Daniel's Division of Driftwood

Calm Down, Liberals are Idiots Too

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Sun, 03 Aug 2008 06:19:00 +0000

Contrary to popular belief, yelling over and personally insulting someone you consider a "neocon" will not help you win an argument.

Throwing out the projected number of how many Iraqis have been killed since 2003 won't win you any points either. Do you actually think there are Americans who check the Iraqi body count each day? I think they're probably a bit more concerned about the lives of their enlisted children.

Liberals love to blame all of America's problems on the people they don't like, such as George W. Bush. Although W is a moron, and many of our problems today are the fault of him and his high-roller friends, I'm sure there are few people who would call Bill and Hillary Clinton, who pushed NAFTA on us, the architects of a golden age.

Liberals love to say that there is a Zionist conspiracy, that Israel tells the United States government what to do. Yeah, okay. I think that the United States government is a little more worried about undermining the enormous Russian state than it is about appeasing the minuscule Jewish state. Whatever actions the Israelis could take to preserve their interests in the Middle East, they can be nothing compared to those of Russia.

It's become obvious that liberals love to raise Cain about the most distracting points to deceive the average American prole about what's going on the world. What we're seeing in this Iraq mess is history as usual: a big nation wants resources, so it goes to take them from a smaller nation. That's it. Human beings have been doing this for thousands of years. Animals have been doing it for millions of years. For some reason, though, liberals have turned it into a frightening, shadowy conspiracy, with shadow groups and think tanks and evil corporations all pulling strings behind the scenes. Maybe that sort of shit is going on, but when did war profiteering become evil and shocking? That's what war is: a battle for profit. You fight to get more than you had before. You can say you won sovereignty, recognition, or clout, but the fact is that somebody's gettin' rich. Somehow land or resources changed hands. That's profit. If your war ends, and you have less money than you had when the war began, it doesn't matter if you killed all your enemies or not. You lost.

Liberals also like to point out how terrible it is to go to war, and how it scars the psyche and damages the planet. I don't like war myself, because I don't like the idea of dying, but I've learned enough about history and biology to know that life-threatening conflict is about as natural a state as we can ever expect in this world. If we're not at war, we're on the brink of war. And I'm not above it, either: there was a day when I was a little kid when I had a candy bar, and my older brother didn't. He wanted the candy bar, so he took it away from me. I wanted the candy bar too, so I pounced on him, slapping and clawing and kicking to get it back. Pacifist or not, I was willing to fight for what I wanted. This is what happens on planet Earth. It's not a phenomenon. It doesn't need explaining. It's nature.

Liberals and conservatives both like to say that human nature is above such primal simplicity. It's not. They overestimate humanity to make themselves look impressive and civilized, and in turn, to make the people who vote for them feel impressive and civilized. Then they turn on each other and sound like idiots, and like children mimicking their parents, the voters turn on each other and sound like even bigger idiots.

This approach doesn't breed loyalty, though, because it dissolves over time. Americans can't keep their heads in those righteous positions for too long, and I imagine that pisses the politicians off something royal. The real reason Karl Rove failed to win over the American populace and turn the United States into a one-party nation was not because the liberals filled their heads with lies. It was because people in America don't give a shit about ideals. Not at their cores, they don't. Not at their hearts. The political affiliation of a working American is like moss on a big, heavy rock. It's a lovely surface covering, but it doesn't move or change the rock in any way. And how can it? Working Americans are too concerned with their own lives, their own families, their own money to seriously consider the direction of the nation. Fuck the nation, we got bills to pay!

Apathy and self-interest, loathsome qualities both, nonetheless ended up working in favor of the war. Americans bought into the conservative pro-war rhetoric about "saving the poor, tortured Iraqis" in the same way that they care for those Save A Child kids. The thought process goes like this: "Okay, I'll throw a little money at some people who say they'll fix the problem, stroke myself for a little bit, tell myself I'm a good person, and then go spend more money at Starbucks, more money than I just gave that poor kid, on another Frappucino." So long as there's no real commitment involved, Americans are thrilled at the idea of feeling noble, and they love to use it in their arguments.

