Whether you like it or not readers, as humans, we are beings of pleasure. Perhaps it is something we have been working towards over the past 10,000 years, or maybe we have always been (not for me to decipher). Are our big fucking brains for something elese, maybe the pleasure is just keeping us complacent, do we embrace it or reject it? Perhaps our focus on pleasure is completely socially based.
I would love the opportunity to see counter examples, but as far as I can see, everything we do is based on some present or future pleasure (that is, beyond the basic rules of survival). Why do we Work?
Yeah, to eat, drink, provide clothing and shelter (thanks nature). But it is really beyond that. What is success but this idea that you can sometime in the future access all the dopomine your brain can handle. Make some money this year so that some day you can buy your mini-mansion on the hill. Maybe after that you can fly to Bali and do nothing but sit back and enjoy life (though from the outside perspective, I have seen plenty of vacationers that are doing the exact opposite).
As a working College student I have seen the short term effects of dopomine use. Make enough money so that you can buy that bag/bottle/camera/television/album/movie/ticket/trip/experience/whatevermakesyouhappy. Make enough money that you can go out to the bar to find that sexual experience/relationship/comraderie/experience you are looking for. And really what is a relationship with another person (sexual or otherwise), but a long term chemical dependancy?
Tangent: Isn't it funny that those "squares" out there refer to most drugs as dope? Is that perhaps a word that has its root in the word dopamine, the chemical in our brains that triggers pleasure centers. Are foods, wines, human contact, drugs (illicit or not), fresh air, cold water, sports, urination, television, music, visual art, and other worldly powers (yeah, I'm talking to you Jesus/Mohammad/Moses/Buddha/Krishna/Confucious/etc) nothing but "drugs" meant to enhance the human experience? "Dope" if you will?
If these are just distractions meant to pass the time from life to life, than what the hell are we living for? Is that really all there is, this seventy year (plus) dopamine trip, passing the time from generation to generation? Pleasure beings dominating a planet in some sick Bacchus experiment. Just how much can a carbon-based being tolerate. If this is the direction that we are taking, I don't want to live in the world beyond this one.
Can you imagine a race of peoples that do nothing but sit around having thier over-sized brains trickled by the French tickler of their own design? Maybe this overstimulation is exactly what we need, a built up tolerance by the overuse of what may be distracting us from the purpose of humanity. If dopomine is evolution, than I quit (yeah right, junkies never really quit).
18 October 2008
16 October 2008
Huh?
They must really layer it on, because I still smell like a stripper.
But in all seriousness, lets talk about the debate. I'll be honest about this, it was the final one, and the only one I saw (except for the vice-debate, damn that Palin is sexy, eh?). Sorry, got sidetracked by iTunes (Damn you Mr. Jobs) and this Genius, that is apparantly learning from what I have taught it (we shall see). Ok, fuck you I already know what I want to listen to.
Ok, on to the debate then. What was up with that line separating the candidates? Kept changing, perhaps due to the background. Ok, fine, but really distracting. McCain's facial expressions were priceless, a thousand smirks are worth only a few words. It was like watching me try my best not to blow my load, but in this case there was nothing but weak economic policy and social ethics behind it. Not that I can say much for the rediculous grin of Obama's that is a conservative cartoonist's wet dream. Well, at least he tried to address the question at hand.
I don't want to vote for a candidate that does nothing but attack the (man) guy who he calls the attacker. You have boiled down the American voter to someone who actually listens to the ads you put out there (and the "Average 'Joe Plumber/Sixpack/Electrition/Factory Worker' TV viewer [who may or may not be buying into your bullshit in the first place]). Get past the fact that the American political system has been reduced to the same thing that CBS relied on eight years ago (Survivor), and talk about what actually matters.
That fucking smell keeps invading my nostrils, which makes me think of nothing but Sarah Palin. (Those tricky think tank bastards.) But we have gotten over that, right? (I hope so.)
What I really wanted to talk about was the asthetics of the debate itself. And first off, who the fuck was doing the camera work. Hopefully, the camera man for Obama was drugged and was recriuted by the upper eschelons of CBS. This guy just couldn't keep the darker candidate in frame. However, McCain's spastic facial expressions seemed to stay in perfect focus (hey, maybe it worked out for the better).
Quick focus on that educational issue. Way to bring it down to D.C. Not only is it the worst local education in the country, but why the fuck did you want to bring the focus there McCain? Do you actually believe that anyone else believes that your (adopted) kids actually went to (charter) schools in that district? Come on, they are more priviledged than anyone can imagine, so stop trying to convince us that they are just Joes (and that goes for you too Obama). Stop trying to "fix" the educational system unless you are actually willing to rely on it yourselves.
And that goes for the "healthcare system" too. Great, Barack, you have this plan to allow all of us to buy into the Federal Employee System that all government employees have the option to buy into. But let's be realistic, you wouldn't buy your family into this program in a million years. Just admit that you have your own twenty-five thousand dollar plan and move on. Who the fuck do you think you are kidding. If you want to move this country towards a Socialist state, just fucking admit it. Stop being a fucking poilitician and start being an honest and consious human being.
I know the voting population can't handle the truth, fuck, the majority of this country can't handle the truth. These ramblings of a crack head (probably) aren't the truth, but for fuck's sake, don't we deserve it? The fringe vote won't have it, but I would rather have another four years of Buche government than have another pair of candidates that can't tell their constituancies the truth (in the moment of truth).
I'm not editing this before I post it. It is a stream of consiousness that attempted it's formulation over five hours ago. This is not to be takin(') lightly, but it could probably use some editing.
But in all seriousness, lets talk about the debate. I'll be honest about this, it was the final one, and the only one I saw (except for the vice-debate, damn that Palin is sexy, eh?). Sorry, got sidetracked by iTunes (Damn you Mr. Jobs) and this Genius, that is apparantly learning from what I have taught it (we shall see). Ok, fuck you I already know what I want to listen to.
Ok, on to the debate then. What was up with that line separating the candidates? Kept changing, perhaps due to the background. Ok, fine, but really distracting. McCain's facial expressions were priceless, a thousand smirks are worth only a few words. It was like watching me try my best not to blow my load, but in this case there was nothing but weak economic policy and social ethics behind it. Not that I can say much for the rediculous grin of Obama's that is a conservative cartoonist's wet dream. Well, at least he tried to address the question at hand.
I don't want to vote for a candidate that does nothing but attack the (man) guy who he calls the attacker. You have boiled down the American voter to someone who actually listens to the ads you put out there (and the "Average 'Joe Plumber/Sixpack/Electrition/Factory Worker' TV viewer [who may or may not be buying into your bullshit in the first place]). Get past the fact that the American political system has been reduced to the same thing that CBS relied on eight years ago (Survivor), and talk about what actually matters.
