Dear TV show watching Internet users and friends, here is an unsolicited lengthy explanation of why you will enjoy season 3 of Walking Dead (October 2012). Since I was once professionally a movie critic (OC Register Teen Panel - deal with it) my opinions are at least 92% factually awesome and inspire fireside chats. First, go watch all of The Walking Dead so when I spoil bits below you won’t cry into a pillow (Season 1 on Netflix, and season 2 is on your favorite torrenting app). Do expect me to wander off into a tangent at some point.

All the chatter I’ve been seeing and hearing since the season 2 finale last Sunday has been about how bad the writing of the show has been, and how all the characters are dumb and unbelievable. I’m going to argue that everyone is right, but have to stop thinking that way for the sake of the show. HEED THIS MESSAGE: Season 3 is going to be worthy of being in the same series as the pilot episode I have previously deemed the best pilot of any TV show ever! Here’s the timeline that had to happen to lead up to it.

The first season of the Walking Dead was chaotic. It started off - epic. While the first episode was tied very closely to the comic, the rest steered away toward in a strongly overdone and hamfisted direction. Not that anybody truly cared about the show keeping loyalty to the comic. Nor should any viewer have to read the comic to enjoy the show. Seriously, the comic is pretty shitty. A lot of the scenarios and actions are clever and intriguing, but the creator Robert Kirkman doesn’t seem to know how human beings talk to each other, especially, females. In fact, the reason so many of the women on the show seem utterly useless or annoying is only proving that a direct copy of the comic is a bad thing. That is, because in the comic women have lines like “I’ll fuck you.” Thankfully, the same scene in the TV version was changed to “I’ll have sex with you”. Now that’s something a woman would say (to me, like all the time, it gets so annoying it happens so much). As I read the comics, I couldn’t help but think of all the stereotypes of nerds and women and how this writer is clearly leading the pack. There was a lot of sick, gory, clever violence and almost no hint of how human beings actually behave. That [low] quality of writing has carried over to the show.

My problem with the direction of the first season was where they steered to wasn’t a terribly interesting direction. The zombie organ encrusted escape from the storeroom, Merle hijinx, and camp attack were fun and had some zombie filled action that seemed perfectly capable of following a linear storyline that made sense. Even the ughworthy Vatos episode was somewhat descriptive of what effects come from a newly zombie filled world. But the show couldn’t quite figure out what it wanted to do to last more than 6 episodes. Ultimately, you have to blame budgets and panicked AMC financiers who didn’t have any faith. Frank Darabont, the showrunner at the time, was fully capable of getting the 6 episodes out there, but the economics of Hollywood forced its hand, thus the show came to a screeching halt after visiting the CDC and it exploding with no indication of what our survivors were going to do next.

Season 2 was sold, but several sources indicate they suffered serious budget restrictions. Since the first half of the 12 episode season involved the entirely lengthy and ultimately pointless search for the girl Sophia, a character that practically didn’t exist in Season 1, it’s safe to say this show needs a budget. Well, you can tell it went to special effects because those were spectacular and have raised the bar for future shows of the zombie genre. Surely the writing suffered because they had to do what most TV shows do in this financial situation, they cut corners and keep location costs to a minimum. Most people would argue they could have encapsulated all of the Sophia searching to one episode, so maybe one solution for this show is sticking to 6 episodes a season? Unfortunately, the best part of this show is fully exploring what life is like after the zombie apocalypse. Can that be done in fewer episodes?

I’m not going to offer any more solutions, because the point of this post was to explain how things are back on track. Darabont wrote the pilot by himself. This show’s success and existence can be solely attributed to that. However, since then he only had partial credit on a few more episodes and was eventually entirely removed from having a major influence on the show. Season 2 actually brought with it rumors about Darabont firing the entire writing staff. Turns out that was only a rumor because the writers for the show have been pretty consistent. The one notable difference is the lack of Darabont and the heavier influence of executive producer Glen Mazzara. It doesn’t take much investigation to determine that the last few episodes in season 2, otherwise known as “the good ones” have been entirely Mazzara’s product.