"I think freeing the Iraqis was one of the most admirable and necessary things we've ever done," the pro-war folks said. You'll notice, however, that once the gas prices started going up, the economy started to suffer, and the portent of sacrifice entered the picture, these people turned tail real quick.

"I can't defend Bush on this one," they say now. "Maybe that Obama character can clean things up. He's not a Muslim, is he?" It's easy to drum up support for a war, so long as the voters aren't personally inconvenienced. Why do you think we haven't had a draft yet?

Let's not go too far with all this voter talk, though. All the maneuvers discussed up to now has nothing to do with policy. It's about image. Voters don't vote for candidates they believe will make life better for them. They vote for who they want to roll wit'. Conservatives strive to look like the Holier-than-thou Hero, and liberals try to dress as the Mad-as-hell Oppressee. Working people, realizing, but not always admitting their insignificance, love to imagine themselves in one of these two roles.

There's a problem with this, though: neither conservatives nor liberals actually do anything to improve the life of the working man anymore. Sure, they'll rile him up to win votes, but when they get into office, they proceed to ignore anyone they don't work with. Yeah, maybe they'll let you or I into the chamber once in a while to take snapshots and gawk at the impressive proceedings, but they won't let you say anything.

The reason for this is that the United States isn't a democracy. I know that might sound confusing, what with all the bellicose boasting of "spreading democracy" as a reason to go to war in the Middle East that goes on these days, but it's true. The United States is not a democracy. The Pledge of Allegiance doesn't say "and to the Democracy for which it stands," it says "and to the Republic," and it's correct. The United States is a republic, and always has been. A small club of people sets the national rule. They let us vote on who is put in charge, but those candidates are first nominated by the same small club of people. The system was made this way because of the prevailing belief among wealthy people that working people are too stupid to know what's best for themselves. When I visit LiveLeak and YouTube, and I read some of the comments posted there, I am pushed dangerously close to sharing this belief. Keeping a big nation afloat requires calculation and consideration that I'm not sure we're capable of. I am compelled to concede that we should just be happy with what we're allowed to have.

Keep in mind, however, that even though the Republic is the nation that won't do anything to better the lives of the workers, the workers are moss-covered rocks who won't give anything of themselves to better the nation. It's a perfect apathetic symbiosis. And don't go calling me cynical, now, either, because that implies that you think mankind can do better. Are you willing to prove that by making sacrifices of your own? Do you think you can change or even topple a republic that knows how to maintain itself by shutting down outsiders? Or are you willing to rescind the luxuries that our warlike lifestyle affords us, and to live ascetically? I ask because those are your only options if you believe that our nature should lead us to any other future than the one we see now.

Conservatives vs. the End of the World

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 08:50:00 +0000

So this is what our cultural discourse has come to: spitting, ranting Republicans raging against the evils of a cute little robot named Wall-e. For God's fucking sake people.

This is the conservative complaint of the day: that Pixar's cute little movie, Wall-e, is pushing its America-hating, liberal agenda in our faces, and turning our children into tree-hugging potheads. They don't understand that intelligent storytelling requires that characters make, and occasionally acknowledge, their mistakes. That the humans in Wall-e are bloated, helpless sacks isn't some damnation of capitalism. It's an indictment of inaction and dependency. It's a stern finger-wagging against the immaturity that tells you things will get better if you just wait for someone else to handle them. It's tragedy. You know, like Shakespeare.

