Just a short time ago, I paid for everything for my computer. As if the fucking thing wasn't expensive enough, I then had to buy antivirus software, MS Office, games and any other programs I wanted. Not anymore!
I've discovered the wonderful world of entitled nerds. They don't like paying for things - just like the rest of us. Only these guys have the skills to create replicas that are just as useful and often better. They don't get paid to design these things; they often do it for a cause: getting it for free.
In recent months I have downloaded, all for free, three different web browsers, full office software, a flight simulation program, a CAD drawing program and a photo-shop-style photo editing program. I still pay for my antivirus; those guys are just too good.
All of the programs work as well as or better than the programs that cost big money. The office software alone (courtesy of openoffice.org) saved me about $150. I believe that PhotoShop costs several hundred as well. Not Gimp, the free one I have now.
Computers are here to stay; I don't think I'm going too far out on a limb saying that. But I believe that the time when you have to pay out to accessorize them is over. Companies like Mozilla and Google have created free programs to make the Internet safer and more enjoyable. I have a black web browser; how cool is that?
I suggest that you explore the web for free alternatives before you go out to buy software. Of course, always do your research and scan everything for viruses and other malware. And don't steal shit; stay off the fucking bit torrent sites. They'll just fuck your computer in the end anyway. Like I said, there's plenty of free stuff out there already.
Oh, by the way, I use Trend Micro for my antivirus in case you cared. They're fucking bad ass.
Gxis la revido!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Candy Witch
I try to be as much a "live and let live" kind of guy as is humanly possible. I try not to tell other people how to live and, as long as it doesn't affect me personally, I'll often leave people be.
But I am only human and the strange behaviors that have crept into our society do get on my nerves. One of these categories of behavior is the over-mothering parents and legislators.
I grew up in the eighties and nineties in mostly small towns, occasionally given the doubtful privilege of city life. I certainly was injured numerous times and nearly killed a few times. Fortunately, Nature decided I should live a bit longer.
During the summer months I went out after breakfast and often didn't come back until supper was on and, if I was having a particularly good time, stayed out until dark. I wandered the woods and stole from the grocery stores and rode my bike everywhere. I did everything any adventurous boy should. My parents felt that such things were normal and didn't try to keep me from having a good time.
For some reason, those days seem to be over. Not for me, but for kids growing up these days. Every stranger is now a potential pedophile. Every wooded area a site of a fresh shallow grave. Every teacher a parental stand-in.
Everyone wants to be as safe as possible and to Hell with fun. Once the children get on the bus, they're now the responsibility of the teachers.
"Why can't my child read? You're the teacher, so teach. I have a career, you know."
When they return home, it's indoors always.
"Don't go outside, child predators are everywhere. Don't you watch the news? Here, just play this game on the television."
Safety and outsourced responsibility. That's the game in the new media-fed America. Well, let's point the finger and show you some stupid people and their idea of safety.
Now, we all know about the obesity problem in America. Fat little shits sitting on the sofa as their enabling parents feed their vice and keep them from getting a bit of exercise, lest some pederast give their little butts a feel. Stay here, it's safer.
Now, Halloween is just around the corner. The bravest parents will be escorting their little brats door to door in the pursuit of delectable rations of sweets. How fun!
So you get this big bag of candy and haul it home and pour it out on the kitchen table. It's checked for razors and hypos and all manner of things with which the child-hating public would use to kill your child. Now, on to the gluttony, right? Wrong, motherfucker!
You get ten pieces of select favorites and the rest is left for the Candy Witch! What?
That's right. Once again, safety has overridden fun and taken away the joy of life. Now if you have a fat kid, why not just let him eat the candy? It's your fault he's fat in the first place. You won't let him out for exercise, but you take away his candy, too?
Here's a thought: let him eat the candy and then let him run around the neighborhood to burn it off. Why? Because there aren't any pedophiles in your back yard. He's not going to run in the road. No one is planning his demise. Really. I'm not fucking lying to you.
And to make up a character like the Candy Witch because you don't have the fucking balls to tell your kid the truth? You're a fucking spineless liar and shouldn't have had kids until you could speak honestly.
"Honey, the Candy Witch took your candy. Not me. Now, now, don't cry. Santa Claus is coming soon. Let's go to church, you know, Jesus' house."
Why can't parents be honest? What are you afraid of? Well-adjusted kids?
They'll learn all about life from someone else if you don't tell them how it is. Do you really want that? Do you want your son to learn about sex from his friends? Do you want your daughter to learn about love in the back seat of a Honda? Talk to your kids. And do it honestly. You don't want them to grow up thinking of you as a liar.
But I am only human and the strange behaviors that have crept into our society do get on my nerves. One of these categories of behavior is the over-mothering parents and legislators.
