Sunday, February 27, 2011

...I clearly have no idea how subways work...

Subways are a wondrous and beautiful method of getting a bunch of people from point A to point B. I hate driving in the city, so I take the subway whenever I can. I love the idea of being able to swipe my card and take a subway to wherever I want to go in the city of Boston. And seeing as it is Boston (and everyone in Boston is trained to drive like an asshole, including yours truly), being able to circumvent all of that traffic-y bullshit is more than a welcome change. But taking the subway so much has had eternally skewed my perception of reality. That's right, riding the subway has fucked with my mind beyond the point of repair. Somewhere, down in those deep dark tunnels below the streets of Boston lies my sanity. Ok fine enough whinging, I'm sure you just want me to get to the point. Well the point of all this is that I have ABSOLUTELY NO idea how my dear beloved city is laid out.

That's right I've lived in Massachusetts my entire life and I have zero idea how one thing connects to another in the place where I grew up.

When I was younger, I would always take the subway into the city with my mom. We would get on the train and it would plunge into the darkness. The lights would flash by and suddenly I'd be in another station. I would peer on, my face pressed against the glass (much to the chagrin of my dear mother), watching the lights speed on by. Eventually I grew out of preschool and my family moved out of our house right outside of the city for one further away (but with a better school system...that's how I got to writing all edumacated and shit). Once I reached high school and got to driving around (and got into that whole I'll go wherever I want to phase) I began venturing into the city again. And so once again I got to ride that magical steel contraption.

Then epiphany struck years later when I was in college. During one of my numerous visits home (to do laundry and steal free food naturally) that we were driving back from Boston. Very typically, during these trips, I'm snoozing in the back, paying little to no attention to the things around me. Well this time (likely because I was still mainlining energy drinks like it was my job) I managed to stay awake. We took a wrong turn somewhere, because our TomTom GPS cleverly named "tomtom" (my mom's creative naming technique). Finally we make it to a road that I didn't recognize, but clearly my mom did. Well this road took us over the Charles river (those who aren't familiar with the layout of Boston, this is the river that essentially separates the "Boston" area of Boston from Cambridge, Boston's slightly cheaper, slightly uglier sister). We proceeded to drive through MIT, Harvard Square and a bunch of my other old high school stomping grounds. Now needless to say, this set off one huge fucking lightbulb over my head as I realized that not only were all those places connected, but they were actually all pretty close to one another. My immediate next thought was, "Fucking hell I'm dumb"

I had yet another such experience this past weekend as I was driving my friend into Chinatown so that we could get lunch. We took one of the two larger roads that ran along the Charles River (remember what I said about it above?) on the Boston side and pulled off somewhere near Beacon Hill (a very hoity toity area of Boston that looks like it should be pretty cheap to live in but is actually REALLY expensive...I guess that's what you pay to live in an old apartment on a stupidly narrow street on an impossibly steep hill in Boston). Suddenly a couple turns later and we were in Chinatown (I say a couple turns...more like several turns because I had to make another loop around Boston Public Garden...BECAUSE I SUCK AT DRIVING ALRIGHT?). Again, my head spun as I realized that ALL of these locations were SO close to one another.

Apparently my time spent underground (along with my watching WAY too much Star Wars as a child) had clearly convinced me that somehow, the riding the subway was akin to entering a mystical portal that had the ability to transport you from one location to another that is a HUNDRED THOUSAND LIGHTYEARS AWAY and the ONLY way of getting there is by paying the T to take you there. I'm sure that once I move into the city, I'll be able to figure all this shit out...but for now, I will still have absofuckinglutely no idea about how Boston is laid out. Thank god for mass transit.

...And that's what I learned today.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

...I'm really too uncoordinated to be alive...

I know what you're thinking, you're thinking "Eric! You're a martial artist and an awesome paintball player! How could you be uncoordinated! You're such a stud!"

Ok well maybe you weren't thinking that last part...but you'll let me dream right? And yes I do do all those things (hurr hurr doo doo), but there are more things to life than paintball and Taekwon Do...far more...fundamental things that I seem to be terrible at from time to time. I refer of eating.