The point of movies is to be entertaining. To be entertaining, movies need drama. Sometimes the most dramatic concept of all is the idea that the world, as its characters know it, is about to end, and for whatever tragic reason, the characters are helpless to save it. Think about Tony Montana. Think about Robert the Bruce. Think about HAMLET, for God's sake. These are men who strive for what they feel they deserve, whether its money or titles or personal justice, but who are too greedy, sheltered, or doubtful to attain it. Shit, I'm no literary scholar, and even I understand this. Didn't any of you go to high school? Didn't you learn about internal conflict? Tony Montana, high on coke and ego, is nevertheless incapable of stopping his fellow mobsters from turning on him. Robert the Bruce, despite his good intentions for Scotland, betrayed William Wallace and caused the deaths of hundreds of his countrymen. And Hamlet...oh, for fuck's sake, I really shouldn't have to explain Hamlet to you.

What I'm trying to say, conservatives, is that this is drama. Filmmakers are paid to imagine stories that will draw out the greatest emotions from their audiences. You must keep in mind that while Wall-e bears the heartbreaking image of an Earth choked with garbage, it also contains a sweet, sentient robot so cognitively advanced that it is capable of falling in love. Do any of you really believe that we're going to see either of such things before our economy collapses, anarchy erupts, and China and Russia swoop in to conquer us?

See, I bet it upset you that I even thought of such a scenario, but you know what? It's not going to happen. I was being dramatic there. That's what storytellers do.

I can understand your concern. Maybe there are some nutcases out there who think that every extinction-level event presented in the movies is plausible and likely, but folks like these have to remember that movies like Wall-e also have singing, dancing robots. I completely agree that anyone who has that much trouble differentiating between fantasy and reality shouldn't be allowed outside of his house. However, there are also a lot of nutcases who think that Saddam Hussein was involved in 9/11, and that Barack Obama is related to Osama Bin Laden, and who think that we can keep fighting insurgents in the Middle East for the next hundred years without it having any effect on our nation. Those ideas are also fantasy, and like movies, I think they are clutched so their owners can better cope with the pains of the day.

Wall-e is not a threat to your comfort zone. It can't be a threat to your comfort zone, because it's a comfort zone itself.

This paranoia, this insistent batshit belief that EVERYONE is out to shit on your precious little ideals, is part of the same self-obsessed, hermetic fear-mongering that put us in this fucking recession. It's why the American dollar has shrunk to half its value. It's why people are losing jobs left and right. It's why everybody's socking away their Stimulus Packages to pay for gas. It might not be October 1929 all over again, but it's pretty bad, and it's REAL. Not a movie. No spaceships, no robots, just a bunch of hard-working people with nothing to show for their efforts. Now, are you going to sit there and cry about how a fucking Pixar movie MIGHT derail America, or are you going to stand up and make an effort to fix what's breaking down now?

Oh Dear.

noreply@blogger.com (Travis Finn) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 21:39:00 +0000

Hey everybody, it's your old pal Travis here, with a small update about my life. I'm sorry to tell ya, but it ain't good news.

Yep, I done been fired from Mervyn's. Darn it.

I don't know what I was doing wrong. I was folding those ties all nice and neat, I was friendly to everyone I saw, I was yelling my lungs out for that Mervyn's card recording. Then one day ol' Shelley came up to me and told me things just weren't working out. She also said she hearda rumor I was stealin', which was really confusing.

Strange thing about it is that this happened right as I was gettin' ready to celebrate my one-year anniversary there. I was beginnin' to feel like I really belonged there. I was so proud. I haven't held a job this long for a long time. I was real excited about my health benefits finally kicking in, too.

Well, at least I'm taking it better than I did last time. Wish me luck as I hit the pavement one more time! That's me, good ol' Travis Finn, professional job-hunter.

Fat Will Kill You All!

noreply@blogger.com (Lord Evil) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 18:11:00 +0000

How wonderful! Operation Flib-flab is nearing completion! Soon, the world will be helpless before the might of my minions!

My brilliant plan to convince all Americans that they're fat and ugly has them so distracted that they'll gladly drop their arms when my invasion begins! Yes, your weakness is not your failing manufacturing capacity, your disconnection from your leadership, or even your desperate addiction to money. It's your WOBBLY, GOBBLY CELLULITE! Now, for the Holocaust of the Fatties! Muhuhahaha! MUHUHAHAHA!