The last 3 or 4 episodes of Season 2 clearly demonstrated that to bring the show back to being enjoyable involved getting the hell out of the farm location the show was stuck in. Again, I want to point at budget. Producers deal with costs, and apparently Mazzara can get a lot more out of money than Darabont. Everyone wants to point fingers at the writers for the lacking character development, terrible dialogue, and clumsy pacing. Yes, these are all something you should attribute to being a writer’s responsibility. However, in these leaner times where cheaper cookie cutter reality shows reign supreme, scripted television is evolving into a weird amalgamation of the show’s talent versus the studio and television channel that benefit solely from having the show on in the first place.

Put another way, TV keeps hitting itself. In the face, with a wet dildo. Part of the reason I treasure a show like the Walking Dead is because I fear for the future of television entertainment being nothing but food preparation, retail store negotiations, and British people yelling at things. All three things I have absolutely no desire to be entertained by. Sorry British food preparers, I just don’t like you. What I don’t understand is how television, cable companies, media device producers, internet streaming services, etc. - all somewhat owned by the same gigantic conglomerates - expect this pattern to sustain. If they would just invest more into these series, people will continue to consume media content. Give this show a fucking budget! The Season 2 finale had 9 million viewers, in all the right demographics, and that compares to network standards.

Since taking over, Mazzara has cleverly eluded to closure on many of the things that Walking Dead was suffering from. Not only does he kill off a major character Dale (a good real life friend of Darabont, ouch) but the character Shane is also whacked. In the comic, Shane was killed earlier in the timeline, actually. On the show, Shane was playing an important dramatic role. But, since the actor was getting a lead on another show Darabont was involved in, looks like his former job is now accepting applications. Some more visual closure to represent the show’s new direction includes a long winding panning shot of the message for Sophia on a car windshield. Faded soap and finally a faded memory of the first half of season two. Mazzara also literally burned the barn on fire. This barn represented the farm, and if you watch season 2, you will keep saying, out loud, WHY ARE WE STILL ON THIS FARM?! The goddamn farm. If you don’t know, the comic didn’t spend nearly as much time on the farm, because it journeyed onto the prison. As Season 2 ended, we pan to the prison in the dim background. In the comic, the prison represents some of the zombie apocalypse survival we’ve been missing from the show. Fans of the show and comic both wanted off the goddamn farm. So, it’s no surprise to me that Mazzara chose to end on that note.

Also, you may have noticed a cloaked katana wielding heroine with two armless zombies attached to chains (if you didn’t notice, please see an optometrist immediately). This character is straight from the comic, and may have been a little jarring to see. Readers of the comic know and mostly love her, because she is one of the few characters that seems to have adapted quite well to survival in the wild, and actually seems to take steps to survive. However, the pacing and tone of the show hasn’t quite prepared the non-comic reading viewers for something that could easily exists in this new world. Therefore, her appearance seems totally out of place. But, oh so necessary. And, Mazzara knows this. Season finales are designed to wrap up the season storylines, and hint at things to come. If you stand back and look at the season finale, it is very clearly half zombie action, then half this is the show now, deal with it. I respect the bold and embarrassingly public turn of events the show had to take in order to get the show going in the right direction finally.

Steering of this magnitude would only compare to what the captain of the Titanic was attempting after smacking into an iceburg. Unlike the Titanic, I expect viewers of the show are going to keep the show afloat and arrive at their destination as if they were treated to first class luxury. That analogy may be a stretch, but I’m realizing I’m actually looking forward to the Titanic being released in 3D. Especially, since it gives me something to think about until season 3 of the Walking Dead, the best season, begins in October. Also, do you think Kate Winslet’s boobs will be in 3D? They’d have to be, right? You know that when you’re standing in line in April, you’ll be thinking (and hoping for) the same thing. Perv. (High five!)