Yes eating...I'm occasionally bad at eating. Now do you see what I mean by too uncoordinated to be alive? I mean...what kind of person is BAD AT EATING. Well the tard writing this blog is definitely that person. I'm sure you're wondering what I mean by bad at eating. Well allow me to draw up a scenario for you that might explain what I'm talking about.

It's dinner time. I'm out at a restaurant with some friends. We're having a few beers and some appetizers, chatting gregariously about the workings of the world, deep philosophy and plans for world domination. Finally our entrees arrive (as the nachos were likely demolished long ago) and we start into our burgers. Initially there is a lull in the conversation as we all tuck in to our respective main courses at the same time. Eventually discussion arises about how good the food is, and we continue our discourse on America's foreign policy or methods to fix the federal government once and for all. No doubt at some point in the meal, I will get caught up talking and eating at the same time, and that's when disaster strikes. Chewing rapidly whilst discussing Plato's Allegory of the Cave and how it applies to the modern education system results in a brief, but blinding flash of pain. Chewing ceases as I quickly swallow whatever I had in my mouth. I make a quick check around the inside of my mouth only to confirm the worst is true, I have indeed bitten my lip (or tongue...or inside of my cheek...yeah I've done it all).

At this point, my first instinct is not "Oh god I've just separated a piece of my own flesh about the size of a dime that is now bleeding rather profusely into my mouth" (Did I get anyone to vomit there? Gag even?) No instead my first thought after inflicting grievous bodily harm upon myself is "Oh god I hope nobody at the table noticed that...." That's right dear readers, I would rather ignore my now likely terminal injury JUST to ensure that NOBODY at the table noticed what I did. And because sticking your napkin into your mouth to stop the bleeding is FAR from subtle, I just sit there and deal with it. Apparently my need to maintain an air of grace and calm around my friends is of a higher priority than my own physical well being. And generally it is only after the meal that I realize the worst bit of all of this. That bite mark on the inside of my lip will, with 100% likelihood, become a massive canker sore and make it difficult to eat for weeks.

So there you have it. It's not as though I choke on my food or miss my mouth. Oh no dear readers. Apparently my AIM when it comes to CHEWING is frequently slightly off target. It's a wonder I haven't bled to death yet from this or just actively decided to forgo food due to the pain. (seriously this shit hurts!) If this happened to any other animal in the vast animal kingdom, it's family would likely have left it behind to die so that this particular "talent" is bred out of the gene pool as quickly as possible. I mean lets be serious, an animal that fails at eating is an animal that fails at living.

...And that's what I learned today.

PS Yes I understand the irony of posting this in a public place for everyone on the intarwebs to see.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

...I'm a neglectful parent...

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry...I've been ignoring you haven't I? Well I'm sorry about that...see I'm a very busy person...and...well I have a busy life...and...ok fine fine want the truth? Are you sure you can handle the truth?

Ok goes....

My name is Eric, and I'm a minecraft addict.

Wow those alchies are right, it does feel good to say it. I'm sure many of you are scratching your heads right now wondering what the hell I'm talking about (and I'm sure there are a select few of you who are grinning smugly to yourselves right now because you do know what I'm talking about...and I'm sure there's at least a couple of you who are grinding your teeth like a heroin addict trying to kick their habit). For those of you in the first group, Minecraft is a very simplistic game at first that gets very complicated very quickly. Simply put, it is an open world exploration, resource gathering and crafting game (think Settlers of Catan on STEROIDS....ok fine here's a video for all you visual learners). Now many of you may think this is boring (the same kinds of people who just don't "get" settlers...) but I would like to speak to the contrary.

What's amazing about this game is that it gives the player a very simplistic set of tools to work from. Almost everything can be gathered (save for lava...or at least I haven't tried yet) and everything can be placed down. From there, some items can be crafted into other, more useful items, and thus the game of Minecraft was born. However within the framework of the game, users have already discovered incredible things to do with Minecraft. Put it this way. The game devs gave users a simple "electricity" system that can do simple things like open doors and people went and built 16 bit processors with them....THAT's how powerful this game is (and how complex it can be).

Don't be fooled by the simplistic blocky look to it, this game is far more complicated that it's seemingly obsolete outer facade would let on. This is a game that rewards creativity, but makes you work for it. It will not simply give you the unlimited resources you need to build say, a giant castle atop an island (which my cohort and I have named Fort Kickass) or the two watchtowers topped by a million billion torches (so that in my stupidity, I can find my way home at night), or even a massive hundred foot tall penis. Nope, this game makes you work for it. It's too easy to simply build whatever you want when you have unlimited resources, this game is not going to coddle you like that.