I grew up in the eighties and nineties in mostly small towns, occasionally given the doubtful privilege of city life. I certainly was injured numerous times and nearly killed a few times. Fortunately, Nature decided I should live a bit longer.
During the summer months I went out after breakfast and often didn't come back until supper was on and, if I was having a particularly good time, stayed out until dark. I wandered the woods and stole from the grocery stores and rode my bike everywhere. I did everything any adventurous boy should. My parents felt that such things were normal and didn't try to keep me from having a good time.
For some reason, those days seem to be over. Not for me, but for kids growing up these days. Every stranger is now a potential pedophile. Every wooded area a site of a fresh shallow grave. Every teacher a parental stand-in.
Everyone wants to be as safe as possible and to Hell with fun. Once the children get on the bus, they're now the responsibility of the teachers.
"Why can't my child read? You're the teacher, so teach. I have a career, you know."
When they return home, it's indoors always.
"Don't go outside, child predators are everywhere. Don't you watch the news? Here, just play this game on the television."
Safety and outsourced responsibility. That's the game in the new media-fed America. Well, let's point the finger and show you some stupid people and their idea of safety.
Now, we all know about the obesity problem in America. Fat little shits sitting on the sofa as their enabling parents feed their vice and keep them from getting a bit of exercise, lest some pederast give their little butts a feel. Stay here, it's safer.
Now, Halloween is just around the corner. The bravest parents will be escorting their little brats door to door in the pursuit of delectable rations of sweets. How fun!
So you get this big bag of candy and haul it home and pour it out on the kitchen table. It's checked for razors and hypos and all manner of things with which the child-hating public would use to kill your child. Now, on to the gluttony, right? Wrong, motherfucker!
You get ten pieces of select favorites and the rest is left for the Candy Witch! What?
That's right. Once again, safety has overridden fun and taken away the joy of life. Now if you have a fat kid, why not just let him eat the candy? It's your fault he's fat in the first place. You won't let him out for exercise, but you take away his candy, too?
Here's a thought: let him eat the candy and then let him run around the neighborhood to burn it off. Why? Because there aren't any pedophiles in your back yard. He's not going to run in the road. No one is planning his demise. Really. I'm not fucking lying to you.
And to make up a character like the Candy Witch because you don't have the fucking balls to tell your kid the truth? You're a fucking spineless liar and shouldn't have had kids until you could speak honestly.
"Honey, the Candy Witch took your candy. Not me. Now, now, don't cry. Santa Claus is coming soon. Let's go to church, you know, Jesus' house."
Why can't parents be honest? What are you afraid of? Well-adjusted kids?
They'll learn all about life from someone else if you don't tell them how it is. Do you really want that? Do you want your son to learn about sex from his friends? Do you want your daughter to learn about love in the back seat of a Honda? Talk to your kids. And do it honestly. You don't want them to grow up thinking of you as a liar.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Extended Hands
There are certain rules that apply to trucking. I don't mean the ones that the government allows the Department of Transportation to rape us with on a daily basis. I'm talking about natural physical laws that rule over all of us. One of these rules basically states that an object - in this case, a truck - requires a constant energy source in order to continue its inertia. That's right, fuel. This is where truck stops come in.
Most truck stops are now owned by corporate companies. Your Flying J's, Petros and Pilots. There are many varieties but most of the amenities and, yes, the problems, are the same. Truck stops usually have a restaurant, showers, laundry facilities and a convenience store. The problems with these are usually minimal. The problems I'm referring to usually are the human type; the ones that roam the parking lot.
Though they vary slightly, these people usually come in four main groups: people who steal, people who sell items, people who sell ass and people who beg.
Now, I hate the people who steal. That's a given. There's nothing worse than sitting in Dallas all day due to lack of loads and you have to sit with your curtains drawn so that some thug won't jump up on your running boards and take a peek as to what electronic goodies you might possess. Then he waits until dark and for you to go take a shit or grab some food and breaks your window and takes all of your shit. These guys should be eviscerated with rusty butter knives in the parking lot and be left for dead.
On to the others. I have no problem with people selling stuff, even though it's usually stolen goods. This might seem strange since I dislike the ones who steal; but if it's not stolen from anybody in the parking lot, it's okay by me. I may or may not have bought some pirated video or stolen pornography. I never buy electronics, though. Usually you get a camera box with a brick in it.
I also have no problem with prostitution. Why shouldn't you be able to charge someone for the same thing that you can legally give away for free? I've never used these services, but I still think that they should be there for those who do.
Now, clearly, the worst of these groups is the final one: the beggar. Nothing makes me angrier than to be accosted by people in need. Yes, I'm an asshole; we've already established that fact. I look at the world in the most natural way a human being can: there are the weak, there are the strong. By supporting the weak you are inherently going against nature. Why? Let's take a look.