Tips for YouTube Losers, er, I Mean, Users

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 19:32:00 +0000

It's time for amateur hour on the internet, folks, which means we get to watch a myriad of morons pretend they have talent. They'll use their cheap webcams and Windows Movie Maker to tell us their oh-so-important opinions about our wacky culture. It's YouTube!

Hell, I'm no Voltaire myself, but I'm not trying to be a TV star here. If you're reading this, you're probably someone who knows me, so my opinion is at least somewhat valid to you.

Anyway, after getting pissed off while watching some YouTube videos, I have some suggestions for our amateur video uploaders over there. Hey, if you want to graduate to semi-professional someday, you're going to have to take some constructive criticism. Here goes.

1.) Stop using that fucking blue background for your title cards. It looks cheap, and shows that you can't be bothered to at least look at some of the other options Movie Maker provides for you. And try a different fucking font, too, while you're at it. Show some individualism.

2.) If you're making a video that incorporates other video, and you find yourself pointing your camera at a television, fuck it, just give it up. It's going to look like shit. Capture cards aren't as expensive as they used to be; get one. If your directorial urges are strong enough, you'll find a way to fit it into your budget.

3.) Try editing, for christ's sake. Too many of these YouTube videos are cratered with slack-jawed pauses, allowing the rest of us to enjoy the sight of some dork's drooling maw. Either rehearse beforehand, or edit this shit out. I'm not going to keep my browser tab open just to wait for you. You watch those shitty interviews on Extra and Entertainment Tonight, you should know what to do. Use weird flashes or fast zooms to compress time and get to the good quotes. That's all our attention spans have time for these days anyway.

4.) This one's for the commenters, and it's kind of a double suggestion, a twofer. Here's the first part: STOP CELEBRATING WHEN YOU HAPPEN TO BE THE FIRST PERSON TO POST A COMMENT. God damn, these people are stupid; they honestly think it's exciting and fun to be the first person to post a comment on a video. "First comment! Yay!" Sometimes, that's all they fucking post! It's like they don't even care about the video at all, they just want to plant their flag and take off. Then there are the folks who think it's cool to type the way they think a gangsta talks. "Datz da shit fuk that lol way2b foo wut it due," and so on. God DAMN, these people are really fucking dumb. After all, a real drug-slinging, heat-packing, woman-beating gangsta bastard would probably be too busy bribing cops and slitting rival throats to bother sharing his opinion on the latest episode of Dylan's Couch, okay? Gah, I can only wonder if these misguided trogs write everything this way, including their essays (as I can only assume they must still be minors).

These are the people we actually have to deal with on the internet. This is the result of popularity. Anyone who seeks to be famous will have to be ready to put up with this crap. Are you prepared to face the idiots of YouTube?

We Have Commercial Sign

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 10:56:00 +0000

Have you ever seen those poor working stiffs on street corners who have been tasked by their employers with waving broad, cumbersome signs to oncoming traffic? They're all over the place where I live. They shake and shimmy about, braving the cruelty of the elements, hawking five-dollar pizzas and newly-opened residential subdivisions. I have always felt sorry for these people, who are heartlessly forced to depressing indignity by the corporate calculation that live signs cost less than fixed ones.

It seems that there are some folks who don't much mind this sort of dehumanization, though. Well, to be plain, they aren't actual "folks," per se. They're actors hired by large companies to portray ordinary consumer schmoes who are "expressing themselves" by silently holding up signs in stylish advertisements. They usually give a coy, private smile while they do it, as though they're revealing to us some small but significant desire.

I wish that I understood what this image is supposed to mean. Not being a photographer, and lacking any formal education about modern art, I accept that I am poorly qualified to make an opinion about these campaigns. I'm willing to trust my guts, though, when they twist and clench in response to the sight of these sickening sign-holders, as legitimate detectors of pretentious bullshit that needs to stop.