In fact, this game isn't really going to hold your hand at fact this game kind of hates you for playing it. For one thing, it doesn't give you ANY clue as to what to do when you first start (how was I supposed to know to karate chop down a tree then build a workbench then build a wooden pickaxe then mine some coal then build some torches the hide for dear life?) Moreover, if you leave even one area of darkness or one gap in your shelter for any one of three land-based monsters (who are ALL better at fighting than you by the way) to get in, you're fucked. This game pretty much hates you for ever booting it up and seeks only to destroy the beautiful structures (and or massive penises) you are trying to create. Case in point, of the three monsters (zombies, skeletons and worm like things...) two of them begin to die as soon as the sun rises. One of them does not. Care to guess which one? Right the green wormy thing...and do you know what that thing's main method of attack is? Sprinting towards you and exploding, destroying everything in it's path. That's right, the ONLY monster that can EXIST during the day BLOWS THE FUCK UP.

But like the worst kind of abuse victim, I just have to keep coming back for more. There is something about this game that is inherently fun. The expanse of the world makes me feel so incredibly tiny, and yet Fort Kickass AND the two watchtowers that Kyle and I (mostly Kyle) built are a testament to our strength, our creativity, our will, and just how FUCKED our real lives are.

So if you've been wondering where I have been and why I haven't been posting, you'll find me on my private Minecraft server hopefully mining enough Obsidian to make a GIANT BLACK TOWER on the coast which will hopefully cause all who look at it to shit their pants. (Kyle says it'll take forever, but all the best things take my social life is completely fucked isn't it?)

...And that's what I learned today.

PS: Some crazy fuck created a 1:1 scale model of the GODDAMN STARSHIP that is fucking crazy. Here's some links

This is the beginning

This is version 13

Lets just say...this isn't what I'M doing with minecraft....

Thursday, February 17, 2011

...90s kids toy marketing was beyond effective...

Have you ever been up at that know that time...late at night were there is no longer anything worthwhile on TV? Where they blitz you with commercials for a bunch of shit you don't want, the kind of shit that you know would take a pile of coke the likes of which your middle class brain could not even comprehend or which only severe traumatic brain injury could inspire. You don't know who the fuck came up with the Shake Weight, the Pajamajeans, or god forbid, the Flirty Girl Fitness series of workout videos (feel free to youtube ANY of those if you don't know what they are, or if you already find me not funny), but you know that that fucking son of a bitch is a grade A moron for thinking that an intelligent individual such as yourself would EVER find anything of the sort at all appealing.

Well I am much the same way. But I always have to stop myself and think back to my younger days, back to the good old 90's. And yes I realize that saying "90's" to our generation of readers is something of a cop out blog topic reserved only for the unimaginative (or un-psychotic in the case of this blog) designed only to get one single nostalgic tug on the heartstrings before your readers realize that you actually suck and aren't worth pursuing any further. But trust me, I'm going somewhere with this. So anyways, the 90's, that mystical time that we all remember back to with such fond memories. Cartoons on a saturday morning (or in my case Taekwon Do training), bright green colored Hi-C (or in my case, soy milk) and running around falling off of jungle gyms and jumping off of swings (or in my case, Chinese school). You can probably tell that I'm a little bit bitter that I missed part of my childhood, but believe me when I tell you, I made up for it.

Back to the subject of advertising. When I finally got to watch cartoons after school, between the scenes of Batman or Jackie Chan kicking ninja ass (or watching Yugi from Yu Gi Oh go through every stage of puberty in a matter of seconds and NOBODY on screen batting an eyelash...or digimon....fucking digimon...nobody ACTUALLY liked Digimon...anyways...) there would be a long segment of ads for various things. Do you remember pogs? I'm sure you do. Do you remember how badly you loved pogs? And how badly you wanted more pogs? And how you had that one special slammer that would flip over an entire stack of pogs without ANY trouble? Yeah I do. And I was that kid, with that one magical slammer that could WRECK your pog stack in one throw. But looking back on it, do you remember what pogs were? Little discs of cardboard with some picture printed on it....that's it...that's all they were...there was nothing else to them...and yet, you had to have them. Like the rat with the direct injection like of heroin right into its brain with one foot on the button, you needed more.

