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"I just awesomed all over the place..." |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I'm Kind of a Big Deal ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** For those of you not familiar with me, I pity you. Your life is about to be inspired and enriched by simply knowing I exist. For those who do remember my notorious and glorious days as a Writing.com regular, you've no doubt been wondering where I've been and what I've been up to for the last several years. Naturally I've just continued to be awesome, but for details you'll have to watch this new blog. |
| So Funko called today. They want to make me into a Pop! figure, naturally. Not the standard size, of course, but the slightly larger size with a bobble head. I had to turn them down; I had already signed an exclusive deal with Lego. Almost 6 years. No way anyone is still around who would read this... |
Response for "Follow the Leader"  for leading entry "Invalid Entry" That's not a bad link. The entry was deleted or something. Apparently the whole journal was made private. So I guess I was late to the party on this one. I read an entry elsewhere that I assume was a response to it. Given the content of that response and sudden desire of the author to hide the entry, I can only assume it was controversial. Too bad I missed it, because I love controversial. However, I love laziness more, so woohoo for not having to respond to anything. I will say this though. If you write something controversial, be prepared for whatever follows. I certainly pissed off folks before. Sometimes I even enjoy doing it. But if I had the guts to say it in the first place, I have to stand behind it. Maybe I could be swayed in opinion and admit I was wrong--not that that could ever be possible--but I can't just go into hiding and pretend it never happened. We're not stupid; we know what's going to get a rise out of people. This is especially true when we know folks are under a participatory requirement to respond. It's entirely possible the journal was made private for a completely different. If so, so be it, but at least I had something to write about. |
| Response for "Follow the Leader" leading entry "Invalid Entry" My Christmas shopping is all done, my lists all complete. But with these last few days before Christmas I feel like there's one more thing I want to do. I'm very particular about making donations to charitable organizations. I always question how much of my dollar goes directly to those in need. Well intentioned or not, there is always some bureaucracy to consume dough. I'm also worried about who exactly is getting my money. Just like my distrust of the welfare system and all entitlements in general, I figure a good portion of charity goes to folks who in my opinion don't deserve it. I want to make sure help goes to those who either can't help themselves or who have given it their best effort and failed. Last year some anonymous do-gooders went to department stores and paid off lay-a-ways that were about to expire. This inspired me, and I wish I had heard about it when I still had some money left last holiday season. This holiday season I have some money left, and I want to pay it forward. And I'm looking for ideas on how to do it. I thought about paying off lay-a-ways like that trend last holiday season, but what if I help out some douchebag? What if I help pay off some deadbeat's clothes instead of toys for their kids? I'm not sure I want to do that, though I suppose I would be none the wiser. Also, I admit I'm a little selfish. I sort of want to see someone's face light up when they get a random gift from a stranger. I'm not looking for recognition, not even looking for a "thank you". I just want to see a smile that might not otherwise be there. Or know I'm bestowing some kindness that might be paid forward. So I'm looking for ideas. I know I only have a few days, less considering how hectic these next several days are going to be, but I'm open to suggestions. I really don't want to just donate to some faceless charity. I do that now and again anyway, for causes I support. This is a more intimate thing. I could very happily donate $500 to Saint Jude's or something similar, but this being Christmas, I'd rather know that it's helping someone's holiday be a little brighter. So what does every who reads this think? If you had a few hundred dollars (a small sum in the grand scheme of things I know) to spread some holiday cheer, how would do it? By the way, the irony of using the Christmas gifting reference in an entry titled "The Dark Time" is not lost on me. |
| I used the word "asshattery" in the last entry. I really was hoping I just invented that word, because it's fucking amazing. But alas, according to UrbanDictionary.com, it already exists. It means exactly what you'd expect: "acts committed by an asshat". And of course an asshat is someone with his or her head up his ass. I've used asshat before, but asshattery is new. And it is now one of my favorite words. |
| Response to "Follow the Leader" leading entry "Invalid Entry" I've never talked to my characters like they were real people, capable of making their own choices and developing all on their own. My muse has never been a personality, and I've never conversed with him/her/it. I don't chat with a bunch of voices in my head. I'm not completely sure, but I think this is because I'm not fucking insane. I'll never understand people who write stories in which they claim their characters take on a mind of their own. The premise is patently ridiculous. The characters are not real; they are figments of the writers imagination. So when they appear to take on a personality of their own, this is just the author's subconscious taking a detour. Either the writer has multiple personalities, or some similar mental illness, or the writer is simply too pretentious to reach the obvious realization that everything his character does is in fact a decision made by the writer. Sometimes I've acted out dialog I intend to put in a story. Saying it aloud, with the right tone and accompanying expressions and gestures, can bring it to life in way that makes it easier to write. It can be an experiment to determine the more realistic choice of words too. But in those cases I'm always being an actor, playing the part of both characters. I'm not talking directly to the character, thinking he or she is real, because that's just plain silly. Years ago, when I did actually write, I saw a lot of this nonsense. Some people I even respected as writers would write pages of conversations they had with their characters and muses. They would talk about how they had XYZ planned but their character decided to do ABC instead. Most of the time this strategy led to meandering stories that never got anyway and always left me questioning the character's motivation. I don't understand people who let their characters drive their stories. For one thing, it's not possible, because the character isn't real, and secondly, it seems like a really bad idea to me. Everything I've ever read from published authors--which I admit is limited to a relatively small set of successful authors whom I respect--is one key to writing is outline, outline, outline. And that's what I always did. I decided where I wanted to go ahead of time and took my characters there. Now granted there is some flexibility to this, because you may come to realize that what you originally outlined doesn't jive with your character's usual MO. But the writer owns the character, not the other way around. So there's nothing saying you can't modify that character. A simple change to his past, to his upbringing, can alter his reaction to an event years in the future. Or maybe you tweak the plot just a bit. Maybe I'm completely wrong in this. Maybe you are supposed to let characters drive the story. I don't know, and since I'm not trying to get published, I don't really care. But I do know that thinking your characters have a mind of their own is mentally ill at its worst and asshattery at its best. To those people I would just point out that although you may love your character so much you think he's real, that doesn't mean your readers do. |