When these creepy, mute actors aren't flashing sheepish grins, they're masked with brazen, proud expressions, as though the slat in their hands is some faux-impressionist painting they just finished in art class. I don't get it; what exactly do these people have to be proud of? That they're being paid to carry giant fortune cookie contents? As though these advertising bastards really think they're in touch with the mindset of the "common man." Yeah, here's what these advertising dicks think of you, Mr. and Mrs. Sixpack: you're just another venue for extolling frivolous pharmaceuticals and hokey environmentally-conscious vehicles. So long as the price is right, you won't even care if your actual thoughts are heard, you'll hold that strip of paperboard and smile like you really believe in whatever is painted on it in post-production. I may be just some boring, misanthropic slob, but I'd much prefer to turn that fucking music down what's drowning me out, split that board over my knee, and start yelling about what I demand from these cheapass, money-grubbing corporations. Sure, nobody wants to see a commercial with people yelling, but that doesn't stop your local car dealership from making them, now does it?

It's clear that someone, somewhere out there in the absinthe-sucking art world still finds this saps-holding-signs theme aesthetically appealing. Me, I found it annoying way back in 1986, when INXS did it in their music video for Mediate. I can live with that instance, though, because that was a cry for peace and tolerance; these are just bored directors and unimaginative ad execs who think that the dramatic value of slow-motion and the cost-effective lack of speech will work to suck away a little more of your money. Don't buy into it, people. These frozen fuckers you see holding up meticulously planned phrases on television are not your watchful brethren. These are paid shills with opinions thrust upon them, mouthpieces who are in no better position than those wretched souls who haul sandwich boards in the rain, as they try to make peace with those hours they've spent as walking billboards that they can never get back.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 13:20:00 +0000

Douglas Adams's beloved comic novel is not about some astonishingly lucky guy named Arthur Dent. Nor is it about a two-headed, three-armed, stoner politician. It's not even about that voluminous precursor to the Amazon Kindle called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

No, this slim, unassuming little book is about no less than a twenty-million-year quest for the meaning of life. It tells how a number of tremendous technological efforts, put forth by a race of superintelligent pandimensional beings, fail to find this great Answer, and then how a lonely, burned-out shoreline artisan figures it all out by himself.

There are many lost souls in Galaxy, ranging from the desperate egotist Zaphod Beeblebrox, to the endlessly thinking Marvin, to the money-grubbing, brain-stealing mice from another dimension. Each of them gropes in his own particular way for meaning and truth, and each of them comes up short or has to fudge his way to success. Zaphod and his buddy Ford Prefect are constant freewheelers; clever though they are, they rarely put their minds towards some grand good. They prefer to steal valuable machinery, evade authorities, do whatever comes next, and get wasted when they can.

Marvin and Arthur are more careful and logical in their approaches to life, but they allow their thoughts to carry them away, and they sink into sadness and anxiety. Marvin, being a robot, is gifted with mighty calculative capabilities, and thus he is especially crushed by this. He can navigate complex philosophies and analyze natural phenomena in nanoseconds. With no fulfilling challenges left to him, his boredom strikes him lame.

Other characters just want to keep their jobs, their money, or their reputations, and then get through the day without going crazy. Even these people aren't entirely happy, though. Theoretical scientists lynch each other when they're outsmarted. Colossal civilizations wage interstellar war over petty insults. Boring bureaucrats insist on being seen as creative and exciting, while their poetry is considered an instrument of torture. Even the super-wealthy can't find contentment, as they resort to ordering custom-made planets in their futile search for satisfaction.

So who is the one man who really understands the meaning of life? It's none other than Slartibartfast, one of the craftsmen of the planet Earth, who won an award for designing the fjords of Norway.

Here is how he puts it:

“Maybe. Who cares?” said Slartibartfast before Arthur got too excited. “Perhaps I’m old and tired,” he continued, “but I always think that the chances of finding out what really is going on are so absurdly remote that the only thing to do is to say hang the sense of it and just keep yourself occupied. Look at me: I design coastlines. I got an award for Norway.”