Still not convinced? What about Crazy Bones? You would buy mystery packs of these fuckers, and you'd like them up across from your friend's Crazy Bones, and take turns flicking them at one another hoping to knock over crazy bone, getting you just that much closer to victory. Were they worth it? Were they worth fighting with your parents, telling them that you HAD to buy another booster pack just in case that ONE SPARKLY CRAZY BONE was inside of it? Was it worth arguing with your friends over which crazy bone was best (just so you know, Egghead fucking sucked...shitass could never stand up on its own)? Those little bits of plastic ended friendships, and all for what?

NONE of this shit is any better than the shakeweight, the pajamajeans or the flirty girl fitness DVDs (even typing that triggers my gag reflex...) In fact, one could make the argument that at least TWO of those three serve some marginally practical purpose. But what is the difference between the two (besides my personally turning into a shriveled hateful cynic that cannot stand anyone that doesn't reverently adore me and what I do) is that those people knew who they were selling to and how to sell that shit. And when you realize like I have, that someone actually spent time and money designing and producing the shakeweight where someone else thought "Hey, lets make a really simple game using one heavy bit of plastic and a bunch of light pieces of cardboard." "How will this shit sell?" this person's investors must have asked. "We'll print tiny bits of pop cultures on them! Cartoons and comics and shit!" "That's fucking brilliant!" And thus pogs were born, and to this day, likely reaped more financial success than any shakeweight style bullshit ever did.

...And that's what I learned today.

(PS they really should call the shakeweight "The Handjob-o-matic 2000" Because for one, everything sounds better with the number 2000 after it and for two, what else are you actually working out beyond the muscles it takes to jerk someone off?)

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

...Watson will pwn us all...

Pay attention here kids, the next few things I am going to say are a matter of life or death. The end of the world is nigh, the first horseman of the apocalypse is riding high, and his name is Watson.

Ok so I'm exaggerating a little bit here, but lets take some time to look at what IBM hath wrought.

For those of you who don't know yet, Watson, like Deep Blue before it, is a supercomputer designed with one purpose in mind, and that is pwning human beings. And, like Deep Blue before it, it does so by playing a game of skill and intellect, Jeopardy.

Lets backtrack even further for a little while, as many of you are likely scratching your heads when I mention Deep Blue. So Deep Blue (is that getting annoying yet? I'll call it DB for short) was a computer created by IBM in 1996 to be the single best chess player in the world. In a day and age where newfangled concepts like Windows 95 and the internet were starting to get big, this marked a huge step in the world of technology. The sheer processing power required to work a computer to play chess was phenomenal. And given that this was back in the 90's (where the term "gigahertz" was spoken of in only hushed whispers and people still knew how to use DOS) that was a particularly impressive feat. But in its first match against Garry Kasparov, world champion chess extraordinaire (and SUPER DUPER NERD) Deep Blue lost. One year later, after the initial testing phases were complete (That's the excuse IBM was using for DB's loss to Kasparov) the two, DB and Kasparov that is, had a rematch. In the 6 game match, DB won 2 and Kasparov 1, with 3 draws. This might seem like a somewhat lackluster result, but you have to bear in mind that this Kasparov dude is like a chess genius. The modern day equivalent would be if you were to beat ALL OF SOUTH KOREA at starcraft 2 (in other words nearly fucking impossible). Kasparov, still tasting the sweet taste of victory from the year before, cried foul, claimed IBM was cheating and demanded a rematch. IBM, (in a classic "I'm going home and taking the ball with me" move) said no and dismantled Deep Blue.