That fucking smell keeps invading my nostrils, which makes me think of nothing but Sarah Palin. (Those tricky think tank bastards.) But we have gotten over that, right? (I hope so.)
What I really wanted to talk about was the asthetics of the debate itself. And first off, who the fuck was doing the camera work. Hopefully, the camera man for Obama was drugged and was recriuted by the upper eschelons of CBS. This guy just couldn't keep the darker candidate in frame. However, McCain's spastic facial expressions seemed to stay in perfect focus (hey, maybe it worked out for the better).
Quick focus on that educational issue. Way to bring it down to D.C. Not only is it the worst local education in the country, but why the fuck did you want to bring the focus there McCain? Do you actually believe that anyone else believes that your (adopted) kids actually went to (charter) schools in that district? Come on, they are more priviledged than anyone can imagine, so stop trying to convince us that they are just Joes (and that goes for you too Obama). Stop trying to "fix" the educational system unless you are actually willing to rely on it yourselves.
And that goes for the "healthcare system" too. Great, Barack, you have this plan to allow all of us to buy into the Federal Employee System that all government employees have the option to buy into. But let's be realistic, you wouldn't buy your family into this program in a million years. Just admit that you have your own twenty-five thousand dollar plan and move on. Who the fuck do you think you are kidding. If you want to move this country towards a Socialist state, just fucking admit it. Stop being a fucking poilitician and start being an honest and consious human being.
I know the voting population can't handle the truth, fuck, the majority of this country can't handle the truth. These ramblings of a crack head (probably) aren't the truth, but for fuck's sake, don't we deserve it? The fringe vote won't have it, but I would rather have another four years of Buche government than have another pair of candidates that can't tell their constituancies the truth (in the moment of truth).
I'm not editing this before I post it. It is a stream of consiousness that attempted it's formulation over five hours ago. This is not to be takin(') lightly, but it could probably use some editing.
11 October 2008
This is actually being published onto the internet right now
Hey Hey who would of thought.
(The pen would have been the downfall of civilzatlition fuck fuck fuck fuck fucxking shits on my fucking mind civixzations is fuckced becasuse4 leslie is destrouing my ideeeeees of whaaaat is right an rooojg. We alss gonna die bcvus us ares right wrong withs mys minds. I’s frprm Scandandanaviasu ya. So ghoes fucks yourseflfceves now.)
Sinceerly,
Who the fuck do you think you ar anywai
(Editors note: Published with multiple people looking over the shoulder of an idealist that could barely comprehend reality, much less what was actually being thrown onto a keyboard. I hate you guys, I'm really seriously, get the fudge out.)
(The pen would have been the downfall of civilzatlition fuck fuck fuck fuck fucxking shits on my fucking mind civixzations is fuckced becasuse4 leslie is destrouing my ideeeeees of whaaaat is right an rooojg. We alss gonna die bcvus us ares right wrong withs mys minds. I’s frprm Scandandanaviasu ya. So ghoes fucks yourseflfceves now.)
Sinceerly,
Who the fuck do you think you ar anywai
(Editors note: Published with multiple people looking over the shoulder of an idealist that could barely comprehend reality, much less what was actually being thrown onto a keyboard. I hate you guys, I'm really seriously, get the fudge out.)
02 October 2008
A Working Theory?
So, I have this working theory (that will hopefully be worked out here over the next few days or weeks) about the construct of time. Loosely based upon the Earth's rotation, time has become very important to the species. In the information age, less importance is given to the sun, and in reality we can do what we really want at any time of day (with the exception realating to the sleep schedules of others). However, there will continue to be twenty four hours in a day, three hundred sixty five point two five days in a year, and roughly seventy five years in a lifetime (for those of you who's bodies shabbally support you for further than this, well, sorry). However, with the information age comes the ability to manipulate this time, either through your own perception and ablity, or to put it bluntly, money.
The rich, those elite of this society in this space of time, have the reached to most efficiently use time to their advantage. Being finacially secure allows many of us to do the menial tasks that (whether we choose or not) make up our lives. Everybody has to pay their bills, or retrieve their groceries from the store, or get to work, ect. So far, as my deminished cranial capacity can grasp it, at nine ten on a Thursday night, the working theory comes in a series of examples (like I said, hopefully to be refined into a full hypothesis, of which the above words seem to be lacking). So, here are some ideas.
The Car:
Though it may be part of this "American Dream" that everyone own their own vehicle, it is simply just not possible. However, the accepted fact is that in order to survive (you know; food, water, shelter, clothing) human being must work within the confines of the economic structure. If you don't have a car, how do you get to work? Public transportation (which by the way is better funded than many social institutions, why? hmmmmmmmm). Those of us that can't drive directly to the centers in which we trade our time spend much more time waiting for the bus, riding the bus, and arguing with the bus drivers.
The Domestic Worker:
This may be a small percentage, but it is really only the very finacially able that can actually hire other people to do these menial tasks for us. Things like going to the grocery store, cooking meals, cleaning house, sprucing gardens and watering plants, and even raising our children. All of a sudden, these tasks (that may even take up much more than eight hours) are removed from the narrow spectrum of time we have to live. In fact, my livelyhood comes from people who can afford to spend a little extra to have their meals brought directly to them (of course the amount spent is usually quite disproportionate to the amount said customer can afford). I spend my time to almost suspend time for my clients (instead of walking to the store, these people are (hopefully) working on intellectual or artistic outlets, (but often) watching tv, playing video games, or are too drunk or stoned to move (and maybe, they just can't afford to own transportation).
The Computer/The Internet:
I recently didn't have to stand in line at the DMV to renew my car's registration. This is because I have the priviledge of internet access. Instead of spending two of my precious hours listening to music and reading while waiting for the beuracracy to chug along in front of me, I just payed the bill on-line. I can even avoid going to any number of retail outlets because I can simply have my STUFF delivered directly to my door. I don't have to go to the library or the bookstore or the newstand because all the information I need is just beyond my keyboard. Nearly realistically, if you have a computer and a credit card, you don't even need to leave the house, leaving plenty of time for mental, personal, artistic, academic, philosophical, or sexual masterbation.
The iPhone:
Combine them all, and what do you have. A device, outside the economic reaches of most human beings, that can do it all. Imagine being able to walk down the street on you way to any of these daily chores while surfing the internet (I just bought a shirt while out at the bar and a bicycle on my walk to work!). Add some applications and you don't even have to find out what music is playing, or wonder what the traffic is like, or feel detached from your out-of-state friends, or wait until you get home to see that all important tv show, because its all in your fucking hand!
The rich, those elite of this society in this space of time, have the reached to most efficiently use time to their advantage. Being finacially secure allows many of us to do the menial tasks that (whether we choose or not) make up our lives. Everybody has to pay their bills, or retrieve their groceries from the store, or get to work, ect. So far, as my deminished cranial capacity can grasp it, at nine ten on a Thursday night, the working theory comes in a series of examples (like I said, hopefully to be refined into a full hypothesis, of which the above words seem to be lacking). So, here are some ideas.