| Response to "Follow the Leader" leading entry "Invalid Entry" I scanned objurgate's entire list of favorite songs and can honestly say I've never heard a single one of them. I'll be honest and admit I didn't read all the blurbs about each song. In truth I read very few. I'd be shocked if I'm alone in that. I don't listen to music, or at least certainly not new music. I work from home, and when I do leave the house my wife does most of the driving. If I'm controlling the radio, I set it on a generic mix station that spans music over the last three decades. Sometimes there's new stuff on there too, but I didn't recognize any of those in the the list above. Though I didn't "read" very carefully, so I could just be missing one. I don't buy albums either. I might, on a rare occasion, buy a single song off iTunes, but more often than not that happens to be an old song I'm hearing for the first time. I'm sitting on about $30.00 in iTunes credit that I haven't used in over a year. I certainly don't buy CDs or whole albums, unless they are gifts for someone else. Frankly it seems incredibly exhausting to be that devoted to music. It seems even more exhausting to compile a list like that. I can't even imagine knowing 150 new songs in a year let alone having 150 favorites. And it seems even more exhausting still to actually read that list or God forbid watch all the linked youtube vidoes. I'm assuming if I had any interest in music at all, it might not seem so daunting. Still, impressive someone cares that much about it to compile such a exhaustive list, complete with video links. I wish I had more to write about this. I've read plenty of leading entries over the course of this contest in years past that didn't particularly interest me. But I always cue in on some aspect of the entry that inspires me. For example, it was something particularly uninteresting, I might write about how boring it was. Not so much this one. I can't claim the content bores me. I mean it sort of does, but in the same way a grocery list bores me. It's a list. To which I have no emotional reaction. Maybe if I recognized some of the music there would be something pretentious or artsy-fartsy in there that I could berate for a while. But alas, I don't even know what qualifies as pretentious music. I know I hate hipsters, pretentious people, and "suffering artists", but I wouldn't know if any of the music falls into that category. It could literally all be mainstream stuff I would daily hear on the radio, and I wouldn't know it. It could be music with a political slant, which I'm sure I would also hate, but I wouldn't know that either. I'm fairly certain I would detest any music with a political agenda, since it seems such a medium would lend itself to liberal propaganda, but I can't be sure. I suppose I could create my own list of favorite something or other. I refuse to do that though. Lists are the bottom of my proverbial blogging barrel. It's akin to those surveys that use to go around back in the day. They were invariably inane and filled with questions that had single word answers. I haven't seen those in years, probably because I haven't blogged in years, and I still hate them. Okay fine, I'll end with my list of most awesome things: 1. Me |
| In response to "Follow the Leader" leading entry "Invalid Entry" I just ended a dry spell the other day. We used my lunch break to run out and grab some stocking stuffers for the kids while they were at daycare. We finished shopping in record time and made the best of the remaining half hour. That particular dry spell lasted probably on the order of weeks. Though I would have said it seemed like years and my wife would have said it seemed like days. The dry spell was so long for me I had resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to have sex again. I came painfully close to googling "how to eliminate one's libido". The dry spells seem to get longer these days. Until recent years I wouldn't have even called them dry spells. But now the monotony of masturbation is broken by the treat of the real stuff less and less frequently. Over the past many years hour gaps became day gaps became week long gaps became few week gaps. I'm not looking forward to month gaps and certainly not year gaps. But all the married men I talk to, including my father who talks about his dry spell entirely too much, assure me the gaps get longer and longer. All the usual stuff factors in: work, stress, the slow replacement of lust with companionship. And of course kids. Damn those little bastards. Now the oldest may wake at any hour of night and wonder the house looking for us. Little bastard. This makes choosing rooms without doors all but impossible and makes choosing our own bedroom nerve-wracking. Or at least that's according to Jodi. I frankly couldn't care less. Our house is 80 years old, complete with glass doorknobs that don't really work anymore, so simply locking the door is no longer an option. I prop a chair in front of it, of which I feel very secure but not so much Jodi. Frankly I would suggest we lock the kid in her own bedroom. Little bastard. The other one is still in a crib, that thankfully she isn't coordinated enough to escape yet, but she might cry if she wakes up. Trust me, I can finish the deed while a one year old is bawling somewhere else in the house. Not so much Jodi, she has this nagging little thing called motherly instinct. Little bastard. I remember the days of any room being a viable option. Oh man, I hope no one tries using a black light in our old apartment. This house still has some unchristened rooms actually. We may need to rectify that situation. With the exception of the kids bedrooms of course, that's just gross. But the attic, the basement, the garage... yeah, need to do something about that. There's dry spells regarding location too though. Nowadays if we want to spice it up, instead of using the kitchen table we use the spare bed, which by the way is also in our bedroom, across from our usual bed. There's the occasional fireside in the family room but that one is becomingly increasingly risky with no door and the oldest daughter's ability to scale the child gate now. Little bastard. Several months back, maybe even years now, I showed my wife an article about a couple that committed to having sex at least once every day for a month. As a result, their mental and even physical health improved greatly over the course of the month, so much so that they were going to continue with that plan even after the month ended. But I guess Jodi just doesn't want us to be healthy. These kids need to grow up, at least enough that we can ship them to the grandparents to spend the night. Or the week. They're still young enough that I feel guilty asking my parents to take them over night. My penis doesn't feel guilty, but I do. Little bastards. |
| I turned 33 last week. So, yeah, that sucks. Pretty much every birthday since 26th has been progressively worst than the previous. 27th might be an exception since it's after the inexplicable but intolerable pain of turning 26 but still vaguely puts you in your mid 20's. After that though it's all downhill. And true to form, 33 is worse than all the previous ones. 30 is bad because the 20s are gone, and 31 and 32 just slightly worse because you're now officially down the 30s road. 33 though is the descent into mid thirties, which I disdain just a bit less than late 30s, which in turn I disdain I whole lot less then early 40s, and so on and so forth. But lots of people hate getting old. Horrible things start taking over, like gravity, a lack of relevance and the inevitable turning into your parents. That's not what bothers me though. For me I'm only thinking about the one thing that I think really might be the underlying fear of all the aforementioned: I'm another year closer to death. I've continued the plodding journey to my inevitable doom. At this point I've lived 40-50% of my life, if I'm lucky. That sort of makes it more than half over though when you consider relative perception of time as you age. The next 33 years will pass by much faster than the first 33, or so it will seem. I think about death constantly of late. This is probably extremely unhealthy, but it's not the same kind of fucked up as my usual mental issues are. I have all kinds of anxieties, fears, and neuroses, but I fully acknowledge those are founded in some kind of irrational thought, some kind of unjustifiable fear. The fear of death though is completely rational, isn't it? It's going to happen, and not just under some extreme circumstances or edge case. It's inevitable. It could happen tomorrow or decades from now, but it will happen. It's not just my own death I think about though. The more I age, the more my parents age. And my wife. And those members of my extended family I actually care about. They're all closer to death too. I don't think about my kids dying. Statistically speaking, they will in all likelihood outlive me. So thinking about their deaths, fixating on that fear, would in fact be irrational if it were any more than the normal level of worrying about their safety. But realizing that everyone else is approaching death, at a rate equal to or greater than mine, is completely rational I think. And I think about it all the time. I dream about people dying. I watch a television program where someone dies, and I immediately start playing out scenarios in my head about someone I know dying. I secretly panic about what would happen to my family if I died. I watch "The Walking Dead" and wonder how I would handle everyone