The whole god question aside, I think that we can all agree on one point: there are rules to this planet and the universe in which it resides. There are no consequences for breaking these rules because it is impossible to break them. Nature wields an iron fist on this planet in order for the rules to remain in affect.
Here's a bit of useless trivia for you: If you broke down the entire population of the planet earth into 100 people representing everyone, 50 would be male, 50 would be female. Why? Because nature likes it that way. Nature has an order for these people, too. Why do Africans die at an alarming rate while Americans continue to thrive? Because, to Nature, Africans are more expendable. They're easy targets to control population levels. They certainly aren't offering anything to the world, despite what bleeding hearts may tell you.
Nature has to kill people. It does it in order to better care for the ones that mean something. The strong must go on. The weak must be extinguished. One is there to define the other. When an entire level of weakness is eradicated, the next level up becomes the weak. It's all very simple.
So, therefore, by supporting the weak you are actually going against Nature's plan. If you hand a bum a dollar and he lives another day because of it, you've just given Nature the finger. And if you give a bum a dollar and then he eats a cheeseburger and, having sated his appetite, then rapes a woman to relieve himself of another urge, you've really told Nature to go fuck herself. That woman now has to live with being raped; or she may kill herself before she can find a way to save humankind from its own blunders. Way to go, stupid.
So the next time some doe-eyed fuck starts to tell you his sob story and asks for money or food or a ride, walk away. Say no. Not only will you keep your money in your pocket but you'll also get a smile from Mother Nature; she's got plans for that bum.
Most truck stops are now owned by corporate companies. Your Flying J's, Petros and Pilots. There are many varieties but most of the amenities and, yes, the problems, are the same. Truck stops usually have a restaurant, showers, laundry facilities and a convenience store. The problems with these are usually minimal. The problems I'm referring to usually are the human type; the ones that roam the parking lot.
Though they vary slightly, these people usually come in four main groups: people who steal, people who sell items, people who sell ass and people who beg.
Now, I hate the people who steal. That's a given. There's nothing worse than sitting in Dallas all day due to lack of loads and you have to sit with your curtains drawn so that some thug won't jump up on your running boards and take a peek as to what electronic goodies you might possess. Then he waits until dark and for you to go take a shit or grab some food and breaks your window and takes all of your shit. These guys should be eviscerated with rusty butter knives in the parking lot and be left for dead.
On to the others. I have no problem with people selling stuff, even though it's usually stolen goods. This might seem strange since I dislike the ones who steal; but if it's not stolen from anybody in the parking lot, it's okay by me. I may or may not have bought some pirated video or stolen pornography. I never buy electronics, though. Usually you get a camera box with a brick in it.
I also have no problem with prostitution. Why shouldn't you be able to charge someone for the same thing that you can legally give away for free? I've never used these services, but I still think that they should be there for those who do.
Now, clearly, the worst of these groups is the final one: the beggar. Nothing makes me angrier than to be accosted by people in need. Yes, I'm an asshole; we've already established that fact. I look at the world in the most natural way a human being can: there are the weak, there are the strong. By supporting the weak you are inherently going against nature. Why? Let's take a look.
The whole god question aside, I think that we can all agree on one point: there are rules to this planet and the universe in which it resides. There are no consequences for breaking these rules because it is impossible to break them. Nature wields an iron fist on this planet in order for the rules to remain in affect.
Here's a bit of useless trivia for you: If you broke down the entire population of the planet earth into 100 people representing everyone, 50 would be male, 50 would be female. Why? Because nature likes it that way. Nature has an order for these people, too. Why do Africans die at an alarming rate while Americans continue to thrive? Because, to Nature, Africans are more expendable. They're easy targets to control population levels. They certainly aren't offering anything to the world, despite what bleeding hearts may tell you.
Nature has to kill people. It does it in order to better care for the ones that mean something. The strong must go on. The weak must be extinguished. One is there to define the other. When an entire level of weakness is eradicated, the next level up becomes the weak. It's all very simple.
So, therefore, by supporting the weak you are actually going against Nature's plan. If you hand a bum a dollar and he lives another day because of it, you've just given Nature the finger. And if you give a bum a dollar and then he eats a cheeseburger and, having sated his appetite, then rapes a woman to relieve himself of another urge, you've really told Nature to go fuck herself. That woman now has to live with being raped; or she may kill herself before she can find a way to save humankind from its own blunders. Way to go, stupid.
So the next time some doe-eyed fuck starts to tell you his sob story and asks for money or food or a ride, walk away. Say no. Not only will you keep your money in your pocket but you'll also get a smile from Mother Nature; she's got plans for that bum.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Back to Work
Going back to work is always a drag for me. I don't get weekends and holidays off like most people. I go out for several weeks at a time and work every single day until I decide it's time to head home. Then I take a week or so off.