The Car:
Though it may be part of this "American Dream" that everyone own their own vehicle, it is simply just not possible. However, the accepted fact is that in order to survive (you know; food, water, shelter, clothing) human being must work within the confines of the economic structure. If you don't have a car, how do you get to work? Public transportation (which by the way is better funded than many social institutions, why? hmmmmmmmm). Those of us that can't drive directly to the centers in which we trade our time spend much more time waiting for the bus, riding the bus, and arguing with the bus drivers.
The Domestic Worker:
This may be a small percentage, but it is really only the very finacially able that can actually hire other people to do these menial tasks for us. Things like going to the grocery store, cooking meals, cleaning house, sprucing gardens and watering plants, and even raising our children. All of a sudden, these tasks (that may even take up much more than eight hours) are removed from the narrow spectrum of time we have to live. In fact, my livelyhood comes from people who can afford to spend a little extra to have their meals brought directly to them (of course the amount spent is usually quite disproportionate to the amount said customer can afford). I spend my time to almost suspend time for my clients (instead of walking to the store, these people are (hopefully) working on intellectual or artistic outlets, (but often) watching tv, playing video games, or are too drunk or stoned to move (and maybe, they just can't afford to own transportation).
The Computer/The Internet:
I recently didn't have to stand in line at the DMV to renew my car's registration. This is because I have the priviledge of internet access. Instead of spending two of my precious hours listening to music and reading while waiting for the beuracracy to chug along in front of me, I just payed the bill on-line. I can even avoid going to any number of retail outlets because I can simply have my STUFF delivered directly to my door. I don't have to go to the library or the bookstore or the newstand because all the information I need is just beyond my keyboard. Nearly realistically, if you have a computer and a credit card, you don't even need to leave the house, leaving plenty of time for mental, personal, artistic, academic, philosophical, or sexual masterbation.
The iPhone:
Combine them all, and what do you have. A device, outside the economic reaches of most human beings, that can do it all. Imagine being able to walk down the street on you way to any of these daily chores while surfing the internet (I just bought a shirt while out at the bar and a bicycle on my walk to work!). Add some applications and you don't even have to find out what music is playing, or wonder what the traffic is like, or feel detached from your out-of-state friends, or wait until you get home to see that all important tv show, because its all in your fucking hand!
19 August 2008
The Cyber Protection Racket
Popups are annoying, I'll try not to tell you anymore than you don't already know. Roadsigns that lead only to tourist traps trying to rob passersby of their addresses and telephone numbers. Distractions from the Superhighway Internation Four: enticing you in Wyoming with cheap ice cream; or offering you free porn at a Kansas truck stop; or absolution of sin by a North Texas ordained zealot; or a free icamodieaphone for a few favors on an Arkansas farm. Windows to peer into but never touch with your Microsoft™ Hand®.
Most of my popups are blocked by my browser, like a surgical mask that the Chinese wear every time they go to Beijing. For some reason however, I do get a Netflix free trial ad every time I log into my paid Netflix account, a biproduct of the antibodies I recieve I suppose. I try to keep my system reasonably clean to avoid popup ad in the first place and these "germs" they bring with them.
And it was through my own dilligence in keeping the 'ole laptop going that I came across the worst popup I have ever encountered, the very program set in place to keep the computer safe. The police of my system slowly going corrupt. The contractors I gladly invite into my hard drive, extort me with bells and beeps to remind me that I'm not paying them enough.
StopSign runs its own scans and opens browsers without asking just so it can let me know what it can do for me, like some door-to-door salesman let past the door by an unsuspecting and rather lonely elderly woman. McAffee is so far up my operating system's ass that it's got Bill Gates telling me in person that my computer is not fully protected, not until I slide a check across the table. The mob has my capacitors in a vice grip threatening me with worms, trojans, adware, and identity theft until I pay for the protection.
I'm not here to make any assumptions, but in order to stop viral agents that cruise the fiber-optic waves of information, wouldn't you need to know at least as much about these programs as the rouge writers who themselves create chaos for profit? Who is really writing the next big outbreak that will victimize thousands of unprotected computer users? Just some juice for thought.
And as I drift off to sleep listening to the sweet sounds of digitally provided post-rock, I know that I will probably once again be pierced by yet another misplaced chime.
I want my Microsoft™ Hand® to be a different gesture.
Most of my popups are blocked by my browser, like a surgical mask that the Chinese wear every time they go to Beijing. For some reason however, I do get a Netflix free trial ad every time I log into my paid Netflix account, a biproduct of the antibodies I recieve I suppose. I try to keep my system reasonably clean to avoid popup ad in the first place and these "germs" they bring with them.
And it was through my own dilligence in keeping the 'ole laptop going that I came across the worst popup I have ever encountered, the very program set in place to keep the computer safe. The police of my system slowly going corrupt. The contractors I gladly invite into my hard drive, extort me with bells and beeps to remind me that I'm not paying them enough.
StopSign runs its own scans and opens browsers without asking just so it can let me know what it can do for me, like some door-to-door salesman let past the door by an unsuspecting and rather lonely elderly woman. McAffee is so far up my operating system's ass that it's got Bill Gates telling me in person that my computer is not fully protected, not until I slide a check across the table. The mob has my capacitors in a vice grip threatening me with worms, trojans, adware, and identity theft until I pay for the protection.
I'm not here to make any assumptions, but in order to stop viral agents that cruise the fiber-optic waves of information, wouldn't you need to know at least as much about these programs as the rouge writers who themselves create chaos for profit? Who is really writing the next big outbreak that will victimize thousands of unprotected computer users? Just some juice for thought.
And as I drift off to sleep listening to the sweet sounds of digitally provided post-rock, I know that I will probably once again be pierced by yet another misplaced chime.
I want my Microsoft™ Hand® to be a different gesture.
08 August 2008
Studented Dimentia
Well it must be August because the great migration of people and their things is in full swing. Garbage dumpsters all across the town overflow with the discarded remnants of the past school year. The yearly tradition of purging dingy apartments and east-side flop houses of accumulated junk that is no longer any use to those who bought them. Perhaps out of pure disregard to or pure ignorance of that amount of filth they lay upon our city, these offspring of the white-collar elites leave what they don’t want behind. And what they leave behind is the rotting stink of our consumer based disposable culture. Every year it happens and the whole community just stands by, assuming that the garbage haulers will take care of it, allowing their “quaint” little lives to continue, refuse free. The bees are in full swing, swarming around decaying fruits instead of pollinating the flowers of the Pearl Street beds. The raccoons pace the streets instead of being kept within the confines of the University. Fights break out right above my head as I try to plummet to sleep each early morning. But, hey, with an overwhelmingly massive import economy based almost entirely upon a growing service industry, maybe they are actually helping out by trashing what they don’t want, opening more opportunities for more buying, more consumption with seemingly infinite monetary resources. Guess what guys? It runs out. Mom and Dad won’t pay for it forever, or maybe they will, and if this is the case, well, I just feel sorry for you. Well until next year…
30 June 2008
08 June 2008
From the Field Notes of Dr. G. Howard Greene, Anthropologist:
April 12: I may have stumbled across the most significant discovery of my own life. I became marooned on this island about a week ago after a band of Maori pirates ransacked and then destroyed my ship. They left me to die with a small backpack and no food in a lifeboat. This pen and paper, a small Nalgene, some short pieces of webbing, a Bic lighter, and my iPod is all that I was left with to survive. I blacked out sometime overnight and once I regained consciousness the raft had washed ashore.