Statistically I have less days remaining on this earth than time already spent. Reconnoitering the future has become increasingly important to my day as has contemplating what benefit I’ve given to the legacy of the entire human race. It’s easier now than ever to see past the meteoric amount of bullshit my fellow man is capable of gestating. Recently, I’ve learned about the latest bullshit attempt to undermine the future of humanity known as the Stop Online Piracy Act, and it’s disgusting.

In short, this bill that is currently in the workings demonstrates that the government wants to give law enforcement agencies such as the US DoJ and copyright holders an easier path to counter piracy of intellectual property. Oh, and also offer protection for the citizens of the US against counterfeit drugs. What? Aside from the logical leap to connect those two issues, this bill doesn’t sound bad at all. Of course, why would any bill ever proposed in the history of legislation would any bill ever be made to sound bad? That’s because, like most recent legislature, this bill stinks of hidden motives at the cost of civil liberties.

Keeping partisan politics out of this blog, I’ll instead focus on just why this bill irks me so.

Since I became computer literate over 20 years ago, I’ve spent an unhealthy disproportional amount of time on computers and the internet, when that came into fruition. While I actually feel right at home spending my time on a computer, it’s really important to note that I’ve made my living off the computer for almost as long. From designing websites, to chatting with players over a video game interface, I’ve survived on the existence and success of the internet. The Stop Online Piracy Act (or SOPA) plans to put a real shitstain on that.

Under the guise of protecting copyrights and, for some reason preventing counterfeited pills (I’ll get to that later), this bill will eventually allow governmental enforcement agencies as well as just about any corporation who asks to monitor what we do over the internet. I don’t mean learning we visit porn sites. It doesn’t take a legislative act to know that. I mean, literally sniffing each packet that gets transferred to and from a network source (iPhones, PCs, smart refrigerators). This includes, and is not limited to, email, file transfer, web sites, streaming content, what you can see on our web cams for fuck’s sake! Currently, it would appear that nobody has any legal right to do this. Not even our internet provider can go around peeking under the hood. Makes sense, because if you wanted to talk about some sensitive shit, just find our what exactly companies and internet users alike are doing with their internet access. I’m sure it’s pretty crazy.

Ever since the internet came onto the radar of government officials (I would expect 5 years after everyone else figured it out), legislators have been trying find a way to monitor and control it. Each year as a senator has to justify his paycheck, you have to expect them to come up with some way to piss in our punch. Since glomming onto counter-piracy has been one of the easiest, legislators have finally found a bill that looks like it has legs. Introduced in October last year, this latest incarnation at limiting our civil liberties is about to go to session, again. And, I simply wanted you, my faithful reader(s) to know about it.

All is not lost, I think. For one, the internet is pissed. They DO NOT like this Bill. I really doubt anyone likes the idea of every move they make being monitored and possibly cataloged. That’s some serious 1984 shit right there. Well, I suppose Facebook gets a pass. I mean, most of the dumb shit the average citizen does is “out there”. Mark Zuckerberg knows just about everything about me, and more so than my mother probably. As well as countless other corporations that ask my entire life history before I can sign up for a download of a new screensaver. But, even in the face of ever increasing openness about one’s private identity on the internet, nobody wants their fucking dirty laundry exposed and the stench that comes with it.

Obama’s administration is not on board. That’s somewhat more relevant, perhaps. They’ve been pretty clear that this bill will stomp on American rights and that’s just not cool. Obama’s group has been staunchly opposed to lobbyist organizations getting bills to congress since day one, and the SOPA bill is no exception. And, shockingly, or perhaps UNshockingly, this bill has all the makings of a lobbyist’s agenda.

Quick tangent. Oddly enough, while researching this, I also found some serious shenanigans with releasing public information by the Bush family. Lesson from this kids, you can fuck over anybody’s civil liberties you want (Patriot act) but be sure to become President before 12 years has passed so your father’s records don’t become public property. Not cool, team Bush. Ironic to say the least.