Years ago going back out was really hard. My wife and I just weren't used to being apart. She would cry and we both wondered when we would see each other again. Having children also made it difficult. I sometimes would have nightmares about something happening to them -- being so far away often made me feel helpless to protect them.
I can remember buying a lottery ticket and checking the numbers the night before I had to leave and hoping beyond hope that I would hit and never have to leave my family ever again. A naive assumption, but I guess you have to dream big.
People often ask me how I can be gone for so long and not see my wife and kids. I tell them that sometimes you have to think with your head instead of your heart. Sure, being away sucks; but having to worry about where the next meal will come from, like my parents did, sucks even more. In an era where most families struggle with dual incomes and child care, I do quite well with one income and a wife who stays home. In fact, with only a high school diploma, my income compares to a graduate degree and about a decade in the job market; I looked it up.
Also, with all the technology today, I'm really not that far away. I talk to them on my cell phone; the same phone I'm blogging with right now. I also have a laptop to email and share pictures and videos. And if I need to get home in a hurry, the wonders of flight will have me there within a few hours.
Working is just one of those things that all of us have to do. Some get home every night and some of us don't. It's just a "whatever works" kind of scenario. This is just what works for me.
Years ago going back out was really hard. My wife and I just weren't used to being apart. She would cry and we both wondered when we would see each other again. Having children also made it difficult. I sometimes would have nightmares about something happening to them -- being so far away often made me feel helpless to protect them.
I can remember buying a lottery ticket and checking the numbers the night before I had to leave and hoping beyond hope that I would hit and never have to leave my family ever again. A naive assumption, but I guess you have to dream big.
People often ask me how I can be gone for so long and not see my wife and kids. I tell them that sometimes you have to think with your head instead of your heart. Sure, being away sucks; but having to worry about where the next meal will come from, like my parents did, sucks even more. In an era where most families struggle with dual incomes and child care, I do quite well with one income and a wife who stays home. In fact, with only a high school diploma, my income compares to a graduate degree and about a decade in the job market; I looked it up.
Also, with all the technology today, I'm really not that far away. I talk to them on my cell phone; the same phone I'm blogging with right now. I also have a laptop to email and share pictures and videos. And if I need to get home in a hurry, the wonders of flight will have me there within a few hours.
Working is just one of those things that all of us have to do. Some get home every night and some of us don't. It's just a "whatever works" kind of scenario. This is just what works for me.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Chiropractors: The Scourge of...Everywhere
My wife and I took the kids to a local farm the other day. This is one of those places where they decide to open it up to the public and make a little cake on the side that way. It's a lot of fun for the kids. They have animals to view and pet and feed, a bakery, even a haunted house. When you leave, you grab a pumpkin and you've had yourself a fun time.
We walked in and saw the chickens and goats and my son and youngest daughter really enjoyed sitting in the local Fire Company's pumper truck. Then we walked across a little drive where the food and some more animals are located. Right in the entrance way was a tent with a special chair and three jerk-offs in scrubs: a chiropractic office right up Uncle Jed's alley.
I turned to my wife and said, "These guys will set themselves up anywhere!" And it's really true. You can't go to a fair, home show, bazaar or even a line of shitters outside of a concert without a chiropractor trying to sell his craft.
Now, I have no problem with carny acts. In fact, I'm a big fan. I think there's nothing better than someone blatantly ripping off some idiot with three cups and a ball bearing. It's hilarious to me. But somewhere deep down in my soul is a true hatred for chiropractors.
Their act is not unlike the three card monte dealer, but it seems a bit more seedy when you're being given a fancy back massage by a guy with a doctorate and a cow is shitting fifteen feet away. It's snake oil salesmen stuff to me.
And I think some of these guys are a bit on the perverted side. My wife used to go years ago to help with a back injury she received as a kid. After only a session or two, she asked me to sit in there with her because she felt very uncomfortable with the guy. He was in his fifties and he made ME feel a bit uneasy; what with his weird pervert smile and eager hands.
I guess there's nothing intrinsically wrong with chiropractic; I've read both sides of the argument and I think that the art is sometimes necessary. I just don't like having to walk down the midway and hear, "Try to win a teddy bear for the lady, sir?"; "Knock down the bottles, win a prize!"; and then, "How'd you like some help with that posture, sir? Ever been to a chiropractor?" Yick.
We walked in and saw the chickens and goats and my son and youngest daughter really enjoyed sitting in the local Fire Company's pumper truck. Then we walked across a little drive where the food and some more animals are located. Right in the entrance way was a tent with a special chair and three jerk-offs in scrubs: a chiropractic office right up Uncle Jed's alley.
I turned to my wife and said, "These guys will set themselves up anywhere!" And it's really true. You can't go to a fair, home show, bazaar or even a line of shitters outside of a concert without a chiropractor trying to sell his craft.