April 14: I have been surviving upon nuts and berries for the last two days, as I imagine local human being might. I sleep in a tree not far into the brush to avoid the insects that I fear more than death. Speaking of death, I have decided what music will usher me into eternal sleep: Aegis Byrun by Sigur Ros. I know I cannot go on much longer. I’ve had a good run, I have nothing else to live for, goodbye!
April 15: Still alive. I have begun running about the canopy in hopes I might accidentally fall and kill myself.
April 16: Saved! I have located the local human population. I have done my best to remain undetected by them. Initial observations indicate that they are completely unspoiled by modernity: natural dress, early human tool use, loose hierarchical societal structure. This hierarchy seems to be based upon who can build the best fire. The moral conflict is ripe. If I do not make contact I will surely not survive, the lack of protein in my diet is already slowing my mind. If I do show myself to them I may taint their harmonious lifestyle.
April 17: I don’t want to die!!! I am too young, if I make it back to the western world I could be the richest and most famous Anthropologist of all time. Please to let me die out here alone.
April 19: I stripped down naked and walked into a completely alien human community. I have stashed my backpack amongst the trees. I was greeted with inquisitive stares from the males and shrieks of horror from the females. I was ushered quickly into a grass hut and given a loin cloth after being stabbed with several needles. After gaining consciousness once more I was allowed to roam freely. I came across one woman who wore an enormous amount of body paint. She sat in a chair within some sort of alter. She faced a massive bonfire and she stared unbrokenly into it. Suddenly she barks an order and a nearby man scrambles to do her bidding. I walked into her gaze and try to meet her eye. She rolled her head on her neck and took a moment to focus. She shrieked and I looked down to notice that my loin cloth was no longer secured. I felt a familiar prick and blacked out.
I returned to my tree and gathered my safari clothing and backpack. I walked right up to the privileged woman and stared back into her eyes. I turned the Bic in my hand and flicked it with my thumb. She nearly fell out of her chair she was so excited. My guess is that she wasn’t having the best time leading these people and was glad to pass the duty along to me. My apparent ability to conjure fire from my hand stunned everyone and they fell to their knees. The power I feel is just as stunning to me, I feel like God must feel when he attends one of those mega-churches in the Southern U.S.
Ah ha, but I have another trick up my sleeve! I pulled the iPod out of my backpack and put the earbuds into the listening orifice of the nearest local. A wild look came over his eyes as the Mars Volta tore right through his brain. Soon a line formed to hear my new feat of magic. Man, these people are great, who would have thought that the exact same organ could have evolved in such different directions. I guess Darwin probably thought that.
April 20: Bad news, I ran out of butane today. No longer able to bring about flame at will, I have been dethroned. My replacement stole my iPod and I have been forced to make playlist selections for her. I’m scared and I want to go home. The battery bar is down to a short red line, and my next selection will be Sigur Ros.
April 14: I have been surviving upon nuts and berries for the last two days, as I imagine local human being might. I sleep in a tree not far into the brush to avoid the insects that I fear more than death. Speaking of death, I have decided what music will usher me into eternal sleep: Aegis Byrun by Sigur Ros. I know I cannot go on much longer. I’ve had a good run, I have nothing else to live for, goodbye!
April 15: Still alive. I have begun running about the canopy in hopes I might accidentally fall and kill myself.
April 16: Saved! I have located the local human population. I have done my best to remain undetected by them. Initial observations indicate that they are completely unspoiled by modernity: natural dress, early human tool use, loose hierarchical societal structure. This hierarchy seems to be based upon who can build the best fire. The moral conflict is ripe. If I do not make contact I will surely not survive, the lack of protein in my diet is already slowing my mind. If I do show myself to them I may taint their harmonious lifestyle.
April 17: I don’t want to die!!! I am too young, if I make it back to the western world I could be the richest and most famous Anthropologist of all time. Please to let me die out here alone.
April 19: I stripped down naked and walked into a completely alien human community. I have stashed my backpack amongst the trees. I was greeted with inquisitive stares from the males and shrieks of horror from the females. I was ushered quickly into a grass hut and given a loin cloth after being stabbed with several needles. After gaining consciousness once more I was allowed to roam freely. I came across one woman who wore an enormous amount of body paint. She sat in a chair within some sort of alter. She faced a massive bonfire and she stared unbrokenly into it. Suddenly she barks an order and a nearby man scrambles to do her bidding. I walked into her gaze and try to meet her eye. She rolled her head on her neck and took a moment to focus. She shrieked and I looked down to notice that my loin cloth was no longer secured. I felt a familiar prick and blacked out.
I returned to my tree and gathered my safari clothing and backpack. I walked right up to the privileged woman and stared back into her eyes. I turned the Bic in my hand and flicked it with my thumb. She nearly fell out of her chair she was so excited. My guess is that she wasn’t having the best time leading these people and was glad to pass the duty along to me. My apparent ability to conjure fire from my hand stunned everyone and they fell to their knees. The power I feel is just as stunning to me, I feel like God must feel when he attends one of those mega-churches in the Southern U.S.
Ah ha, but I have another trick up my sleeve! I pulled the iPod out of my backpack and put the earbuds into the listening orifice of the nearest local. A wild look came over his eyes as the Mars Volta tore right through his brain. Soon a line formed to hear my new feat of magic. Man, these people are great, who would have thought that the exact same organ could have evolved in such different directions. I guess Darwin probably thought that.
April 20: Bad news, I ran out of butane today. No longer able to bring about flame at will, I have been dethroned. My replacement stole my iPod and I have been forced to make playlist selections for her. I’m scared and I want to go home. The battery bar is down to a short red line, and my next selection will be Sigur Ros.
From the Los Angeles Times Editorial Section dated June 8, 2008:
After an extensive search for Anthropologist Dr. G Howard Greene the United States Navy has found the body of said scientist on an island thought to be completely uninhabited. Those people are have said to have murdered Dr. Greene in a jealous rage over his pure, white skin. Navy SEALs have taken their leader, a stunning and topless native, captive and interrogated her several times over using several different techniques. She has refused to talk. Ripe for the taking, several hotel and resort companies are in bidding for the island, including the Hilton corporation and that really rich guy who goes skydiving all the time and owns Virgin Media Corporation.