So, back to SOPA. Fuck SOPA. Nobody likes you. Nobody needs you. Look, people. The beauty and beast of the internet is that everything is already on record. If it’s on the internet, it’s open season and nobody needs a hunter license. Again, your SHIT is OUT THERE. The other day, a TV actress uploaded a picture of herself, and didn’t realize her nip was showing. Within minutes she took the picture down and replaced it. Five days later, the picture was posted hundreds of times by countless trash media sites. Somebody somewhere has a copy of that file with the dissertation you wrote in college about the potential medical benefits of a yeast infection. But let’s get it straight. It’s out there, because you put it out there. You may not have physically uploaded those pics of you doing the scrunched kissy face naked in front of a mirror, but you gave them to your boyfriend. And, well, it’s on the internet now. Really, the internet is the world’s version of the Library of Congress, except it stores the worst of the worst, among the sparkling diamonds of awesomeness. And, I for one feel we should keep it that way!

Now, who is motivated to move this shitstain into law? Who wants their internet meanderings studied and categorized, and perhaps even manipulated a lil bit? Big pharma. The US pharmaceutical industry with so much pull the earth’s orbit gets jealous. With zero investigatory evidence to back my claim, please read on about why I’m right.

Two points. First, a spokesperson for Pfizer testified at the committee hearing on this bill about the potential danger associated with outside pharmacies offering prescription drugs cheaper and easier than their US counterparts. Er, well, I mean, they argued that Google was caught profiting off the illegal sale and distribution of foreign drug sales through its AdWords advertising. Since 2003 they have been allowing Canada to distribute and sell prescription medication through its ads. And, well, they had to forfeit 500 million dollars to the DoJ once they were punished. Of course, try to not to laugh when you realize how much $500 mil means to Google today compared to 9 years ago. Try to not to laugh when you realize Google probably spent that $500 mil to make billions while expanding their corporate foothold in the world. Please, feel free to laugh at the idea that it’s so blatantly obvious that they’re just tacking on counterfeit drug sales to an intellectual property argument. I mean, I didn’t see anything in there about their concern for people’s well being. Well, nothing substantial at least. No, just how much money was being made selling drugs to people cheaper.

Second, if you already caught Google and can already enforce law without needing to sniff my packets, then why the fuck do we need a bill to make this happen? Clearly you did this without the need to see what my emails to mom are about. Google got busted, and your trillion dollar fortune is in tact. Why do you need to compromise my civil liberty to further pursue hot justice? I can only imagine, more control. Control seems to be the key to capitalism. Keeping the masses at bay using the power of information. If this law passes, and I want to see Dexter season 7 in all its HD glory, I sure as hell better pray I don’t piss off Pfizer in the process. That sentence doesn’t make sense, but then, neither does SOPA. Fuck SOPA.

Old school MySpace profile jokes I made up after drinking 10 cans of Red Bull. Imagine if I went to 11!
—————————————————————

Between good and bad lies the word “and”.

A lot of money went into making this page for your enjoyment. Not from me, of course, but from that guy who runs Fox Television. He spent a shitton of money on this website. Like billions. Because he knew that giving away free stuff is the best way to make money. Like when I gave away a pencil once, and I totally didn’t die on the way home that night. Worth it.

Is the next word you look up the meaning of, hebetudinous?

If you are visiting me from another country, then I welcome you. If not, well, not much I can really do about that.

The last thing I want to do is be first.

Feast your eyes on this. But don’t make your mouth jealous, feasting your eyes and all.

Is it true what they say? It goes away if you don’t rub it too much?

I quit MySpace because of too much drama. Well, call me quitter because I am back.

Please do not finish this sentence unless you really mean it.

If you could ask God one question, would you ask him two thinking you are a journalist?

Happiness is when you no longer take drugs to escape life, but when you take drugs to explore life.

They say that too much television rots your brain. Well, I believe being smart ruins your enjoyment of television.

Ladies first. Well, unless the right to vote is brought up.

Read this sentence again and prove to me that you aren’t confused that this sentence has no predicate.

I pee lying on my side. Just to be different. And messy.