Now, I have no problem with carny acts. In fact, I'm a big fan. I think there's nothing better than someone blatantly ripping off some idiot with three cups and a ball bearing. It's hilarious to me. But somewhere deep down in my soul is a true hatred for chiropractors.
Their act is not unlike the three card monte dealer, but it seems a bit more seedy when you're being given a fancy back massage by a guy with a doctorate and a cow is shitting fifteen feet away. It's snake oil salesmen stuff to me.
And I think some of these guys are a bit on the perverted side. My wife used to go years ago to help with a back injury she received as a kid. After only a session or two, she asked me to sit in there with her because she felt very uncomfortable with the guy. He was in his fifties and he made ME feel a bit uneasy; what with his weird pervert smile and eager hands.
I guess there's nothing intrinsically wrong with chiropractic; I've read both sides of the argument and I think that the art is sometimes necessary. I just don't like having to walk down the midway and hear, "Try to win a teddy bear for the lady, sir?"; "Knock down the bottles, win a prize!"; and then, "How'd you like some help with that posture, sir? Ever been to a chiropractor?" Yick.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Womanly Ways
I'm married; have been for almost nine years now. I've done pretty well at figuring out my wife and I can honestly say that she rarely wins an argument with me. I have also done my best to help her adjust her views on certain things. She would say that I corrupted her. Whatever; either way, it's probably been for the better.
However, one of our more frequent arguments is over my penchant for the female form; often every female form. I have always said that the female body trumps anything else when it comes to beauty. I have traveled all over the world and seen a good amount of scenery on this great green earth of ours, and I still have found nothing that quite takes my breath away the way a woman does. So when I see something or, rather, someone that catches my eye, I'm prone to take a quick look. I think all men do this; the more testosterone-rich of us do it a bit more.
The only problem is that my wife often will see the girl I'm about to take a look at before I do. She knows what I like and preempts me: she'll stare right at my face and wait for me to look; then it's time for an argument.
She's not really mean about it. I think it has more to do with common female insecurities. Most women are "catty" and don't like other women. They're often competitive and will do ridiculously cruel things to each other over the smallest, stupidest shit.
She'll usually post one question to me: "Why aren't I enough for you?" Now, I have answered this question many times. In fact, I've probably spent time that can be measured in days answering this question. Yet she still asks it every time.
Now, it's not that she's not enough. I love her and I'm very sexually attracted to her. She's a good egg and has done everything I've ever asked of her sexually. Sometimes she has to be eased into it, but she's a goer, for sure. I've been faithful, never even considering cheating on her. I've done my part and she's done hers.
However, it's been said, "Show me the hottest woman in the world, and I'll show you a guy who's tired of fucking her."
And it's true. If you look at it from a moral or societal standard, men really are scumbags. You say your vows and agree to this and that, and then you take a peek at every piece of trim that walks by -- usually on the way to the airport for your honeymoon.
Why do we (I) do it? It's a pretty simple explanation, but not one based in emotion, which is why women can't understand it.
You see, throughout the animal kingdom, males roam around and look for tail. A male lion has a harem of females who do his bidding. A younger lion must move in on his turf, battle it out with the king, and hope to win and take over: bang, instant variety of pussy. Now, men are a bit the same way. Men fight over women, get beaten up over women. It's stupid if you look at it from an intellectual standpoint, but men will risk life, limb and reputation for that sweet, sweet woman. But, we cannot be satisfied with just one.
Monogamy is essentially a commitment to battle millions of years of evolution. We have created for ourselves a society in which it is wrong for men to act upon nature's most intrinsic ideal: procreate. Life must be followed by life. There must be someone else to take over or, well, something will happen.
As a monogamous man, I have decided to put aside nature's desires, at least on a grand scale. I do have four kids, so I guess I haven't failed Mother Nature entirely. I'm happy enough and love my wife and kids; I just, sometimes, have to take a peek.
However, one of our more frequent arguments is over my penchant for the female form; often every female form. I have always said that the female body trumps anything else when it comes to beauty. I have traveled all over the world and seen a good amount of scenery on this great green earth of ours, and I still have found nothing that quite takes my breath away the way a woman does. So when I see something or, rather, someone that catches my eye, I'm prone to take a quick look. I think all men do this; the more testosterone-rich of us do it a bit more.
The only problem is that my wife often will see the girl I'm about to take a look at before I do. She knows what I like and preempts me: she'll stare right at my face and wait for me to look; then it's time for an argument.
She's not really mean about it. I think it has more to do with common female insecurities. Most women are "catty" and don't like other women. They're often competitive and will do ridiculously cruel things to each other over the smallest, stupidest shit.