A crack team of Anthropologists are currently in the middle of Americanizing these people and robbing them of any native customs and culture. They will be baptized by the end of the month and ready to provide the labor base for the new resort island. Any whom oppose will be executed, jailed, and then put on trial. Mention this ad and receive 15% off your vacation at Jungle Fever Island Resort and Spa.
A crack team of Anthropologists are currently in the middle of Americanizing these people and robbing them of any native customs and culture. They will be baptized by the end of the month and ready to provide the labor base for the new resort island. Any whom oppose will be executed, jailed, and then put on trial. Mention this ad and receive 15% off your vacation at Jungle Fever Island Resort and Spa.
From the Obituary section of the Los Angeles Times dated June 8, 2008:
Dr. G Howard Greene was an exceptional man whose only goal in life was to pursue his dreams. Money and fame were not important to a person who would only love the opportunity to learn and thrive in such a beautiful world. He achieved his dream in his last days on Earth by finding and learning about a completely isolated people. We will love you and miss you always. Mention this ad and receive buy one get one free admission to the Greene Museum and Shrine located at the Jungle Fever Island Resort and Spa.
03 June 2008
This is Steve...
Who is he, I have no idea, but if you do please let me know, I want to know where he bought his moustache. He sure does look like he is having alot of fun at Vail though. Ah, Vail, its so big and yet every tourist seems to end up on the same part of the mountain anyway. How do they do it? Why are the back bowls at Vail so famous amongst people who have never skied? Is there some sort of funnel? It takes about half a day to get back there on purpose, so how does everyone end up at Two Elks for lunch by accident? For answers to these questions and more please send an e-mail to this address: kpetitt@vailresorts.com. Thats Kristen Pettit, International Communications Manager. She can also be reached by telephone at (970) 496 1493. I cannot be reached by telephone. Isn't the Internet great?
Oh, and this guy really likes his calzones. Maybe he will tip me in skis some day.
30 May 2008
I'm Hyperventalating: A Movie Review?
SO....anyone out there that may have been reading this over the past 8 months or so might have noticed my slow loss of faith in humanity. I just about lost it this morning (ok, it was one o'clock) when I was told that a mutual friend of mine was just offered $500 to take an online class for someone else in order for this person to graduate from the University of Colorado (and I actually hope that someone from the university board of regents catches wind of this). I don't know if this kid is a complete moron, just lazy, or has grown up with so much wealth that he has completely lost connection with the U.S. dollar. Either way, this statement nearly gave me an anurism, I could feel my eyeballs actually attempting to escape from my skull, and for a second my grey matter felt mushy. I happen to be proud of myself for graduating from school, but when I look around at the general population of bumbling idiots in this town, I continue to devalue my own diploma. I didn't come from a wealthy background, but I managed to work enough to eat and drink while my parents helped me out some with tution and rent. I guess it is true what they say, the bachelor's degree is the new high school diploma.
Having said that I watched a fantastic film last night entitled Wristcutters: A Love Story. This morning I found myself actually considering offing myself, in the hopes that I might actually get to live in the purgatory described in the film. This world may have been somewhere between El Paso, TX and Gallup, NM, but at least that world made sense. Everybody was still depressed, but at least they didn't have to live in a world with these nothing people. At least it was a shitty world of complete equality, some sort of Eastern Europe socialist paradise set in the South Western United States. I think I may actually be happy there.
I am pretty sure I am going to go mad if I have to stay here for much longer, the problem is, I just don't know if it will be different anywhere else. Sure I could move to the city, but chances are these same people are just going to grow up, get high-paying executive jobs through their mommy and daddy's connections and continue to live the same worthless existances that still devalue and destroy the utopia I might belive could exist. Fine, I'm over it. Go ahead. Bosco, I hope you move back to the East coast and rot in a cubicle or an office in some downtown money pit that isn't doing any of us any good. The wealth and power you were born with is going to waste and you are a total drag on society. Rot you fucking old money prick, because when you wake up to be 40 years old, I will be standing before you laughting. Just know that I will never be on your side and someday I will become your worst nightare.
Having said that I watched a fantastic film last night entitled Wristcutters: A Love Story. This morning I found myself actually considering offing myself, in the hopes that I might actually get to live in the purgatory described in the film. This world may have been somewhere between El Paso, TX and Gallup, NM, but at least that world made sense. Everybody was still depressed, but at least they didn't have to live in a world with these nothing people. At least it was a shitty world of complete equality, some sort of Eastern Europe socialist paradise set in the South Western United States. I think I may actually be happy there.
I am pretty sure I am going to go mad if I have to stay here for much longer, the problem is, I just don't know if it will be different anywhere else. Sure I could move to the city, but chances are these same people are just going to grow up, get high-paying executive jobs through their mommy and daddy's connections and continue to live the same worthless existances that still devalue and destroy the utopia I might belive could exist. Fine, I'm over it. Go ahead. Bosco, I hope you move back to the East coast and rot in a cubicle or an office in some downtown money pit that isn't doing any of us any good. The wealth and power you were born with is going to waste and you are a total drag on society. Rot you fucking old money prick, because when you wake up to be 40 years old, I will be standing before you laughting. Just know that I will never be on your side and someday I will become your worst nightare.
06 May 2008
Would You Fight a Barracuda Bruddah?
In the expansive sea that is our nation's highway and road system, there is but one predetor. This sleek enemy roams menacingly like a shark in cold, dark water. No vehicle is immune to its attacks, not the semi-whale tractor-truck, not the cheetafish ferrari, or carbon-guzzling Soft Undulating Ventricles. No other vehicle out on the road hides in the shadows ready to pounce upon unsuspecting motorists. No other car can make you stop with a flick of their lights. No other animal will pursue you for fathoms at speeds that could turn a meer mortal into a mollusk.
These Black-and-White Sharks will have you believe that they are out there to protect you from the real predetors out there. OK sure, serve and protect. However I have never seen a drunk driver drive down the freeway at 10 under to ram an unsuspecting motorist off the road, much less check their plate number in a national database. Excuse me, but I don't think it's fair to have my head bitten off for driving within my control (though be it a bit fast for those of you who aren't professional drivers) at night. I don't think it is necessary for my tax dollars to go to a snivelling pig to fall asleep under a road sign just to check up on me.
When driving back from Texas one summer my dad and I were pulled over 3 times, and not once for swerving, reckless driving, or even speeding. Under the guise of terrorism, we were picked up for simply being from out of state. Last I checked, interstate commerce at 3 in the morning is not a crime. These land-sharks of the vast Texas oil fields felt it necessary to impede our progress and try to let a little blood (which surely would have begun a feeding frenzy in Bumfuck, Texas) simply for "not being from 'round here."
