breasts weren't big enough, and you're managing a car wash.
I made a Tenacious D reference and a girl said to me, "I'm not THAT old." That's funny. I didn't realize I was either.
The only people who still think I'm cool are almost twice my age and gave birth to me.
It's like I'm standing in line at an all you can eat buffet in downtown Las Vegas eager to get my money's worth when a person bungie jumping off the top of the Stratosphere catches my eye through the window, and I lose my appetite for convenience. I decide to run out and join them, but I sit down at a table instead. The waitress takes my order for a water and I wait patiently. When she comes back I pay my 31 dollar tab with a 40. Before I tell her to keep the change, I think to myself...
I bet I can get a pretty good hangover at 40 with the remaining 9.
Now I'm 31, and it may as well be just the way you read it. I don't remember 29 or 30 at all.
I work with a plethora of college kids at one of my jobs. I see how happy and carefree they are and it makes me sick. None of them are afraid of the government yet. None of them fear death. None of them have to lie to the IRS. None of them have dangerously high cholesterol.
And it doesn't make me sick in a hateful way. It makes me feel sick in the same way that you wake up from a long night of drinking with a hangover. Your thirties are a ten year hangover from your twenties.
Looking back on your twenties is like seeing a girl you dated has now become the biggest actress in the world and you stand up to say, "I slept with her before she was famous!" But you neglect to mention that you dumped her because her breasts weren't big enough, and you're managing a car wash.
I made a Tenacious D reference and a girl said to me, "I'm not THAT old." That's funny. I didn't realize I was either.
The only people who still think I'm cool are almost twice my age and gave birth to me.
It's like I'm standing in line at an all you can eat buffet in downtown Las Vegas eager to get my money's worth when a person bungie jumping off the top of the Stratosphere catches my eye through the window, and I lose my appetite for convenience. I decide to run out and join them, but I sit down at a table instead. The waitress takes my order for a water and I wait patiently. When she comes back I pay my 31 dollar tab with a 40. Before I tell her to keep the change, I think to myself...
I bet I can get a pretty good hangover at 40 with the remaining 9.
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