I know dying... and turning into zombies. Every time my wife leaves for work I worry about some tragic car accident. I start thinking the worst when my parents don't answer the phone. Death has always been around, but lately I can't stop thinking about it. That's not to say it consumes my every minute, but it's rare for a full day to go about without thinking about it at least once. I wonder how often other people think about dying or having their loved ones die. I don't know if I'm unique in this or not. And at what ages does this fear start setting in? And when does it stop, if ever? My grandfather was the toughest son of a bitch I've ever known, and and as he lie on his death bed, battling pancreatic cancer, one of his last sentences was "I don't want to die." I've heard people say as you get much older you reach some level of acceptance. I'm pretty sure I even read that in some psychology book. He didn't want to accept it though, and he wasn't afraid of anything. So is that just a lie to make us stop thinking about it? I consider myself agnostic. I'm about as close as one can be to being an atheist without actually being one. Science and history has explained too many things for me. Fact always beats faith in my psyche. But there are some things science has not yet explained. That could be because we just don't have the science to explain it yet. Or it could be because there's some supernatural force acting on us. I frankly don't know. Unfortunately I think it's the former. I say "unfortunately" because I wish I could have faith. I'm firmly rooted in fact and science, but I envy spiritual people. I think it's silly that my wife believes Jesus was born on Christmas, resurrected on Easter, etc., but I envy her for believing it. Well maybe not so much for believing those specific details but rather for believing in something. I respect that she believes those things, because even in my world of historical fact Jesus was a stand up guy that taught us something about living a moral life. Whether he was just a man or *insert your religious dogma here* is sort of irrelevant to me. But if only I could believe in Heaven like she does. Or believe in any form of the afterlife for that matter. Maybe I wouldn't worry about death so much if I knew some form of life was eternal. I've had this talk with a co-worker before, one who was previously Mormon. I've told him I envy people who can believe things their religions tell them because it must be comforting on some level. It must be nice to simply know that living a good life does not end when our brain, heart, and everything else shuts down. He's an atheist now and insists religion isn't worth it. He says faith is just brain-washing, and that now being able to draw his own conclusions based on reality instead of dogma is completely freeing and comforting in a different way. I've heard some atheists say they don't fear death because "they won't know they're dead." I don't believe in an afterlife, but the fact that I won't know I'm dead is not exactly comforting. I realize that once I die, I won't be thinking about it. I won't be feeling pain. I won't be anything. I simply won't exist. And it's not like my soul would just be sitting out there in an eternity of nothing, because there won't be a soul. Doesn't scare me any less though, because my mind simply cannot fathom that concept. I can't wrap my head around the idea of not existing. I would imagine it's like before I was born (or in the womb, or conceived, or whatever your definition of life is). But what was that like? I wish I could bring myself to believe my grandfather is laughing at my foolishness right now. But I don't believe it. I don't believe he's doing anything. I don't believe he even is. And that scares me. |
| Response to "Follow the Leader" leading entry "Global Humanist Manifesto" I have to admit I'm pretty excited. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone in FtL would write a leading entry so absurd that it would get me all fired up. So far I've liked the leading entries, but "liked" doesn't always translate to immediate emotional response. This one does. Global Humanist Reform Party needs a number 17: 17: We believe because we have strong opinions that these opinions must be correct and that we should talk out of our asses and make contradictory, hypocritical statements! We will paint these statements in pure black and white, with little regard for anything trivial like logic, economics, common sense, or the human condition. But we'll pretend like we understand all of these things and incorporate them into our well intentioned and impossibly practiced ideology! And now, because I can be a complete dick when it comes to pointing out a fanatical diatribe's obvious lack of logic and consistency, I'd like to break down the 16 so-called tenets listed in the leading entry. Well, in actuality I'm not going to break down all 16, because I only read the first couple before I skimmed to the end. Though I'm sure well-intentioned, the immediate hypocrisy and nonsense of it all turned me off pretty quickly. So I'll jump around a bit. Let's start with #5 because 5 is a good number. "We believe that, further to the preceding point, post-secondary education should be accessible to everyone, and that it should be paid for by the government... We believe that every citizen should be properly trained for whichever vocation they should choose, and that it should not force them into debt." Okay so every citizen is entitled to state funded higher education. Clearly this means far more people will use the higher education system than use it now. Seems like a good idea right? Except where is the government going to get this money to pay for this education? Oh right, the citizens. So the citizens will go into debt paying taxes so folks who would not have otherwise gone to school now can. So much for not being forced into debt. And for the record, choosing to go into higher education is a choice, no one is forcing you into debt. Taxes on the other hand are most definitely not a choice, well unless you'd rather be in prison. Of course, I'm sure a "Global Humanist" might say something like "No, you won't have to pay taxes!" If he/she would say that, he/she is an idiot. How's the government going to pay for anything without taxes? Since we're on the topic of taxes, let's jump ahead of #15: "We believe that healthcare should be fully funded by our government, and that this healthcare should include mental health and oral health..." and might as well throw in #1 too: "We believe that the elderly should be afforded the same rights and dignities as incarcerated felons, with full health-care, three square meals per day, accessibility to exercise equipment, movie night, physiotherapy, orthotics, library facilities, and continuous monitoring, at no cost to them or their families..." Who exactly is going to pay for all this? "We believe that our tax dollars will more than support this initiative... We believe that it is completely logical..." That's a complete cop-out. There's no logic involved at all. Government already spends more than it earns, in a big way. Yes, there are lots of cuts to be made, but there's no math that pays for all your demands without crippling the income of the citizen. I'd love to hear the explanation of how this would all work. General ideology, vague references to "logic", and stating opinion as fact do not an explanation make. Numbers 1, 8, 9, 12 (and probably others) all demand harsh punishments for criminals. Seems reasonable. What if they're innocent though? To which of course I would expect an answer of "well, this only applies to cases where the person is clearly guilty." What constitutes "clearly"? A law must be very specific or it's not a law at all. How do you enforce something vague? In a practical sense, all you can do is trust in the judgment of some designated set of individuals. So in your quest to distribute power evenly you effectively redistribute power to the government. Though I meant to save it for the end, I must interject it here. Your plan is not one of equality and humanism; your plan is a foundation for facism and tyranny. Every mandate you set forth strips away individual liberty and dictates a formula with which each citizen must live his/her life. This formula for life is presumably enforced by the government. It is a recipe for police state communism. Not buying it yet? Numbers 2 and 3 mandate the government controls what we can do to our own bodies. Number 4 encourages citizens to pursue the government's interests instead of their own. Number 7 forces some citizens to abandon their fascination with science and the universe. Number 10 mandates how citizens are to spend their free-time, effectively outlawing that which they enjoy. This is obvious infringement on all our personal liberties. And then we contradict it all with number 11: "We believe