Here's what I say: lets fight back. These guys can't be on top of the food chain forever. Even tertiary species have something hunting them whether it be Zombies, The Predetor, or other guys such as yourself. Oh no, we're not taking it anymore.
These Black-and-White Sharks will have you believe that they are out there to protect you from the real predetors out there. OK sure, serve and protect. However I have never seen a drunk driver drive down the freeway at 10 under to ram an unsuspecting motorist off the road, much less check their plate number in a national database. Excuse me, but I don't think it's fair to have my head bitten off for driving within my control (though be it a bit fast for those of you who aren't professional drivers) at night. I don't think it is necessary for my tax dollars to go to a snivelling pig to fall asleep under a road sign just to check up on me.
When driving back from Texas one summer my dad and I were pulled over 3 times, and not once for swerving, reckless driving, or even speeding. Under the guise of terrorism, we were picked up for simply being from out of state. Last I checked, interstate commerce at 3 in the morning is not a crime. These land-sharks of the vast Texas oil fields felt it necessary to impede our progress and try to let a little blood (which surely would have begun a feeding frenzy in Bumfuck, Texas) simply for "not being from 'round here."
Here's what I say: lets fight back. These guys can't be on top of the food chain forever. Even tertiary species have something hunting them whether it be Zombies, The Predetor, or other guys such as yourself. Oh no, we're not taking it anymore.
21 April 2008
Four and Twenty
Today was Hitler's birthday, no wait, the 15th anniverserary of the Waco massacare, no, 13th anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing, or is it nine years after the Columbine shootings? No, no, no, its the national observance of marijuana. Here in Boulder, Colorado, its not just another day, its a day for everyone to get just as blitzed as they possibly can.
As a drove to work I watched thousands of twenty-somethings make their way to the University of Colorado campus to celebrate with every other stoner that could still stand up and walk to Norlin Quad. They gathered to light up personal joints, blunts, and spliffs at 4:20 in the afternoon. Apart from the fact that the foothills themselves were on fire, this illegal blaze spouted the single largest skunk flavored cloud I have ever seen in my life, while the Boulder P.D. stand helplessly by.
At around 4:30 this massively disoriented group of people discend upon the many eaterys located around the Campus to gorge themselves on pizza, sandwiches, chinese dishes, and my personal favorite, calzones. Delivery drivers speed though this pedestrian mess to run horribly late food to starving customers all around town. No joke, I took an order from a fellow who ordered 126 wings. After cooking this obscene amount of food I expected to deliver to a party littered with glass. What I found were four or five bleary-eyed stoners ready to eat the meat right off my bones.
I definately remember saying this last year and I will probably say it again next year. If this many young people can get off their asses to attend a completely spontaneous (without formal planning) event, then why the hell haven't we stopped this war. All of this energy could so easily be used to protest any number of things, but what does it end up getting used for? Getting so fucked up that we can't even think anymore. You guys are using a precious mind-altering (and perhaps awakening) substance, for what? Somehow marijuana use helped to spark an entire generation of protest and dissent ending with new Civil Rights laws and the end to an unjust war. Don't fucking tell me that there isn't anything left to protest. When American morality is this close to being legislated and several foriegn nations would gladly cut our throats, the sure as shit is something to get out of bed in the morning for. For christ sakes this 4/20 thing has been happening for generations and these apathetic stoners still haven't done anything to reform the prohibition laws against their precious weed while alcohol, tobacco, and firearms run free.
Hey! Pay some fucking attention and next year lets march on Washington with our reefers in hand!
As a drove to work I watched thousands of twenty-somethings make their way to the University of Colorado campus to celebrate with every other stoner that could still stand up and walk to Norlin Quad. They gathered to light up personal joints, blunts, and spliffs at 4:20 in the afternoon. Apart from the fact that the foothills themselves were on fire, this illegal blaze spouted the single largest skunk flavored cloud I have ever seen in my life, while the Boulder P.D. stand helplessly by.
At around 4:30 this massively disoriented group of people discend upon the many eaterys located around the Campus to gorge themselves on pizza, sandwiches, chinese dishes, and my personal favorite, calzones. Delivery drivers speed though this pedestrian mess to run horribly late food to starving customers all around town. No joke, I took an order from a fellow who ordered 126 wings. After cooking this obscene amount of food I expected to deliver to a party littered with glass. What I found were four or five bleary-eyed stoners ready to eat the meat right off my bones.
I definately remember saying this last year and I will probably say it again next year. If this many young people can get off their asses to attend a completely spontaneous (without formal planning) event, then why the hell haven't we stopped this war. All of this energy could so easily be used to protest any number of things, but what does it end up getting used for? Getting so fucked up that we can't even think anymore. You guys are using a precious mind-altering (and perhaps awakening) substance, for what? Somehow marijuana use helped to spark an entire generation of protest and dissent ending with new Civil Rights laws and the end to an unjust war. Don't fucking tell me that there isn't anything left to protest. When American morality is this close to being legislated and several foriegn nations would gladly cut our throats, the sure as shit is something to get out of bed in the morning for. For christ sakes this 4/20 thing has been happening for generations and these apathetic stoners still haven't done anything to reform the prohibition laws against their precious weed while alcohol, tobacco, and firearms run free.
Hey! Pay some fucking attention and next year lets march on Washington with our reefers in hand!
20 April 2008
Popemobile unsafe in a 35 m.p.h. barrier crash test
Not only is the Pope against contraceptives, but vehicle safety. On his recent visit to the United States Pope Benedict Arnold XIV renounced seat belts in cars. The controversy began when the Holy Father refused to put on his safety belt in the back of the Popemobile, though Mecedes installed a special belt made of a holy relic said to have been worn by Jesus Christ himself. The Pope said to his Archbishop "Che la cintura di sicurezza è troppo unconfortable ed esso giusti fa i miei abiti legare in su. Inoltre, questa cosa va soltanto come cinque miglia all'ora. (That seat belt is just too unconfortable and it makes my robes bunch up. Besides, this thing only goes like five miles an hour.)"
Mercedes, sole manufacturer of the Popemobile, was actually the first automobile manufacturer to install safety belts in any of its cars. Seat belts have been mandatory in all cars in the United States since December 1, 1984. But that doesn't mean everybody wears them. Though they have been proven to save lives in the course of fatal accidents, many Americans still refuse to wear them. In Colorado, not wearing your belt is a secondary traffic offense, that is, a ticket can be issued, but only after a primary offense (you can't get pulled over for not having your seat belt buckled).
In the face of a nationwide "Click-It or Ticket" campaign to try to enforce seat belt laws, this Papal blunder seems to be disproving infallibility once again.