Seek shelter before the storm. That is, if your buddy Shelter knows how to survive tornadoes.

Don’t ask. Don’t tell. Don’t use proper sentence structure, either.

Is there more to life than not feeling fulfilled?

Tonight we dine in Hell! Tomorrow, China Star.

The thoughts expressed in this image I made and below are why I recently quit my customer service position at a video game company. You have to read the whole thing to win the prize!

Humans are capable of accomplishing amazing feats for very little reason. On May 25, 1961, President John Kennedy requested one small little favor of the people of the United States; He suggested we go to the moon. On top of that, he said we should consider getting this done sometime before 1970. He gave the citizens of the US less than an entire decade to start a program from scratch that would land a human being on the surface of the moon. What amazes me the most is not that his challenge was accepted, met, and exceeded. Not at all. It was that some ability inside human beings exists allowing us to accomplish the impossible with very little motivation. While I’d like to think the United States wanted to impress John Kennedy, or wanted to give a big fat middle finger to the rest of the world, I believe the motivation was rooted on one factor: Someone was willing to pay for it.

While a politician giving a grand speech in front of a US flag on the steps of an old building at our nation’s capital might be epic, it’s still only a motivational speech. Why should I be more motivated by a politician making that speech than say a window washer? Because, the politician is basically implying that his words are backed by a proposal that will soon be made to find funding to support this new endeavor. When a President says we get to use his wallet, the Treasury, people line up around the block to get a piece of the pie.

At this point, I’ve begun using metaphors, so I know it’s time to get back on track. Shit. Did it again. Cat’s out of the bag. Shit! One more: the rat race.

Money is our prime motivator. As much as I want to believe we can move mountains with the power of love…helping your brother move is hardly flying to the moon. Fixing your mom’s computer is hardly walking outside a space shuttle while traveling at 17,500 mph. Even though Huey Lewis declared love is “…the power that makes the world go round”, human beings still won’t achieve greatness without a little something on the side. Again, even though I know most men would barter over degrees of sexual favors as currency, nobody is going to invent a flying car because they were horny. (Well, Japan might.)

Not that I haven’t seen people do some crazy shit just because they were bored. Check out what Hitler was capable of in lieu of having friends, or the iPhone to keep him busy. Yes, I just wrote that Hitler’s regime killed millions of people on the premise that he was bored. I really have no idea what his motivations were. But, I’m willing to bet it had something to do with money. Please get past that little attempt at invoking humor while referencing Hitler, and let’s discuss why I mentioned earlier that money is what I consider to be a prime motivator.

By money, I mean currency. Whether it’s gold, silver, beads, pennies, or a “prize” like I said in my first paragraph, human beings love exchanging similar items for services and goods. We’ve developed a view ways to acquire our modern form of currency. The most common is earning it while under the employ of a company. People will do “whatever it takes” while employed on the promise of getting paid at the end of their service. Unfortunately, for me, I choose to do that whatever while working for a glorified call center. For almost five years I poured my whole being into providing customer service for a popular video game.

While I wasn’t developing a space rover that would survey the Martian soil, I was under a different kind of challenge. On a daily basis I communicated with frustrated and irate customers, dealt with backlash from terrible managerial and departmental decisions, was under constant pressure to achieve results based on metrics that were always “good but not good enough”, faced an increasing work load where every task imagined was given to you on top of the pile you were already burdened by, was shamed by the way the rest of the company and other industry members felt about your role, saw and had to embrace constant changes to our workflow that are never fully explained, had received no inclination that promotion was a possibility, learned more and more that there were forces in place to prevent you from getting promoted period, found the gap between your department and the rest growing at an alarming rate, met a growing lack of respect from peers and management combined, struggled while trying to contribute to the success of our company and never understood why so much effort was put into doing the opposite from corporate, worked every holiday because “hey, why not”, fought to do my job in a full eight hour day without our support tool program crashing or killing our mobility. Really. I’ve got some major first world problems. Or, at least I did.