that every student be afforded the opportunity to explore their creative side during their education, and that the government should encourage and ultimately fund this focus..." So we're going to kill all funding to space research and robotics, but we are going to fund everything people want to focus on. So what if a student wants to study space and robotics? Seriously, is not the hypocrisy in these "tenets" obvious? I almost completely missed number 4, major tax break incentives. So we're going to send everyone to school, pay for it all, pay for universal health care, pay for the elderly, blah blah blah, but no one will have to pay taxes because we're all but outlawing the professions that might actually get taxed. It's sheer lunacy to somehow think the math on all this works! I simply can't overlook number 6: "We believe that every citizen, regardless of sex, should be compensated equally." So if everyone makes the same amount of money, what's the incentive for anyone to do a more demanding and/or more dangerous job? Why work harder or riskier if there's no benefit whatsoever? Who then is going to do the jobs that must be done that no one wants to do? Who will want to take on the unenviable responsibility of leadership? The power-hungry will of course. Again, recipe for tyranny. Numbers 7, 10, and to a lesser extent 11 are very clearly anti-technology. This is exceptionally amusing because other tenets refer to healthcare and medical research. Modern medicine would not be possible without technological advancement. I can only assume these were formulated by one of the kooks that goes around asking things like "What advances in our daily lives can we actually attribute to NASA?" These items have a sinister and not so hidden abhorrence for progress. Is not the rolling back the clock on proverbial change an inevitable step in the rise of dictatorship? Number 16 is the most laughable of all, despite being maybe the only one that really makes sense: ".Finally, we believe that everyone should have the right to live their lives in the best way they can..." So in summary, we're going to tell people what interests they should have, what foods they can eat, what work they should do, what leisure activities they can legally enjoy. We're going to take all their money in tax dollars, but only so they don't have any debt. We're going to give government the power to control the most minute details of their lives. All because "everyone should have the right to live their lives in the best way they can." So basically, since I'll give the benefit of the doubt and assume this isn't hypocritical nonsense, this must mean that "the best way they can" is whatever Global Humanist Reform Party says it is. This party knows best, and if you don't live the way they dictate, then you're not living the right way. There's nothing humanist about that philosophy. The road to totalitarianism is paved with good intentions. Now I had never heard of the Global Humanist Reform Party until this entry, so now I have some research to do. Because I know that every party, group, and simple association is comprised of both reasonable people and people who write these kinds of things. And I know that the party often gets the bad wrap of the extremists, often to the point that the original message is lost. So now I owe it to this Global Humanist Reform Party to read more and decide if my first impressions are accurate of the party as a whole. |
| In response to "Follow the Leader" leading entry "always seems sublime" My wife is always trying to count her proverbial blessings, to acknowledge that for which she is thankful. She wants to instill this gratitude in our daughters as well. Somewhat around the beginning of November she sat down with them and made a two-dimensional tree trunk out of construction paper. She taped it to the basement door, which you have to pass by on every trip from the kitchen to the living room. The tree was about two feet tall but it had no leaves, just bare branches. She then cut out two dozen or so paper leaves and put them in a pile. The plan then was to take some leaves each day and write down things for which each of us was thankful. She called it the Thanksgiving Tree or something like that. Seems like a great idea right? Nothing wrong with teaching kids the real meaning of Thanksgiving But it's not really my thing. Thankfulness, for me, has always been a private matter. Not private in the sense that it stays in one's home, but private in the sense that it stays in one's heart. I was raised in a family that did not hug or say "I love you". There was love there though. Each of us knew how we felt and knew how others felt about us. Actions speak louder than words; there was no need to talk about it. That was just uncomfortable and touchy-feely nonsense. Some would say that philosophy is dysfunctional, but I stand by it. I've seen a lot of folks utter the meaningless "love you's" and then turn their backs when they're needed. I've seen selfish people talk about caring for others and not take the steps to prove it. I've seen folks who express their feelings get all liberal and ruin the country because they forget about a little thing called logic. So needless to say I wasn't eager to write down the things I'm thankful for. I also wasn't going to force my kids to do it if they didn't want to. I was asked what to put on my leaf. I ignored it for a few minutes and then said "money and poop." My kids laughed, and that was good enough for me because their laughter is the real reward. This didn't go over very well, because if I wasn't going to take it seriously, neither were our daughters. So my wife let it drop. And the tree hung there on the basement door for a couple weeks, its barren branches looking like early winter. Wednesday before Thanksgiving, work let us out early, so I had a couple hours to spare before the wife and kids got home. I took all the paper leaves, cut out a bunch more, and filled the tree up with things I was thankful for. It's still not me. I didn't like doing it, and I don't like that anyone who enters our home can walk past that door and see all the stuff I wrote down. It's embarrassing, because all of it should go without saying. I shouldn't have to write it down to recognize how important it is to me. I already know how important it is. And that's my business, not anyone else. My kids will know I love them; I don't need to write it down somewhere. Those are just words. When my wife got home, she saw the tree. "You filled the tree! Why?" "Because it was important to you," I said. |
| In response to "Follow the Leader" leading entry "Literacy Duck" "you need to find ways of making your set texts more accessible to your students!" I totally read that as "sex texts" first, which immediately piqued my interest. Ooh, an entry about sexting! And then I saw "more accessible to your students" and my intrigue turned to disgust. What kind of perverse entry was this going to be? So naturally I re-read the sentence. Still an interesting read, but I have to admit I was a little disappointed when it wasn't about sexting. Anyway, I'm not going to write about sexting. Damn misread got that into my head, but I'm moving on. The real takeaway for me from that leading entry was nicknames. I always wanted a nickname. Growing up I secretly wished some school pals would bestow some bad-ass moniker upon me. I never cared much for my first name, and I still don't. I'm also the third of that name, complete with roman numeral at the end. So I suppose not only was it a cruddy name, but I was also sharing it with two grown men with whom I shared very little other than the name. I suppose I could have had a worse name. My name's tie-in to Sesame Street, which occasionally still haunts me today when in the presence of someone particularly unfunny, is pretty tame compared to other names. Even so, I wanted a nickname. A nickname always seemed like an immediate indication of prominence in a social group. It wasn't necessarily positive prominence, since the dumbest member of a group was as likely to have a nickname as the coolest member--probably even more likely. Regardless it was a measure of uniqueness, an indication the individual had some trait or likeness that was worth more than just a given name. Even when that nickname was in fact an insult, so long as it was offered up in acceptance, it could be a sought after title. I never got a nickname as a child or a young adult. Much later a couple folks dubbed me "E3", after my first initial and my aforementioned roman numeral. This was somewhat ironic since these folks were associates from coaching baseball and E3 is in fact the official scoring notation for an error on the first baseman, my preferred position. It wasn't very original, didn't say much about me personally, and was essentially just a shorthand to keep my father and I separate. I liked it anyway. And