She'll usually post one question to me: "Why aren't I enough for you?" Now, I have answered this question many times. In fact, I've probably spent time that can be measured in days answering this question. Yet she still asks it every time.
Now, it's not that she's not enough. I love her and I'm very sexually attracted to her. She's a good egg and has done everything I've ever asked of her sexually. Sometimes she has to be eased into it, but she's a goer, for sure. I've been faithful, never even considering cheating on her. I've done my part and she's done hers.
However, it's been said, "Show me the hottest woman in the world, and I'll show you a guy who's tired of fucking her."
And it's true. If you look at it from a moral or societal standard, men really are scumbags. You say your vows and agree to this and that, and then you take a peek at every piece of trim that walks by -- usually on the way to the airport for your honeymoon.
Why do we (I) do it? It's a pretty simple explanation, but not one based in emotion, which is why women can't understand it.
You see, throughout the animal kingdom, males roam around and look for tail. A male lion has a harem of females who do his bidding. A younger lion must move in on his turf, battle it out with the king, and hope to win and take over: bang, instant variety of pussy. Now, men are a bit the same way. Men fight over women, get beaten up over women. It's stupid if you look at it from an intellectual standpoint, but men will risk life, limb and reputation for that sweet, sweet woman. But, we cannot be satisfied with just one.
Monogamy is essentially a commitment to battle millions of years of evolution. We have created for ourselves a society in which it is wrong for men to act upon nature's most intrinsic ideal: procreate. Life must be followed by life. There must be someone else to take over or, well, something will happen.
As a monogamous man, I have decided to put aside nature's desires, at least on a grand scale. I do have four kids, so I guess I haven't failed Mother Nature entirely. I'm happy enough and love my wife and kids; I just, sometimes, have to take a peek.
Religulous
My wife and I went to see Bill Maher's documentary Religulous last night. We went to the 10:10 pm showing and shared the theater with only fourteen other people, which was very nice.
Maher was really good in it. I had heard on Opie & Anthony that he had somehow incorporated comedy into the film, something I felt might prove difficult given the premise of the movie. But he really knocked it out of the park. This movie wasn't just funny, it was hilarious.
He conducted interviews and incorporated old clips from really bad religious movies to explain the context of the interviews and also to give a push to the comedic aspect of the interview. I especially liked it when he would ask a question that might prove a bit rough to answer and all he got in response was an open-mouth gawp or that funny open/close/open/close mouth movement like fish do.
We were fortunate enough to have in the audience a guy with a great laugh. That always helps spice up a joke. This guy would scream laugh and that somehow made it funnier.
I was pleased to see Maher take on Islam, which is something a lot of these religion-bashing cowards often won't do. They think about the feel of a rough blade being run across their throats and get chicken-shit PDQ. Not Maher. He actually went into the Muslim Temple on the
Mount in Jerusalem, despite being yelled at by an angry and, according to the guy being interviewed, tolerant Muslim man. It was also pointed out that, in the Temple, women have their own special corner to worship. How tolerant they are!
Some of the other people he interviewed were: an ex-homosexual preacher who insisted on a full-body hug from Maher when the interview was over, a Jew who was against Israel and met with Iranian president Mahmoud Amedihoyahoya (or whatever his name is), and an Aussie with a creepy beard who runs a creation museum in Kentucky -- you can ride a dinosaur there, just like Jesus!
All in all, it was a great flick. If you're a believer, though, it could give you that hot-under-the-collar feeling. Maher's evidence is hard to counter. Everyone from Truck Stop Preachers to a Senator from Arkansas turned into guppy-mouthed idiots when the tough questions came out. Check it out.
Oh, and my wife told me to mention what a wonderful time we had. We don't get out much together and we jumped at the chance last night. We got a bit drunk at Outback Steakhouse, played air hockey (she beat me) and then saw the movie. It was a really nice evening.
Sent from my iPhone
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Birthday Party
Today we're hosting my daughter's sixth birthday party. Well, hosting
isn't really the proper word; more like mediating.
isn't really the proper word; more like mediating.
We're at an indoor golf place in the mall that's lit up with black
lights. It would be a great place to hang out as a teenager and deep-
dick your teenage girlfriend in the corner. Instead, I'm surrounded by
a dozen six-year-olds with clubs that they swing at crotch level.
The little shits hit the ball with the same force as I would use if I
were beating my worst enemy to death in a blind rage. There are little
glow-in-the-dark golf balls flying like missiles.
And why are kids such fucking little ingrates? They open presents and
have a look on their face like, "Oh, is this the best you can do?" So
you have to coax them into not blurting out some asshole comment and
hoping like all-mighty fuck that they've developed enough tact not to
shit all over their little friends' feelings. This shouldn't be so
goddamned stressful.
Anyway, it's better than having it at the house. Fuck that.