At first it was easy to joke about the constant pressures of the job and overall silliness of the ineptitude of persons who chose to make customer service a career goal. But, really, it was joking in the same way you would equate Hitler murdering millions of people out of boredom. In other words, more sad and not funny. Eventually, for me, the joking became so absurd I came around to realizing that I simply couldn’t press on anymore. Working a shit job is a young man’s game. It was becoming increasingly impossible for me to tell people who played our game how to find their way in a virtual world, because my motivation was lacking.

Financially, living where I do is very difficult. While I was able to manage for a couple years, surviving long term just started to seem impossible. Don’t want to cause any panic attacks from the sudden shock of saying this, but call centers don’t pay very well. Once you get back in your chair, I want to surprise you again. Sure, money motivated me to do some retarded soul sucking activities to make other people rich, but I knew the risk I was taking when I came back to work for this company. All this talk until now about money being a motivator is actually irrelevant to my decision to leave the company. I just though it would be really easy to say I quit because I wasn’t making enough money. Sadly, that had nothing to do with it. In fact, let’s make a new paragraph to actually explain what it took to quit.

I had a career goal when I landed back at the same department I left a couple years earlier. Not exactly a groundbreaking statement, nor was I the first to think of it. But, I really thought I had a plan. Won’t go into details here, but I was determined to meet that goal. After two additional penniless years I began to realize it wasn’t going to happen if I kept on the same path. Many nights were spent contemplating how I was going to hop out of my circular maze of the rat race. Only one concept rose to the challenge. And, it’s really embarrassing. At 36 years old, I feel dumb saying it. Before I do though, understand I spent my life in the video game bubble. This is a bubble where age is meaningless. Video games and the culture it comes with are invulnerable to criticism once you break the hurdle of living at home with your parents. I broke out of that some time ago, but there was one thing I refused to do until the moment was necessary. I grew up.

Ugh. I really do hate to admit it. I matured. I manned up. I grew some balls. Or, wouldn’t it be more proper to say, my balls finally dropped. More metaphors that all reference puberty. And for good reason. The sad fact is you can’t stop aging. I used to think I would live forever if I never grew up. It makes sense on paper! If I don’t grow up, how can I GROW UP? Finally, no matter how hard it is to give up control, my body just wasn’t going to take it anymore and made the choice for me.

Maturity is now my prime motivator. The necessity to be an adult, to make responsible decisions, to care for the next generation or two, to boldly face the impossible, and protect my friends and family. This is the next step for me, and I’ll leave with one small piece of advice. Dear reader or readers of this blog, please know that one day, you too will have to mature. Until then, embrace the surrounding world however you damn well please. And don’t you dare touch any of my toys. The end.

This will eventually contain the closing of first chapter of the Reboot. What success really means.

This will eventually contain text about what’s so fascinating about murder. o.O

This will eventually contain text on why I hate shopping and traffic for the same reasons. How I would like to manage routine via computer. Why OCD is highly inconvenient.

Futility takes hold as I query Google for the answer to the ultimate question: “Why bother?” Believing the eerily precise numbers in the results to a related question, “Just how many hours do I waste of my life sitting in traffic?”, is just a bit more likely than a possibility I’ll suddenly start believing in a god. Some sites say we’ll spend just under an hour waiting for something each day. If we’re supposed to trust the Texas Transportation Institute of Texas A&M University we’ll spend 70 hours per year behind another car and another 6 hours total, sitting at some signal. That’s barely an hour a week, so I’m somewhat skeptical. But then, we spend seven full years of our lives in traffic, just pissed away, thus receiving my answer: “Don’t bother.”

If you’re like me, you’ve been keenly observant of the precise minutes of life wasting away as you stand behind the coupon lady at CVS. As she hustles with the cashier over 20 cents off items she’ll never consume; while both ladies fight for bigger bragging rights about which nephew of theirs won’t make it back from warring overseas; the receipt just keeps printing line after line; and you only have two items but the other cashier is taking a shit or running a casino in the back room for all you know; and you simply want to reach into the back of this woman’s throat and end her routine permanently so you can just get out of here and drink your fucking Red Bull. You know what I’m talking about. At my age, I’ve become more aware of my time constraints. Each minute counts. Well, more precisely, I’m able to count the minutes I spend doing nothing of any importance or significance whatsoever.