then there was Writing.com. Here I got the only nickname I really like: PC. Also, not at all original. In fact it is most definitely just a shorthand. But that's just it's origins. It has more meaning than that, meaning I've bestowed upon it. Maybe I'm just having delusions of grandeur, but I think "PC" is not just my abbreviated handle but in fact my essence. I'm pretty sure those folks that call me PC aren't just short-handing anymore, that's really how they identify me. It is a nickname now. The beauty about "PC" is it could be an abbreviation for a variety of things. The first one that comes to mind is Personal Computer, which is quite relevant considering I make my living and my entertainment on such devices. The second is Politically Correct, which is also quite relevant on the grounds that nothing out of mouth ever fits into that category. There are others too, but now I really am just being self-indulgent and enjoying my nickname more than is probably healthy. Some people have been known to throw "infamous" in front of "PC". I love that. Even unpleasant fame is still fame. And frankly I'd rather be known as a loose cannon than as just another nice guy. Nice is boring. At the last Writing.com convention, I was introduced as the "infamous PC". Made my day. Not all of my Writing.com pals call me PC. Some say "Prob" or even "Ernie." Those are mostly folks who don't buy into my Writing.com persona, maybe because they know better or more likely because they think they do. For the record Mariposa  calls me PC on here, and she's married to me. But I was gone from Writing.com for a long time. Most of the folks around here now are either new or were never ones with whom I would pal around. So I don't see nearly as many "PC" references these days. If I randomly hop into Scroll when it's full of folks I don't know, they greet me with "Prob" or "Problematic". It sort of ruins the experience for me. I spent so much of my time--which I do not regret by the way--earning my nickname, and my absence has let it fade. I finally got what I always wanted and I squandered it.During my time away, I replaced my Writing.com obsession with XBox obsession. I built up a new stable of friends on XBox Live. But XBox is very limiting when it comes to the length of your username, so I could only fit Problematic3. No "Content" at the end. Ergo, no "PC." Folks on there call me Problem. It's just a shorthand, not a nickname. And it's not the same. |
| In response to "Follow the Leader" entry "Invalid Entry" I haven't ridden a bike since I was a child. I stopped when they officially made it a law for cyclists to wear helmets. I don't like being told what to do. It wasn't a bike, but I saw something much cooler the other day. I was driving through the town where we used to live. It's quintessential small town America, complete with a Main Street comprised of little shops and restaurants. The street is always bustling with jaywalkers, loitering hipsters, and nose-in-the-air wealthy New Yorkers. I'm so glad I don't live there anymore. You also see the occasional biker, but generally just the kind I despise. They wear full spandex, ride racing bikes instead of mountain bikes, and ride two or three abreast, thereby wreaking havoc on traffic. Thankfully they are few and far between because it's mostly suited for walking. But what I saw the other day brought a new level of awesome to strolling down Main Street. Just as we were driving past the town center, I saw a couple folks heading into it. They were riding Segways. Now for some folks, I suppose this isn't a rare sight. Maybe in a large city it's a common sight, or maybe in tech-savvy areas like Silicon Valley. But I assure you, in rural Massachusetts this is a once in a lifetime. Prior to this I had never seen another Segway in person. So a man and a woman are riding their Segways into town. The man was wheeling along like a pro, but the woman was lagging behind a bit and certainly looked a little wobbly. Maybe she was new to the experience. Regardless, riding that machine like a boss into a cluster of pedestrians was easily one of the douchiest things I've seen. And I want one. I've always wanted a Segway, because 1) I love gadgets and 2) I'm remarkably lazy. I'd ride one anywhere that might require walking. I'd probably ride it around the house. But riding it through a crowd of snooty tourists would be a dream come true. With any luck there would be mud puddles or snow slush that I could speed through and spray onto them. I would then point and chuckle. No, not chuckle, a full on guffaw. A maniacal guffaw. That adds to the beauty of these folks on the Segways. They were not wealthy tourists like most of the passersby. In fact, the man had a baseball cap and a mullet. Yes, a mullet, a mullet on a Segway. It's moments like these that make me believe in God. He was a mechanic; I know this because I recognized him from when he used to fix my grandfather's truck. He was wearing jeans and some nondescript shirt, a sweatshirt if memory serves. And there he was, chin up and chest confidently puffed out, riding his two-wheeled mechanism of sheer awesome into a crowd of designer-coat-wearing, vacation-home-owning, gourmet-food-eating, pretentious asshats. Made me proud to be an American. This got me to thinking though. What happens if they want to stop at one of the shops and take a look inside. Do you lock up a Segway like its a bike? I've never see a Segway rack. Maybe there's a key for it, like a car. That seems likely, but couldn't someone just wheel it away? I think they cost in the neighborhood of $5000, so I can't imagine it's safe to just leave it parked somewhere. Whether they can start it not, seems like someone would wheel it off and hotwire it later. I'm sure all these questions could be answered by a quick Google search, but I'll reiterate my #2 above: I'm remarkably lazy. The shops on this street are all smart and cramped, and many have shelves full of expensive and fragile knick-knackery. Some folks would call it art. I wouldn't. But I have, on occasion, been accused of not having much class. Anyway, these stores are hardly the kind of place to zip around on a Segway. You would be the proverbial Segway in a knick-knack shop, or something like that. However, I can think of indoor locales where I certainly would want to ride my Segway. I want to ride one around in a grocery store. People are always driving those little Rascal-esque carts around in the grocery store, whether they need them or not. Fat and lazy is not a handicap. So if they don't need a reason to ride those ugly things, I certainly don't need a reason to be bad-ass on a Segway. Stowing my groceries would be difficult on a Segway, so I wouldn't bother shopping; I'd just ride around, bumping into people I don't like and otherwise being just plain amazing. Because that's how I roll, and that's how my Segway would roll. And I wouldn't wear a helmet. |
| Every year on Thanksgiving, I look forward to the one hour pre-parade show with the Radio City Rockettes and the Tony Award musical performances. Said no one ever. For the second year in a row I convinced my oldest daughter that an awesome Thanksgiving morning tradition is watching the coverage of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I always fondly remember watching that parade as a child, and I want my kids to share that excitement. But for the second year in a row I realize the coverage of the parade sucks now. On both CBS and NBC, the parade coverage is 9AM to 12PM. This would lead one to believe that the parade is three hours long. This is a horrible lie concocted by media executives who use the parade for shameless self-promotion at the expense of my cherished childhood memories. For the entire first hour of this parade coverage, I channel surfed back and forth between CBS and NBC hoping to find something of interest. I failed. During the first hour of "coverage" we saw the same Macy star balloons and Hello Kitty balloon in the distance over and over. And that was the only hint of a "parade" even visible. 