Enter 2011. IBM is at it again. This time though, their game of choice is Jeopardy. "Oh that's stupid, you just need to link the damn think to wikipedia and it's game over" I hear many of you already saying. Well no, not quite. For one thing, many Jeopardy clues are heavily context dependent. Moreover, not all Jeopardy clues are simply definitions, nor do the questions lead to definite answers. In fact, there are many clues that involve nuance and puns. Now while puns are old hat to you and I, for a computer that is used to dealing with strict logic, being able to work flexibly and deal with the nuances of language (puns included) is an entirely new step for a computer. It not only requires the ability for strict knowledge based responses, but also nuance based responses. At first, Watson failed HARD. (In one of it's first practice matches, when asked a question about non-dairy creamer, Watson answered "milk"). But therein lies the frightening aspect of Watson. It learned. It learned from its mistakes (along with some additional algorithmic programming from the IBM team) and it's now on TV taking on two of the GREATEST Jeopardy players of all time. After the first day of play, Watson was tied for first with $5000. I didn't get to watch tonight's game, but according to my friend's twitter, after 8 minutes, Watson was up 15 GRAND on the next closest player. If that's not fucking scary, I don't know what is. Obviously the next phase for world domination will be when Watson and Facebook link up and figure out how to control the minds of EVERYONE ON THE PLANET. Skynet is real dear readers, and its name is Watson. (Asimov is rolling in his grave right now)

...And that's what I learned today.

PS For those of you who missed the game like me, the first day's match is on youtube here

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

...I'm a competitive person...

...sort of...

If you were to ask me if I am a competitive person, generally I'd probably say no. I'm not a huge fan of conflict, I don't like arguing (unless it's on the internet) and I'm typically pretty nonchalant. I definitely don't feel the need (nor do I have the energy...scratch that....nor do I want to put in the effort) to fight everyone all the time. Honestly, being competitive is exhausting. Yet put me in the right situation and you'll watch me become a cold blooded competitive asshole. (Call of Duty, Settlers of Catan, debating whether or not Han shot first etc.)

There is a new challenge in my life that has rekindled my will to fight, a new calling that has ignited my warrior spirit. This is no simple video game, no resources are traded here. There is only the sweet nectar of victory, or the bitter bile of defeat. This is a sport of kings, no mere mortal may partake of this tournament of champions. I refer of course to the game of padiddle.

A little back story first.

Whenever I ride in my friend Jake's car, he always used to play, even if I wasn't. At first it didn't really bother me, but after a while, I decided to rejoin the game after nearly a decade of the retired life. Well needless to say, I was demolished. But that defeat was inspirational. Like Rocky Balboa after his first humiliating defeat to Apollo Creed, or the beginning of Micky Ward's fighting career in The Fighter, or the Jamaican bobsled team throughout pretty much ALL of Cool Runnings, I knew that this defeat was the beginning of my meteoric rise to victory and glory. But getting there would not be easy. The road to becoming a padiddle prodigy was one paved with blood, sweat, tears, bruised knuckles, distracted driving, and my passenger constantly asking me "what the fuck are you doing?" and "Aren't you actually supposed to SAY padiddle?" Fuckin' amateurs.

I have yet to face off against my rival in Jake. The last time we faced one another, it was a near dead tie (I took the lead by a single, solitary point). That last face off has motivated me to train ever harder, constantly trying to sharpen the reflexes, skills of observation as well as finding sitting and driving positions that will edge out that extra split second. Practice makes perfect they say, and once I find the most ideal location to hit the roof of my car that will allow for the fastest padiddling time, I will truly have the home field advantage.

Padiddle is my life.

...And that's what I learned today.

PS No I have not yet made the move to strip padiddle. That is an entirely foreign format to me and I'm sure it will require an entirely different set of skills to achieve strip padiddle success. Also playing alone is just fucking weird.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

...I often wonder who was the first to eat things...

With language, I often wonder who was the first person to say something and how they came to the conclusion that a certain set of sounds would come to mean a certain concept, object, action etc. (and more to the point, how we didn't end up with an entire language based around onomatopoeia...yes that's a long word, you can feel free to google it if you wish). Well I tend to wonder the same things about foods, and have come up with a large-ish list of would be innocuous list of every day foods that psychopaths must have been the first to try.


Chickens aren't such a big deal. Sure they're fuck ugly and vicious, but birds have been eaten for a long time. Eggs though make me wonder just how hungry the first person was who ate it, and roughly how many shitstorms did it take to realize they had to cook it? I mean, lets be serious. You kill a bird and find some stone type things in it's nest. Do you think that person just...bit right into it? Of all the things I wonder about, this is probably the least strange of them all. Sure they could have just seen another animal eat an egg and years of vaccines and sterilized this and hand soap that have just turned us all into War of the Worlds-esque weaklings that will eventually be brought down by some intergalactic flu whenever we finally make it to mars and will ultimately become a gooey, disgusting, flesh-melting end to humanity. Still though...chicken eggs? kinda weird...