Standing in line at the market, and waiting in traffic are terrible acts against nature. For me, it’s already suffocating enough being around others, but now my life is at their mercy. Each precious second of my lifespan hangs in the balance. At the root of the problem, is a lack of control over the situation.

People are mistaken when they believe we have any control over anything.

This may surprise you, but I’ve never invented anything that made me a millionaire. But, I also never invented Uggs. And, I’m going to enthrall you with entertaining text that describes why I’m better than that guy.

Uggs, or Ugg Boots as they’re called by Eskimos, are a most atrocious form of footwear shaped like moccasins with extended padding around the ankle. Or, as Eskimos say, “Shit we carved out of dead polar bears and put on our cold fucking feet”. What might shock you, is Uggs were not recently invented. They’ve been around for decades. In fact, nobody really knows where they come from and I might not even be capitalizing the name properly. Therefore, I will fail at it for the rest of the post.

What is known, is the name ugg is very accurate. Or, the full name, uggly. These boots are UGLY. Really. That’s my argument. Actually, there is no argument. Uggs are ugly, and you know that. You, person who wear uggs, know that they are ugly. And, the millions of women wearing them today, all know that. For that reason alone, I have officially declared ugg boots to be the downfall of human civilization.

Women, your foot is a beautiful thing. The contour and shape defines a fetish, loved by millions of creepy guys. Embrace that. Even a large part of your life will be dedicated to shopping for shoes, to compliment your feet. By design, you must concede that what you wrap your foot in must confine to some greater level of standards. Forget appealing to the creepy men, appeal to your inner needs. Understand this: Uggs do NOTHING to compliment your foot, and do EVERYTHING to make me hate you.

I’m very passionate about hating uggs. They inspire women to wear clothing to match. This means, sweat pants. And that means, more lazy and lumpy clothing. Resulting in a bunch of women not looking hot. Women, you look better when you look hot. Do it for me; do it for YOU! Look hot! If you continue to wear uggs, you will continue being uggly.

Thus concluding the only heterosexual women’s clothing review ever written.

On this day of remembrance, I wanted to say a couple things. Terrorists will be terrorists with or without our help. Bad things will happen. Smaller bad things can be prevented, like being hurt in a car wreck if you wear your seat belt. But the bigger things like 9/11 require a lot more than you or I are capable of on our own. I’m grateful for and proud of the men and women, like my nephew Steven, out there taking care of those bigger things. So please do us all a favor. If any of you know anyone who still talks about 9/11 being a conspiracy, or know someone who panics when someone with a Turban sits next to you on a plane, or know someone who can’t tell the difference between Islam and the Al Qaeda, would you consider helping them ease their way back into sanity. Here are some old clips of Bill Clinton responding to 9/11 conspiracy theorists. Watching this just really makes me wish we would put this kind of crap to rest.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdtTccXcThE&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vU-nMsyXP0s&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eVFDY8IN1s&feature=related

Competition is the underlying fundamental motivator that drives the human spirit. Almost every major action we take is, at the root, some form of competition. The highest form being the challenge. Challenges keep us alive. Allow me to explain via my usual nonsensical grandiose manner.

Gravity reigns supreme as the ruler of challenge distribution. Every force that moves our bodies must navigate the gravitational pull of the earth. If our bodies had no intention of facing gravity head on, we would all be lying limp, face down in the dirt. My alcoholic blog visitors already know this very well. After a few drinks, you begin to see how gravity would ultimately kick our ass in any endurance test. First, you start to tumble slightly like you’re on a boat. Next, you don’t land every grasp of the table or chair you want to stand from. After a few rounds of Jack and Coke, you may see yourself up and around more, but it’s only a matter of time before you’re sitting down. A few more shots in, you’ve completely forgotten how to walk. Inevitably, you’re crashing to the ground, or if you are lucky, a couch.