45 minutes of that hour was spent watching them interview B-list celebrities that have no relevance whatsoever. Do I care what Henry Winkler thinks about Charlie Brown? No. For that matter does any child in America care? Obviously not. And of the half dozen celebrities they interviewed, that's the only one whose name I knew. The first hour of coverage makes me wish Al Roker would just keel over. Way to completely ruin Thanksgiving, Al. Way to block any hint of a view of the parade in the background so you can talk to some guy I've never seen in my life. But what's that? Oh yeah, this nameless actor is in some upcoming series on NBC. No one gives a shit about that show, and no one gives a shit about you. You know who watches this parade? Kids. You know who's going to watch that prime-time NBC drama? Not kids. At one point Al is in the bleachers interviewing some old actor who's famous enough that I recognize him but not famous enough that I know his name. I think he was a tertiary character on Seinfeld. I can't be sure though because I didn't really watch Seinfeld, on account of Jerry Seinfeld being the least funny comic ever. Anyway, this man of uber importance, this paragon of celebrity whose message is more important than the celebration of Thanksgiving going on beneath him, is hosting the Purina dog show. The Purina fucking dog show. And while Al is interviewing this guy, suddenly snow-like confetti from an unknown source flies into the bleachers, drenching Al in what should be holiday jubilation. Instead he gives a half-hearted smile and blames it on "clowns." Waitaminute, Al, there are clowns down there and you've got the camera on the guy hosting the Purina dog show? Fucking clowns, Al, really?! What a douche. Speaking of douches, meanwhile on CBS they're interviewing the mayor of New York City. This is the guy who banned oversized soft drinks at restaurants. What a fucking killjoy. Yeah, let's get his ugly mug on the air. Wait, is that a 40 foot Kung Fu Panda balloon down the street?! Forget about that, let's focus on Bloomberg's somber face. Does that guy ever smile? I'm half surprised he didn't cancel Thanksgiving on account of Sandy. He probably assumes he has the power to do so. So after an hour of this crap, an hour in which my daughter decided Thanksgiving is a boring holiday and lost all faith in me, I got off the couch and headed to the bathroom. I decided it was time to make the only dump bigger than the coverage of the parade. While I was in there, my wife yells to me, "I know why it sucks; it's just starting now!" Turns out the parade doesn't even start until after an hour of coverage. An hour of nothing. Do you know how long that really is? Long enough for a three-year-old to completely lose interest, that's how long. There's no way kids everywhere sat through an hour of shite to actually see the parade. My own kids are up having a bath now. They gave up on the parade, just as it was getting good. Here's an idea, media outlets everywhere, put cameras on the parade the whole time. Don't start before the parade starts. Kids don't want to watch Broadway musical snippets in front of the Macy's storefront, and they certainly don't want to see the Fonz. Neither do I. Now I realize the parade is also all about the glitz and glamor of New York City. You know who cares about New York City? New Yorkers. And they're already there. So just show me a huge inflatable Kermit the Frog and a Sesame Street float, and get on with it Oh dear God, I'm stilling watching the parade and Don McClean just lip synced the chorus of American Pie. The blasphemy is complete. |
| For those of you doing silly things like trick or treating instead of preparing for the zombie apocalypse, I present to you an inspirational video. This is what makes the Internet so amazing... [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] |
| Some folks who knew me before my several year hiatus are probably wondering how I've changed after all this time. What has marriage and parenthood done to me? Am I still as insensitive while trying to raise two little girls? The answer is of course yes. Some folks said I'd be changing diapers and I asserted I never would. I'm here to proudly proclaim it mostly worked out as I planned. I've changed exactly one diaper during the three years my kids have been alive. I only did that one because I was watching my oldest alone one morning, and poo was literally creeping out her pants and up her backside. It was starting to get all over toys and such. I suspect this was because I had let her sit in it for something close to an hour before I could stand the stench no more. Right after I changed the diaper, I cleaned up the puke off the floor where I had literally emptied my stomach while trying to get through the diaper change. I still wear shirts that say things like "I'm Kind of a Big Deal", "I just awesomed all over the place", "I Piss Excellence", and "For a minute there, you bored me to death." I still keep my fully functional katana bed-side in case of home invaders. Or in case Jodi turns into a zombie in the middle of the night and I have to put her down. I still rule so much that complete strangers ask me how do I it. "How do I do what?" I ask. "Kick so much ass," they reply. I still don't like hippies or Democrats. I usually point them out in public to my daughters, so they know evil when they see it. Unfortunately in recent years, I've had to do the same with Republicans too. One of my favorite past times is spotting stupid people of a particular breed, pointing at them, and saying things like "he voted for Obama" or "he voted for Obama and regrets it" or "he voted for Obama because he wants a handout." My wife hates this game and claims she might really be a Democrat. This is of course foolishness on her part. She's from a redneck part of Maine, but she's not on any welfare and lives very comfortably, so being a Democrat is a physical impossibility. On the other hand, if she were poor under those same circumstances, liberal handout pandering would be a foregone conclusion. I still don't do touchy feely stuff. The only time I tell my kids I love them is after I've tucked them into bed and the lights are out. That way they can't see my lips form the words. If they tell me in public that they love me, I smile and say "thank you, that's nice." So I guess you could say I've softened my line on that stuff a bit. I don't kiss them. That's gross. Kisses are for adults, followed shortly thereafter or during by sexy time. (Kisses are for dogs too, because that's adorable.) My parents are infuriated that I've trained my oldest to think kisses are gross. I did not ingrain this behavior in her though. Quite the contrary considering her mother kisses her. No, she just has some good sense like her dad. She's her own person, and if she doesn't want to be all lovey-dovey then I'm not going to force her. So long as her opinions are the same as mine, I'll let her make her own decisions. Some things have changed though. I cook all the meals now and do a good portion of the cleaning. It is I suppose the least I can do since Jodi has the task of tending the children. Naturally the cooking is now the best it's ever been, because I decided to actually get good at it. I make most things fresh or from scratch, as much as is permitted with our busy schedules. I watch the cooking channels all the time now, but not to learn recipes. Any idiot can follow a recipe. I'm interested in technique and understanding what ingredients complement other ingredients. I'd rather understand how to cook and then prep and cook a meal of my own design than follow some simple recipe. This is of course because anything you can do I can do better. I told Jodi I want cooking books for Christmas, but not recipe books, instructional books that teach me proper knife skills and how to do things like deglaze a pan. I fall asleep a lot earlier. I've found that if I'm not interactively engaged in something, I'm out cold by 10PM. I've fallen asleep during some pretty good movies, because I wasn't being engaged. I blame this on the eternal and monotonous struggle of daily life, the routine of wake up early with the kids, get their lunches ready, go to work, work through my lunch break, make dinner, clean up dinner, clean up the house, put the kids to bed, crash on the couch. Rinse and repeat every day. This early falling asleep and general exhaustion leads to less sexy time too, which is no good. I need to plan better. But the best moments are those that blur the line between same and different. The moments that adhere to my old life and also integrate into my new. Like after dinner, while I'm cleaning up, Jodi and the kids are dancing to some song planning on the kitchen stereo. I pick up some random toys on the kitchen floor and head for the playroom to put them away. And just then that ridiculous song Oppa Gangnam Style comes on the radio. What's up with that really? The music video is hilarious, so I understand the whole viral thing. But now we're actually hearing it on the radio. Anyway, I dash back into the kitchen and go to town Gangnam Style. I nail it, naturally. One of the kids ignores me and one tries to copy me, the funnier one of course. And Jodi can't stop laughing. I don't really understand what's so funny. I make that Korean guy look like a no-talent hack. Then of course Jodi tries to do the dance and show our kids how to do it. She fails miserably, and I have to step in. Hands on hip, I dance over, legs kicking side to side, and point out her hand position is all wrong. If you're going to embrace the absurd, at least master it. No, don't just master it, make it even better. That's what I do every day. |