10/11/2008 The Fucking Mall
Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Sugar Hangover
I have been on the "Atkins" method of the low sugar, low carbohydrate diets for about seven weeks now. It has worked well enough: I feel better, I have lost some weight and my energy is up. However, as I found out yesterday, my tolerance for anything sugary is virtually nonexistent.
See, yesterday was my daughter's sixth birthday; and birthdays in our house are highly regarded and very important. As her father, I try to be as accommodating as possible; to my own detriment, it turns out.
Traditionally, the birthday boy or girl gets to choose the supper meal for the day. They also get cake and such for dessert; candles, singing and all.
I had planned to have a small sliver of cake -- it's only proper. However, my wife suggested that I should also partake in the supper of choice - pizza - since my daughter might feel slighted if I didn't. So I partook. Immediately, I realized it was a mistake. That stupid pizza hit my gut like a shotgun blast. Instant churn, like low-grade poison. I knew that this was going to turn out badly later, so I figured, Hey, if I'm going to suffer, I might as well enjoy myself now. So I followed up the slice of pizza with a second; cutting off and not eating the crust, as if that would help.
Then on to the cake. Yellow cake, chocolate icing; a massive construction of two 13 x 9 inch cakes stacked, icing between and on top and all around. Three cans of icing. When I make a cake, I make a motherfucking cake.
The first piece was hard to eat because it was so damned sweet. The second piece was a little easier; I just had to fight the expansion in my stomach.
However, I hadn't even put my fork down before the first volley was released and my system was attacking me. Mad dash to the bathroom -- time to spray-paint the porcelain.
Ever heard the sound of an A-10 Warthog as it sprays bullets at tanks and completely wipes out every living thing in the area? It sounds like a deep, guttural belch. My tookis made that sound yesterday. Several times, actually.
It eventually subsided. A couple Gas-X pills and I felt better, but very tired. When I woke up this morning I felt pretty good. My wife whipped up some sausage and eggs for me this morning, the usual fare for an Atkins enthusiast. Just looking at it made me feel queasy. It was greasy and heavy and I only ate a portion of it.
I've never had a hangover before. I'm one of those fortunate people that can drink as much as I want and never suffer from a headache or upset stomach. However, I found out that, as far as sugar consumption goes, I'm not immune. Complete sugar hangover. This might be fair warning for the alcohol aspect: as I've gotten older, it, too, might eventually affect me.
Sometimes a "diet" actually turns into a lifestyle. The pros and cons of participating in a life-changing regimen must be weighed and the participant must decide whether or not it's worth it. If I cut out the sugar, I could lose weight and feel better and maybe even live longer. However, food is my vice, if I could consider myself to have one.
This, too, shall pass; and I'll be eating fine, fatty meats and losing weight again. But sometimes acquiescing to predetermined protocols makes for loose guts, loose stools a stomach like an industrial butter churn.
See, yesterday was my daughter's sixth birthday; and birthdays in our house are highly regarded and very important. As her father, I try to be as accommodating as possible; to my own detriment, it turns out.
Traditionally, the birthday boy or girl gets to choose the supper meal for the day. They also get cake and such for dessert; candles, singing and all.
I had planned to have a small sliver of cake -- it's only proper. However, my wife suggested that I should also partake in the supper of choice - pizza - since my daughter might feel slighted if I didn't. So I partook. Immediately, I realized it was a mistake. That stupid pizza hit my gut like a shotgun blast. Instant churn, like low-grade poison. I knew that this was going to turn out badly later, so I figured, Hey, if I'm going to suffer, I might as well enjoy myself now. So I followed up the slice of pizza with a second; cutting off and not eating the crust, as if that would help.
Then on to the cake. Yellow cake, chocolate icing; a massive construction of two 13 x 9 inch cakes stacked, icing between and on top and all around. Three cans of icing. When I make a cake, I make a motherfucking cake.
The first piece was hard to eat because it was so damned sweet. The second piece was a little easier; I just had to fight the expansion in my stomach.
However, I hadn't even put my fork down before the first volley was released and my system was attacking me. Mad dash to the bathroom -- time to spray-paint the porcelain.
Ever heard the sound of an A-10 Warthog as it sprays bullets at tanks and completely wipes out every living thing in the area? It sounds like a deep, guttural belch. My tookis made that sound yesterday. Several times, actually.
It eventually subsided. A couple Gas-X pills and I felt better, but very tired. When I woke up this morning I felt pretty good. My wife whipped up some sausage and eggs for me this morning, the usual fare for an Atkins enthusiast. Just looking at it made me feel queasy. It was greasy and heavy and I only ate a portion of it.