In a special April 20th press conference, political activist Ralph Nader stumbled out from under a NORML anti-marijuana prohibition rally to make a statement against the pope. "A lotta people look up to this guy," stammered Nader, "and for him to publicly refute the laws of this country in front of millions of New Yorkers and television viewers across the nation, uh, that's just not good, you know?" Nader has been a staunch proponent of the seat belt laws since there inception and personally refused to ride in any car that was not a Mercedes prior to the law's signing.
Surely we can't allow the head of one of the world's largest morality institutions to get away with this kind of behavior. Surely we can't give fuel to young Catholic children who already refuse to sit in their child safety seats and wear their seat belts. Raise your voices in public outcry and hold our world leaders accountable for their own behavior. Wear your seat belt Pope!
Mercedes, sole manufacturer of the Popemobile, was actually the first automobile manufacturer to install safety belts in any of its cars. Seat belts have been mandatory in all cars in the United States since December 1, 1984. But that doesn't mean everybody wears them. Though they have been proven to save lives in the course of fatal accidents, many Americans still refuse to wear them. In Colorado, not wearing your belt is a secondary traffic offense, that is, a ticket can be issued, but only after a primary offense (you can't get pulled over for not having your seat belt buckled).
In the face of a nationwide "Click-It or Ticket" campaign to try to enforce seat belt laws, this Papal blunder seems to be disproving infallibility once again.
In a special April 20th press conference, political activist Ralph Nader stumbled out from under a NORML anti-marijuana prohibition rally to make a statement against the pope. "A lotta people look up to this guy," stammered Nader, "and for him to publicly refute the laws of this country in front of millions of New Yorkers and television viewers across the nation, uh, that's just not good, you know?" Nader has been a staunch proponent of the seat belt laws since there inception and personally refused to ride in any car that was not a Mercedes prior to the law's signing.
Surely we can't allow the head of one of the world's largest morality institutions to get away with this kind of behavior. Surely we can't give fuel to young Catholic children who already refuse to sit in their child safety seats and wear their seat belts. Raise your voices in public outcry and hold our world leaders accountable for their own behavior. Wear your seat belt Pope!
09 April 2008
Boabblog
I'm so Phở'ed up right now I don't even know how I'm typing this. My stomach is finely layered with salty hot beef broth. My head is swimming with thoughts of partially cooked meat soaked in hoisin sauce. My eyes are so glazed over that I can barely make out the words that appear at my fingertips. I feel like if I have another cigarette I will surely poop my pants.
And what is this wonder drug that makes me feel so wonderfully sick, you ask? I was first introduced to it back in 2005 as an after work tradition. Everybody at Spyder loved to get Pho'ed up right after work. Some people go out for some beers or head home to hit the bong but we headed straight to Broomfield, where the best stuff is made.
Pho originated in North Vietnam in the 1950s. The French tried extremely hard to bring it South to manufacture it for themselves. The Vietnamese feared that the French would take Pho and manufacture it for themselves in the South for export to the West. Vo Nguyen Giap ultimately defeated the French and blocked Western occupation of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and kept the Pho market out of the hands of the Western oppressors. The DRV kept its monopoly on the Pho market in China and parts of the Eastern Soviet Union. North Vietnam continued to be prosporous and rich. The Communist markets in the North became so huge that the DRV had to expand production and began moving into the non-Communist South. The Northern government promised that the Phở trade would bring prosperity to Hanoi and the rest of the traditionally poor South. Vietnam looked as if it was on its way to joining the ranks of the Soviet powerhouses.
Unitil 1961. In its never ending quest to squash Communism wherever it was born, the United States attempted to covertly invade Southern Vietnam. The invasion was made public and it quickly became apparant that the US was involved in an attempt to get into the Phở market. Under the guise of Cold War tensions, military conflict quickly escalated. China and the USSR quickly offered military assistance through technology and man power in order to beat back the "Democratic" Hegemon. Both Communist nations had developed a need for its Phở supplies, as it kept their citizenry quite docile under a seeminly unhealthy regime.
In a series of offensive battles, it seemed that the US was falling to bitter defeat. At the same time, 1969 was littered with anti-war and anti-Phở protests. "Not in our backyards" proclaimed placcards across the US and Europe. It seemed the deaths of close to 60,000 Americans and nearly a million Vietnamese over a soup to be fart oo much for the collective conscience. The constituency seemed to have had enough. It was time for the US to pull out of Vietnam.
As troops were pulled from South Vietnam the United States managed to operate covertly in the neutral neighbor of Cambodia. By sneaking North along the border several US Marine platoons were able to secure a small Phở production facility deep behind enemy lines. They were able to steal specific intellegence, and thus the recipe made it out of Vietnam. In the name of Freedom, Pho can now be enjoyed worldwide.
I'm here to say, "My name is Andrew Oren and I am a Phở addict."
And what is this wonder drug that makes me feel so wonderfully sick, you ask? I was first introduced to it back in 2005 as an after work tradition. Everybody at Spyder loved to get Pho'ed up right after work. Some people go out for some beers or head home to hit the bong but we headed straight to Broomfield, where the best stuff is made.
Pho originated in North Vietnam in the 1950s. The French tried extremely hard to bring it South to manufacture it for themselves. The Vietnamese feared that the French would take Pho and manufacture it for themselves in the South for export to the West. Vo Nguyen Giap ultimately defeated the French and blocked Western occupation of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and kept the Pho market out of the hands of the Western oppressors. The DRV kept its monopoly on the Pho market in China and parts of the Eastern Soviet Union. North Vietnam continued to be prosporous and rich. The Communist markets in the North became so huge that the DRV had to expand production and began moving into the non-Communist South. The Northern government promised that the Phở trade would bring prosperity to Hanoi and the rest of the traditionally poor South. Vietnam looked as if it was on its way to joining the ranks of the Soviet powerhouses.
Unitil 1961. In its never ending quest to squash Communism wherever it was born, the United States attempted to covertly invade Southern Vietnam. The invasion was made public and it quickly became apparant that the US was involved in an attempt to get into the Phở market. Under the guise of Cold War tensions, military conflict quickly escalated. China and the USSR quickly offered military assistance through technology and man power in order to beat back the "Democratic" Hegemon. Both Communist nations had developed a need for its Phở supplies, as it kept their citizenry quite docile under a seeminly unhealthy regime.
In a series of offensive battles, it seemed that the US was falling to bitter defeat. At the same time, 1969 was littered with anti-war and anti-Phở protests. "Not in our backyards" proclaimed placcards across the US and Europe. It seemed the deaths of close to 60,000 Americans and nearly a million Vietnamese over a soup to be fart oo much for the collective conscience. The constituency seemed to have had enough. It was time for the US to pull out of Vietnam.
As troops were pulled from South Vietnam the United States managed to operate covertly in the neutral neighbor of Cambodia. By sneaking North along the border several US Marine platoons were able to secure a small Phở production facility deep behind enemy lines. They were able to steal specific intellegence, and thus the recipe made it out of Vietnam. In the name of Freedom, Pho can now be enjoyed worldwide.