| Work has been consistently miserable for the last few months, with the last couple weeks being especially depressing. Today, for the second time in just a few weeks, I considered pulling the Captain Morgan out of the cupboard. I probably would have if the bottle wasn't already empty. That idea scares me frankly. I generally don't drink, except on rare occasions in social situations, and I never drink during the middle of the week. But I did for the first time a couple weeks ago after shutting my work monitor off at 5PM and not being able to escape the overwhelming stress. I couldn't bring myself out of the work funk short of getting drunk. It doesn't matter how work sucks, just that it does. It started months ago in the form of fear when my company was acquired by a much larger company. Some of the fear still remains, but it's since been supplanted by first a general malaise, and then bitterness, and then finally depression. In fairness to the company that acquired us, other than the initial fear, the new company is not the source of my discomfort. In fact, if I had it to do over again and if this larger company was local instead of halfway across the country, I might submit my resume. But all that has ensued since the acquisition has left a very bad taste in my mouth. I simply don't enjoy my work anymore; in fact, I barely tolerate it. I think that's why I returned to Writing.com, as an escape of sorts from that depressing reality. Friday at 5PM I managed to shut my monitor down and forgot about it all for the weekend. This is rare considering some of the long days I've been putting in lately. And this morning when I turned those monitors back on the anxiety and depression immediately returned to me. I dread each day now. At least twice a week I think about getting a new job; sometimes I go so far as to search the common job sites. I'm pretty sure the only reason I haven't really done something about it yet is because in this day and age finding a job is a job unto itself. So when do I bite the bullet and just start looking? I keep telling myself if I just wait it out, things will get good again. But they haven't. I half wish our new company would decide to fold our office after all so I could get laid off and then actually have the time and reason to look elsewhere. Then too I could ask my boss if I can list him as a reference without some kind of awkwardness and/or conflict of interest. Obviously this is not a responsible wish, since finding a new job, especially at my current compensation level, is no easy task in my locale, but I can't help but wonder if it might be for the better. Each morning that I dread the coming work or each afternoon that I exit the office in a foul mood, I wonder if the money is worth it. Am I as happy as I could be for my family? Am I so burnt out that I'm not as active and caring as I should be? I know this job has destroyed my health, both mental and physical. So why am I doing this? Of course I stick it with because it's easy. And because I'm lazy. And because it's the responsible thing to do for my family. I have to find a way to cope, or at least escape. |
| Let me begin by saying I don't support either of the two big political parties or either of the two candidates those parties have put forth as our choice for president. I want to get that out of the way so no one confuses this blog entry with a political agenda. Instead the following is just my attempt to apply logic and rationality to one of the talking points I hear about daily in annoying political advertisements. So it would seem some candidates think we should raise taxes on the wealthy, and those same candidates accuse the other side of wanting to lower taxes for the wealthy. Now clearly at a glance, making the wealthy pay more taxes, or at least "their fair share", seems like a perfectly reasonable suggestion. It certainly made sense to me. Clearly the only hope we have of reducing our deficit is to raise revenues and decrease spending, so taxing the rich more seems like a logical first step. They can afford it, so why would anyone not want to make the wealthy pay more? But I'm not one of the wealthy, so naturally that would be my emotional reaction. I recently started considering the issue from a more logical, and less emotional, point of view. The claim is that the wealthy pay less taxes than the middle class. This is blatantly false. But that's the claim made by the propaganda. In fact the wealthy pay much more in taxes. The reality is the wealthy often pay a lower percentage in taxes. This is generally because the wealthy obtain their income via different means, making it subject to different tax laws. So is this fair? Shouldn't everyone pay their fair share? Considering a huge segment of the population pays no taxes at all, or even receives money from the government, everyone paying a fair share isn't really a viable argument. How is it fair for myself, and any other hard-working member of the middle class, to be paying so much in taxes when so many pay nothing at all? Now granted some people have no way to contribute and actually rely on social programs. But for all those people that genuinely need assistance, there are just as many people who are either beating the system or who have backed themselves into corners by a series of bad choices they have made in their lives. I've never felt like I should be kicking in the extra so others can go on making bad decisions and leading irresponsible lives. I have people in my own life, some of them close family even, that get handouts because of bad decisions they've made. I don't see why I should pay for their mistakes. I've been lucky enough to lead a very comfortable existence in terms of economics. But I don't really think luck has too much to do with it. I've applied myself and worked my butt off, putting myself in a position to succeed. I came from a family that had only two members on either side that had any college education at all, and neither had a bachelors degree or higher. I was the first to accomplish this, and I did it on my own. I had no one to pay those college bills beside myself. I accomplished this mostly by doing extremely well in high school to get extensive scholarships and financial aid. I also attended a state school to avoid the overwhelming debt of student loans. I made all these smart decisions myself, with no one around to provide the relevant guidance. In fact I ignored the advice of two college advisors, because if I had listened I'd still be paying off student loans. I then worked my butt off in all three of my jobs so far to get recognized and become a valued employee. Now our household income just kisses the six figure mark, we own a house, and we have two kids and a dog. I'm leading at least a modest version of the American dream. I've made my own way by working hard and making the right choices. Some people are born into conditions that prevent advancement, but too often some people just don't put in the effort. I resent that my hard work helps bail these folks out. Using my hard-earned dollars to pay for government programs used more by others than by myself smacks of socialism. In principle alone that rubs me the wrong way. In terms of fairness, it's even more problematic. I have to pay more for something I use less. So now if apply this logic to the notion of making the rich pay more taxes, I can't help but change my opinion. Yes some of the wealthy pay a lower tax rate, but they also use the least amount of government services. So if fairness is at play here, we need to consider that those who use the most should pay the most. That, in my opinion, is the very definition of fairness. So logically the wealthy should pay the least and that huge segment of the population paying nothing should actually be paying the most. By agreeing with the idea that the wealthy should kick in more I'm really just caving to my own selfishness, my own desire for a handout. There's really nothing "fair" about it. Furthermore, one of the core tenants of American greatness, the ideal that drives non-Americans to come to this great country, is the hope of the American Dream. With enough motivation, ingenuity, and sweat, one can advance, one can make wealth from nothing, and one can make a better life for the next generation. The wealthy have achieved that American Dream. Granted some may have inherited the dream, but even in that case their ancestors realized that dream of creating a better life for the next generation. But what part of the American Dream involves forcibly sharing your wealth? Is that what the architects of this great nation had in mind when they chose capitalism over socialism? Personally I don't think so. So, no, I don't think the wealthy should pay more taxes than anyone else. I think there should be a flat tax rate, regardless of income level and source of income. That's as close to fair as we can get. But of course then we have all those folks that would still pay nothing, since any percent of zero is still zero. How then do we pay for all our government infrastructure? Well, my vote would be cut a whole lot of entitlements, but that is its own topic and its own can of worms. I'm not trying to imply that we shouldn't help the destitute. I'd just rather we keep the dollars in our own wallets so we can donate them as we see fit. The government is notoriously bad at spending our money, often wasting it on resources and on people who aren't worth it. By definition, it would seem to me that anyone that thinks the rich should pay more than the non-rich must either be a socialist or is not fairly evaluating the situation. |