This one is another one that kind of confuses me. An onion is not outright disgusting or revolting in any way. In fact, I imagine humans have been pulling up plants and pulling fruits off of trees for AGES. But onions are a whole different kind of strange. Once pulled out of the ground, onions are seemingly harmless, but cut into those layers and you
experience a WHOLE new world of pain. Most people think that they onion makes your eyes water. WRONG! YOUR EYES WATER AND YOU CRY BECAUSE THEY BURN LIKE SATAN'S FIERY ASSHOLE.
Bite into an uncooked onion and your mouth literally catches FIRE, your sinuses IGNITE and your and your brain wishes it had legs and arms so that it could PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE FROM THE INSIDE for being so STUPID. So this I ask you, how fucking hungry was that first tard caveman who ate an onion? EVERY ASPECT of that thing is designed to make sure that YOU DON'T EAT IT. Its defenses are SO PERFECT that professional chefs have to PRACTICE to get ACCUSTOMED to cutting the sons of bitches. That caveman must have been STUPID HUNGRY to eat the vegetable equivalent of a porcupine crossed with a skunk with FUCKING KNIVES DUCT TAPED ALL OVER IT.


Ok best for last, who was the first INSANE MANIAC that ate a GODDAMN LOBSTER? If I was the first fisherman to pull one of those bugs from the ocean, I would have likely first screamed like a middle school girl at a midnight screening of Leprechaun In The Hood, then vomited from the sheer fear invoked within me by this Lovecraftian horror, then thrown it the fuck back overboard. The LAST thing I would think of would be to keep that Darwinian nightmare on MY boat lest it decide to grow to 10000 TIMES ITS SIZE and CLEAVE MY BOAT IN HALF WITH ITS MASSIVE CLAWS. Again I have to ask myself, HOW HUNGRY was the first person who COOKED and ATE that thing?! I mean, eating livestock is fine, eating fowl is fine, but lobsters? Those are just creepy. Don't get me wrong, I love 'em, they're delicious, hell even my paintball team is named the Lobsters, but that was one brave motherfucker who ate that think for the first time.

...And those are the things I wonder about...


The rare Bladed Skunkupine (Sharpus Rawonionsus) captured by my friend Emily

Friday, February 4, 2011

...Commuters are silly...

I commute to work. It is not the nicest commute in the world, but I deal with it. Every day, I drive to the subway terminal and take the subway into the city, and every evening, I take the subway out of the city and drive back home. Every day, the subway is packed to the doors. Nobody is comfortable, everyone is irritated. (Personally though, I just try and steady myself while I play angry birds on my phone...I actually have quite a good time with it.)

By the time we all make it to the terminal stop, the population on the train has lessened quite a bit, but the congestion on the roads outside is still horrible. Sometimes it takes nearly 30 minutes just to leave the immediate area around the subway station parking lot. It is always like this, no matter what day of the week it is (excluding weekends OBVIOUSLY).

So what baffles me is the behavior of some of my fellow commuters. Let me describe to you the scene that typically unfolds before me as I am on my way out from work.

I walk to the subway station near my office and I descend onto the platform. Generally there are a good number of people occupying the narrow strip of cement, but not enough to make it dangerous. At this point, I remove my gloves and pull out my phone, intent on making those porcine egg thieves pay for their transgressions against the mighty bird kingdom. The PA system squawks a disjointed prerecorded message about the train arriving, so I cease my incessant avian assault for now.

Now I assume many, if not all of you, have seen the pictures of the train attendants in Japan forcibly shoving passengers onto the Tokyo Metro. Well the Boston subway system is something like that...only instead of kind, courteous, Asian station attendants, you have angry middle aged white men who think that loudly announcing that people "need to move in more" will MAGICALLY create more space for him to squeeze onto this train. Generally I watch this desperate struggle the same way one would watch scavengers fight one another off to ensure they all got fed (only without the dulcet British tones of David Attenborough to explain exactly what the fuck you're looking at), and then simply wait for the next train.