I've never had a hangover before. I'm one of those fortunate people that can drink as much as I want and never suffer from a headache or upset stomach. However, I found out that, as far as sugar consumption goes, I'm not immune. Complete sugar hangover. This might be fair warning for the alcohol aspect: as I've gotten older, it, too, might eventually affect me.
Sometimes a "diet" actually turns into a lifestyle. The pros and cons of participating in a life-changing regimen must be weighed and the participant must decide whether or not it's worth it. If I cut out the sugar, I could lose weight and feel better and maybe even live longer. However, food is my vice, if I could consider myself to have one.
This, too, shall pass; and I'll be eating fine, fatty meats and losing weight again. But sometimes acquiescing to predetermined protocols makes for loose guts, loose stools a stomach like an industrial butter churn.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
The name...
The title of this blog is actually a nickname I was given.
It probably sounds like I am good with a knife, or perhaps I am known for my cutting comments. True or not, these are not the source of this silly moniker.
Here's how it started...
As I've already told you, I am a truck driver; but I am not your average truck driver. I take loads the others can't do. I go places others won't go and I do it all faster and better. I try not to brag, but this is definitely my forté.
These abilities often receive a lot of recognition, and that has been so in my case. Fighter pilots are given their handle by other pilots, truck drivers either make them up themselves or are given one by dispatch. Mine was the latter.
I have a dispatcher and friend who only knew of one other Barry, and it wasn't even a real person. Ever see the movie "The Client"? It is based upon a John Grisham novel of the same name. Well, one of the thugs that works for the mob boss is an humongous dummy named Barry. He's good with a knife. They call him...Barry The Blade. So, to my good friend, it only made sense that the only other Barry he had ever met should share that name.
I guess to some it sounds cool. I don't care either way. I guess it's nice to know that someone thinks about you enough to think that you're worthy of a nickname.
The only time my name ever changes is when I "whine". This means I have to call off the dogs because I'm being beaten down by too many miles in too short a time. It's hardly whining; sometimes I have to do it to save my life. Then I'm called Barry The Bleeder. You see, it's like Blade, because it has a Bl- in the front...oof. My friends are douche bags.
It probably sounds like I am good with a knife, or perhaps I am known for my cutting comments. True or not, these are not the source of this silly moniker.
Here's how it started...
As I've already told you, I am a truck driver; but I am not your average truck driver. I take loads the others can't do. I go places others won't go and I do it all faster and better. I try not to brag, but this is definitely my forté.
These abilities often receive a lot of recognition, and that has been so in my case. Fighter pilots are given their handle by other pilots, truck drivers either make them up themselves or are given one by dispatch. Mine was the latter.
I have a dispatcher and friend who only knew of one other Barry, and it wasn't even a real person. Ever see the movie "The Client"? It is based upon a John Grisham novel of the same name. Well, one of the thugs that works for the mob boss is an humongous dummy named Barry. He's good with a knife. They call him...Barry The Blade. So, to my good friend, it only made sense that the only other Barry he had ever met should share that name.
I guess to some it sounds cool. I don't care either way. I guess it's nice to know that someone thinks about you enough to think that you're worthy of a nickname.
The only time my name ever changes is when I "whine". This means I have to call off the dogs because I'm being beaten down by too many miles in too short a time. It's hardly whining; sometimes I have to do it to save my life. Then I'm called Barry The Bleeder. You see, it's like Blade, because it has a Bl- in the front...oof. My friends are douche bags.
The beginning...
This is my first attempt to put all of the things that go through my head on the record. Perhaps a little knowledge of me would be best to set the stage.
I am happily married and a father of four. I drive a truck for a living and travel all over the 48 continental United States. I drive for the majority of the day and that often leads to very deep thinking for which most people have no time. Some might consider this lucky; these people should not read this blog.
I am not prone to lies nor will I hold back my opinion for the sake of others or their feelings. I often use harsh words and I often hurt others' feelings for my own personal amusement.
You will find that I have an opinion on almost everything. Some of them will sound ridiculous to some, others might actually agree with me. Who knows?: Maybe some of my ideas will one day make the world a better place. Only time will tell.
So if you've somehow found yourself reading this I hope that you will return once I have some more written. I hope this leads to something.
10/8/2008 Washington State
I am happily married and a father of four. I drive a truck for a living and travel all over the 48 continental United States. I drive for the majority of the day and that often leads to very deep thinking for which most people have no time. Some might consider this lucky; these people should not read this blog.
I am not prone to lies nor will I hold back my opinion for the sake of others or their feelings. I often use harsh words and I often hurt others' feelings for my own personal amusement.
You will find that I have an opinion on almost everything. Some of them will sound ridiculous to some, others might actually agree with me. Who knows?: Maybe some of my ideas will one day make the world a better place. Only time will tell.
So if you've somehow found yourself reading this I hope that you will return once I have some more written. I hope this leads to something.
10/8/2008 Washington State
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