| For the next few days we're visiting the in-laws. I always have a small sense of dread when we plan one of these visits. Not for any of the usual reasons that people may dread visiting in-laws because 1) I don't suffer from a terrible case of "my mother-in-law is a sea-hag" and 2) because my wife might be reading this. Rather my sense of dread is very specific: their bathroom. Getting here is a 6 hour drive, which turns into an actual 8 hours when you factor in all the required stops for two screaming kids in the backseat. So basically the entire day is spent on the road with hungry, obnoxious little rugrats. This means eating every single meal at a fast-food joint on the interstate. This in turn means an evening of christening my in-laws toilet with a special dose of PC brown matter. But to be clear, my dread is not for the bowel-churning experience but literally for the environment in which I make this pilgrimage. It starts with the toilet seat, a white vinyl thing straight out of the 80s. A porcelain toilet seat? Oh no, that's too how do you say... normal? One of those tacky faux wooden ones? Nope, that would be too solid. Instead their bathroom sports one of those squishy vinyl jobs. No one wanted to spread their hairy ass cheeks on a piece of vinyl back in the 80s, and no one especially wants to do it now. Can you even buy these things in Home Depot anymore? Maybe it's still the original seat that came with that house. That seems feasible since it's clearly indestructible, in the same way a cockroach is indestructible. Thank God we rarely visit in the summer. Slapping sweaty cheeks down on that thing is bad enough without 100% humidity. It would be like sitting naked on leather interior in the hot summer sun, sticky, poo-stained leather interior that smells like country-style potpourri. It's not enough that the toilet seat is vinyl. Oh no, it has to be sized for small children and midgets too. The seat itself is large enough, even for my ample backstop, but the hole is barely large enough to put a plunger through it. If this toilet had to give birth, it would need a c-section. So you're no doubt wondering, "Surely the kids you're dropping off at the pool aren't the size of actual kids?" Well, as a matter of fact, sometimes they are, but that's not the problem here. You see as a man, a particularly majestic one I might add, I need to tuck the junk in so I don't accidentally golden shower the opposite wall. With a small hole, not only is it uncomfortable but I'm constantly thinking "Oh please, oh please, don't shit on my junk." For a sizable and fibrous stool you're going to get some backsplash on the boys, that's inevitable, but under no circumstance should you be worried that the trajectory of your rectum could coincide with that of your jammed in genitalia. Women talk about the pain of child birth and all their feminine problems. They say men have it so easy. Well, I ask you this, ladies; have you ever taken a crap with the very real danger of pooping on your own baby maker? If so, you may want to see a plastic surgeon; you likely have an extra chromosome or two. Now because of that solid day of fast food, this dreaded movement is not likely to be one of the aforementioned sizable and fibrous logs. So no backsplash maybe, but this literal crap is going to spray out with little regard for trajectory. It's barely going to obey the laws of physics. I'm going to straight up disrepect this toilet. And there are my dangly bits at the very edge of this oncoming tsunami with a vinyl dam pushing them closer and closer to the waves. It's like when you're a kid running through a sprinkler and you try to see just how close you can get without getting hit by the water. Except the water is poo obviously. Just imagine the kind of analogy I could come up with for a Slip N' Slide. So let's say your ass cheeks are dry--not to be point of being chapped, but just dry, and let's say there is 0% humidity. So you can deal with the vinyl seat for a few minutes. It's uncomfortable and tacky, but that's okay. And let's say you manage to get the junk secured without placing it in the wake of your impending explosion. Maybe you steer it with your hand, or maybe you have some kind of mechanical device. And let's say you expel with minimal mess. Now it's time to wipe. And of course all you have is the titular single ply toilet paper. Why do people buy single ply toilet paper? I think my in-laws do it because it's cheaper. Cheaper by the roll that is. Considering I have to use seven rolls to clear my southern exit, the math doesn't quite work. They might also do it because that thicker, tougher, softer toilet paper has a habit of plugging up one's sewer or septic. So there's the costly expense of having it pumped out. Single ply on the other hand breaks down easily so that's not really a concern. Except that's exactly the problem with single ply. You should never be relying on something that "breaks down easily" to be the only thing between your hand and a party of bowel juice. I'd rather spend a few extra bucks than have my hand look like abstract art painted only in shades of brown and sometimes green. So after I wad up a third of a roll of a single ply paper to make it the consistency of at least a tissue, and I dump wad after wad into the toilet, I give it a flush. Here's where the scariest deficiency of my in-laws bathroom reveals itself. Everything I've mentioned thus far is between me and the bathroom. If I get some funk on my junk or some balm on my palm, I can wash it off and no one's the wiser. If I have to use four rolls of TP, some eyebrows might get raised but it probably won't be until after I'm long gone. But when their terrible water pressure fails to down that sucker and my balled white flag of surrender, I now have a very public problem on my hand. You're thinking, "Nonsense, PC, just plunge it to unplug the toilet and Bob's your uncle." That would be a good plan wouldn't it, if my in-laws bothered to stock a plunger in the bathroom. Oh they have a plunger all right, but it's hidden in the laundry closet out in the hall. I should mention this closet can be easily seen from the kitchen, the place where everyone congregates. So either they catch me flailing about for the plunger, which is generally cleverly concealed, or I have to flat out ask for the plunger. I've done this before, both options, because plugging the toilet is basically a routine for me and because I'm generally unabashed. But when it happens the second time during a visit, because it almost invariably does happen a second time, and a third, I have to resort to something else. They don't have a plunger in the bathroom, which I think to be a serious discourtesy by the way, but they do have the toilet cleaning brush. So yes, I start ramming that thing down into the ball of brown and white, and I pray. It's not even a sturdy brush with some decorative container to disguise the fact that it's a toilet brush. It's just a plain brush, lying on the floor behind the toilet, and it may very well have come from the dollar store. This is largely why I have no problem defiling it. That and the fact that I'm still bitter that they have no easily accessible plunger. It's practically like they're begging me to smear poo over any long pole-like object I might be able to find in there. So I go to town with that brush. Now obviously it doesn't have any suction like a plunger, so my goal is to just mash that mess up until it slides down on subsequent flushes. It usually takes three or four flushes, just enough that people ask about it when I come out. Rather than confess to plugging the toilet and freeing it with a toilet brush, I just assure them that I had to go A LOT. Somehow I can rationalize that explanation is less embarrassing. So the lesson here is if I ever use your toilet, and you only stock single ply toilet paper, you'll probably want to discard your toilet brush after I leave. Granted it was used to clean a toilet, but I guarantee it was never meant to be used the way I used it. And if you don't happen to have an accessible toilet brush, you'll definitely want to replace your hand towels and toothbrushes. |
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