By the time I get on this next train (also typically quite full), I watch as about HALF the people get off at the next stop, some of whom GOT ON AT THE SAME STOP AT ME. This wellspring of anger I channel towards more productive things, like turning green limbless pigs into proverbial digital bacon to be consumed by my bird brethren. Typically after a couple more stops, enough people have left that I can sit down and better aim the slingshot that was shooting my birds to death and glory.

Finally I reach the terminal station. I stow my phone and get off the train car. Here's the part that really gets me. People, the same types of people who have been riding the train with me, the same types of people who will be stuck in traffic with me trying to leave the parking garage, these people, similar to myself in almost every way, make the CONSCIOUS decision to SPRINT OFF OF THE TRAIN presumably to get to their car faster to...what...sit in traffic faster? Seriously people, what does RUNNING TO YOUR CAR accomplish other than make you more tired for the BUMPER TO BUMPER TRAFFIC that you can CLEARLY see through the windows of the TRAIN STATION. Guess what? Just because you won an imaginary foot race to your car DOESN'T mean you've beaten ANY traffic. IT'S ALL RIGHT THERE! WHAT'S THE POINT?!

I think I have discovered the only time where my fatass laziness has actually paid off....

...And that's what I learned today.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

...I'm not sure if my dog is retarded or an evil genius...

My opinions on him are in constant flux. Every time he leads me to believe he's really smart, he goes and does something really stupid. And every time he does something really stupid, he reminds me how smart he is.

Here's a few examples from each case.

Super Genius Dog:
-He recognizes each of us around the house by the sound of our footsteps.
-He knows not to eat his food until we tell him to
-He knows not to go outside unless we allow him to
-He knows a BUNCH of tricks (and while he isn't at the level of bringing me the TV remote yet, he's still doing pretty well)
-He knows when people are coming to the house and acts as a preemptive doorbell of sorts.
-If you try and get him to do tricks without food in your hand, he will look at you as though you've just insulted his intelligence

Super Retard Dog:
-After every meal, without fail, he takes it upon himself to lick then ENTIRE FLOOR
-He still barks madly at EVERYONE, including family members, whenever we enter the house
-He runs around the house like a madman whenever we let him out
-He runs into the bathroom and manages to close the door behind him, locking himself in

I know that's not a great list, but what do you want...he's a dog. Mostly though, I always wonder, whenever he does something he's NOT supposed to, he gives you this look that innocent look. You know, the one where they stare up at you with those big eyes. Most of the time, people interpret this look as "Why are you so mad at meeeee....I didn't do anythiiiiiing :( " But I'm not so sure when it comes to my dog. Part of the time, I feel like he's genuinely confused about my being mad at his decision to puke in my bed, other times I wonder whether he is actually just giving me that "Y U mad?" look JUST to appease me, all the while running through his skull are thoughts of "Yessssss humannnn...forgive me....forgive me that I may vomit in your bed againnnnnn MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA" (if you imagine Emperor Palpatine saying that, you'll get something resembling the image I have in my mind....also if he had hands, he'd probably be doing that sinister hand gesture know...that thing...from the cartoons....WHATEVER)

This is all true by the way. My mom let him out of his room to run around for a while, and within minutes of his release, he had run into the kitchen, eaten something off the floor, proceeded to run into my room, and vomit whatever he had eaten RIGHT onto my bed. So I washed my sheets. My mom let him out AGAIN today, and like a champ, the first thing he did was run around the house and pee on my bed. (Thank fucking god for Billy Mays and Oxyclean...and laundry machines in my house....) Well after everything had been sanitized, I chased my dog down and proceeded to yell at him. And all he did was give me that look...that "Y R U MAED?! I DINT DO NUFFING!" look. But all the while...I knew he was just plotting revenge...he would not allow this transgression to go unpunished, and he would most certainly be looking for the next opportunity to expel some novel bodily fluid on my bed, or perhaps he'll opt to try and vomit elsewhere in my room....He has declared war and I will respond in kind....believe me I'm not the kind to take this sort of insult without exacting my pound of flesh....

So I peed on his bed....

JUST KIDDING, I actually just closed the door. It's a wonder how effective that is when you're under two feet tall and don't have opposable thumbs.

...And that's what I learned today

(PS dear Firefox, Opposable is a word, stop telling me otherwise)
(PPS Happy Chinese New Year)