It would be easy to blame this on exhaustion. Your body was more active and abusive than normal and your body needs to shut down for repair. That means sleep. But what your body is really doing, behind the scenes, is forcing you to minimize the gravity factor. Your body never truly shuts off during sleep, and several components are always on. Ever wonder why we don’t sleep standing up? Those cells that comprise your immune system and internal repair facilities function best when your fat ass isn’t forcing them to pump your heart more, or inflate your lungs more often, or fire the neurons in your brain. Your cells operate more efficiently with less gravitational pull. You gotta be closer to the earth’s core to reach that effect.

So, our cells are very aware of their daily challenge. Our whole body is influenced at this microscopic level. Since we start our day rising from sleep, just getting out of bed begins a day full of non-stop challenges. Even the act of moving one foot after another is a cellular challenge. Not surprisingly, humans aren’t even born with the ability to stand upright or walk. But enough about the cellular level. I know you want to hear about every minor physical activity being a challenge, but I must move on for the sake of the children.

Challenges extend beyond our physics and become goals that must be met to achieve results. While everything we do as humans is just one physical activity after another, I want to describe these goals in recognizable actions. Otherwise, you might not be enlightened. You are still here to be enlightened, right? Too bad, I’m about to write about myself. Sucker. I totally got you hooked thinking this would be an educational post. Nope. Totally, self-serving and personal. Keep reading at your own risk of only learning something about me.

Writing this blog is a challenge. So is, singing. Also, earning money. I mention these three as examples, since all three represent something I feel like I’m in total control over and do very well despite myself. But, lately I’ve had some extreme resignations about one of these things in particular. No, not singing. I got that nailed down. Writing this blog is only difficult because of my procrastination skills. Sadly, I’m not very hot on earning money. And I blame competition.

Contrary to my opening statements, competition is something my body doesn’t do well. For one, as I was writing the bits about being physical, all I could think about was how some challenges are more challenging for fatties such as myself. Not sure if I weigh in at 300 pounds, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I came close. Naturally, this means I haven’t been very physically competitive in the athletic arena. I’ve experienced long periods of time when I was working out. But out of my current 36 years on this planet, I’ve spent only a few under 200 pounds. Well, not counting my childhood weight, but I was still fat then. Point being, fatty for life here. But, this post isn’t about a pity party.

Due to my physical stature, and fancy wiring in my brain, I just never compete. In fact, I compromise. Not even passive aggressive behavior, just plain desire to avoid confrontation. At some point long ago, my body started accepting laziness as a lifestyle. Being lazy best describes how I tackle most of life’s obstacles. From my keen ability to get straight to the point of something that I despise (except when I’m talking or writing - oddly - no, that can go on forever) and take the path of least resistance, to the way I take the most minimalist of decision making. Do not expect me to make any fancy dinner reservations. I will not be joining any cause. Need me on your team? Don’t bother unless you’re desperate.

Not that I’m bragging. In fact, I don’t know what it’s like to brag. Bragging implies being proud of something; I have long forgotten what that feeling’s like. I’m incapable of giving a shit. If we’re both doing something together, and a shit must be given at some point, I’m already determining what steps I must take to get out of this situation. Ultimately, if I’m trapped, or feel like I must be participating as some sort of unwritten law of good manners, I’m still dreaming of inventing a cloning machine and passing those situations on to my clones. Most of this relates to the stress I’ve mentioned previously, but a lot of it plays out because of my strong desire to avoid being competitive.

“Oh? You think that girl over there that I just mentioned I was interested in is cute and now you want to go talk to her?” (Go for it buddy)

“Do I want to come over?” (Not really)

“You should get a job.” (Totally)

Do you get the idea? Not sure why I decided to write about this. It’s very difficult going through life knowing about why things are what they are, knowing how to work to improve them, and knowing time is limited. In fact, I would say it’s very challenging. But, that would be corny.