I'm here to say, "My name is Andrew Oren and I am a Phở addict."
26 February 2008
From the Moon
I remember a day when the Earth seemed to stand still. It slowly rotated before my eyes so that I could see it all. Magnificent endless oceans and a single mass of rock. I gazed as the mass of land trembled and broke apart forming geodecent patterns across the surface. Foliage grew across these great continents and the clouds began to form. Ages passed as this orb seemed to dwarf even me. We almost became one as it turned below me while I slowly danced around it. Storms raged and I watched this ball of life erupt into life. Its peculiar rotation seemed to gain speed until a great celestial object silenced it once more.
My neighbor and friend slowed to an almost painfully boring pace. White ice and snow covered much of its surface as if it was as dead as my own surface. Ages wore on until a strange little species began to inherit its face. Turmoil and suffering once again returned the sphere to its normal speed and I again became one with my old friend. I smiled for centuries until one day.
I woke to a startling flash on a single hook-shaped island. It was as if the sun had invaded this tiny speck of green. I had gotten used to seeing flicks of light sparkle its dark side, but nothing like this. It was if the sun had rose and set all at once. Ever since that day, the ball before me has begun to spin out of control. We are no longer in sync. Perpetually in motion, I can barely see what is happening before me. Continents blurred into oceans. I continued my dance, but it is as if my partner has lost the beat. My grasp on her oceans had been reduced to a mere graze.
Then one day it stopped.
I could only see one half of my former love. Across her broad masses of land I could see the being I once watched smeared across her like a thin layer of strawberry jam. The lights had been extinguished. She was pulling me in, as if to destroy me as those beings had destroyed her. I felt my face dip into her cool oceans, as it had once before, but I knew it was over. It was a last kiss of a dead planet, and I knew I must leave.
My neighbor and friend slowed to an almost painfully boring pace. White ice and snow covered much of its surface as if it was as dead as my own surface. Ages wore on until a strange little species began to inherit its face. Turmoil and suffering once again returned the sphere to its normal speed and I again became one with my old friend. I smiled for centuries until one day.
I woke to a startling flash on a single hook-shaped island. It was as if the sun had invaded this tiny speck of green. I had gotten used to seeing flicks of light sparkle its dark side, but nothing like this. It was if the sun had rose and set all at once. Ever since that day, the ball before me has begun to spin out of control. We are no longer in sync. Perpetually in motion, I can barely see what is happening before me. Continents blurred into oceans. I continued my dance, but it is as if my partner has lost the beat. My grasp on her oceans had been reduced to a mere graze.
Then one day it stopped.
I could only see one half of my former love. Across her broad masses of land I could see the being I once watched smeared across her like a thin layer of strawberry jam. The lights had been extinguished. She was pulling me in, as if to destroy me as those beings had destroyed her. I felt my face dip into her cool oceans, as it had once before, but I knew it was over. It was a last kiss of a dead planet, and I knew I must leave.
12 February 2008
About As Many Brains as A Snowman (Part I)
What is it about snow that turns normal people into complete morons? I would like to think that the state does a reasonable job of distributing driver’s licenses to qualified people, but once the flakes start to fly, all conventional wisdom seems to escape out the window. Here are a few examples from my drive from Frisco last night:
1. Oh my God, it’s a semi-truck, what do I do? These idiots think that it is safe to drastically reduce their speed and take as long as possible to pass a tractor-trailer in bad road conditions. Why in the hell would you want to spend more time next to one of these 26,000-plus pound beasts when they can barely stay on the road as it is? Beats the shit out of me. This cake-hole screwed me over on my way up to the tunnel by slowing from 45 to 30 mph while passing an empty flatbed trailer. The reduced speed caused me to have to spin the wheels while trying to stay at a less than reasonable speed (I was doing just fine at 50 mph thank you).
2. The classic, driving with the high beams in a blizzard. A little common courtesy please! Not only are you blinding me from the other side of a six-lane interstate, but there is no way you can see through the reflection of those doily sized snowflakes. Maybe you should slam on the brakes to make sure that they are working too asshole!
3. Jab the brakes on a curve. Brilliant!
And still others from previous trips up and down I-70:
4. Anatomy of a traffic jam. Guess how traffic jams start? Incessant changing of lanes in hopes that you might get a few car-lengths ahead of where you were. This lane change causes the cars behind you to brake, leading to a six-mile chain reaction that slows everyone down. Even if the highway is jammed with 4:00 Sunday traffic, there is no reason that everyone can’t go 35 mph if you just chill the fuck out. Traffic sucks, we all know it, but making matters worse is not going to help you or anyone else. Pick a lane, stick to it, and suffer like the rest of us.
5. Oh no! A tunnel, now what? Better brake and slow down to ten under, maybe it won’t collapse now because of you. Thanks buddy.
6. Georgetown has a special lane for truckers to put their chains on. It has its own exit and is nowhere near the right lane. It is not necessary to slow down to 15 mph in a 65 zone. These truck drivers are professionals, their trucks are not going to spontaneously jump out and pummel your car.
a. On a side note I heard a story from a retired Colorado State Patrolman. He was stationed at the base of Vail pass one evening helping truckers out with their chains and what not. He stops one guy who thought he would try to continue unlawfully (and stupidly I might add, because I’ve seen trucks get stuck trying to get up that road and it certainly doesn’t look like any fun). So the guy concedes and puts on the chains on his rear set of duelies. A few minutes later he shows up at the window of the patrol car and says, “My truck still ain’t movin’.” The officer walks up to the truck while the driver climbs in. The driver steps on the gas and his front wheels spin furiously.
7. The H3 driver. This is my personal favorite, even if just thinking about it makes me irate. Note: just because there is snow on the ground, the roads are not necessarily icy. I’m on my way up the hill around Idaho Springs when I come up fast on this fire trucking red Hummer H3. I’m going the speed limit and almost rear end this monstrosity because he’s going 45 (that’s 20 under) in the left lane. I brake pretty hard but smoothly to come up right behind his or her bumper. I almost get rear ended myself. I figure, I’m not going to break the law for this asshole so I stay behind him. Meanwhile cars are screaming by on the right honking and making all sorts of friendly gestures and somehow this guy still doesn’t get the hint. I follow this guy for four miles before he finally gets over, continuing at his present rate of speed. This was about a month ago, so he should be almost back to the West Coast by now. Godspeed You! Red Pissant. Call it a form of road rage, but I really wanted to get out and interview this future candidate for the Darwin Awards. “Please sir could you explain to our audience why you are driving a vehicle originally designed for off-road trekking through just about any terrain in war torn countries at a dangerously slow velocity on dry pavement on a beautifully sunny Colorado day?” Well, he is driving a Hummer, and that says something right there, but that’s for another blog.
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