He rummaged around in a pile of debris and puled out a large Plexiglas block with his name on it and a model of Norway molded into it.

“Where’s the sense in that?” he said. “None that I’ve been able to make out. I’ve been doing fjords all my life. For a fleeting moment they become fashionable and I get a major award.”

He turned it over in his hands with a shrug and tossed it aside carelessly, but not so carelessly that it didn’t land on something soft.

“In this replacement Earth we’re building they’ve given me Africa to do and of course I’m doing it with all fjords again because I happen to like them, and I’m old-fashioned enough to think that they give a lovely baroque feel to a continent. And they tell me it’s not equatorial enough. Equatorial!” He gave a hollow laugh. “What does it matter? Science has achieved some wonderful things, of course, but I’d far rather be happy than right any day.”

Adams quietly tucks this winning philosophy into his tale as a way of defusing the restless ambitions that constantly boil in his mad universe. Slartibartfast's attitude is very serene; almost Buddha-like. He's even given up on learning where he came from or why he exists. He desires little other than the joy he derives from the work that he does.

In a later book in the Galaxy series, Arthur finds himself in a similar position to Slartibartfast, when he becomes a sandwich maker in a remote village. Sadly, this calmness doesn't last for him, but he does acknowledge it as the one precious slice of time when he felt truly content. I think there's a lesson in that.

People write off the Hitchhiker's books as rubbish novels, but I find it hard to agree with that. They may be comedies, they may be a tad baked in their efforts to be quirky and random, and some of the dialogue is implausible, but I think there is a relevant and universal message buried in there somewhere. You're not going to find it in Marvin, though, so let the little guy go.

Rankin-Bass's The Hobbit

noreply@blogger.com (LisVender) — Fri, 07 Dec 2007 16:12:00 +0000

This lovely grey season invariably brings to my mind the creative efforts of one animation studio that has fallen away from society: the great, and yet humble, Rankin-Bass Productions. It was a daring and pioneering studio with tremendous vision, and one that left memories in all those who viewed their work. Compared to those of larger, more renowned studios such as Disney, Rankin-Bass's productions look plainer and cheaper, but there is an unmistakable spirit, a charming atmosphere and a full heart in them.

Even so, most people hate their version of The Hobbit.

I do not share this opinion. I still recall with warmth and fondness the years when the television networks aired The Hobbit without fail in November. I still recall those soft lute ballads, those gorgeous watercolor backgrounds, and the deep, rich voices of John Huston and Hans Conried engaging my child's senses. Sure, it's a cartoon that takes liberties with J.R.R. Tolkien's timeless story, diluting some of its more horrific scenes and themes of passage, but I still associate it with the thick, reflective nature of the holy season, and I think it's an excellent venue for introducing people to The Lord of the Rings, what most assume to be a ponderous text.

There are people who make the mistake of saying that The Hobbit is an adolescent fantasy dreamed up and admired by antisocial Dungeons & Dragons enthusiasts. It's an understandable misunderstanding, as most folks of the age of The Hobbit's popularity had never before heard of Tolkien, who published his stories in the early 40s and 50s. The fact is, however, that Gary Gygax developed the D&D tabletop role-playing game as a way to relive hobbitty adventures. To plunge Tolkien fans, who were sad so see the stories of Frodo and Sam cease, right into the hiking boots of those hobbits, dwarves, and elves, and allow them to live out their own fantasies in Middle-Earth. Though some of its creature names and lore were changed for copyright purposes, Dungeons & Dragons is really no more than a detailed, imagination-fueled Tolkien simulator.

Such was the lure of the untamed and mystical world Tolkien devised. Rankin-Bass saw this, and decided to take on the tale of Bilbo Baggins and how he uses wits and determination to overcome tremendous dangers and bring peace to his society. The cartoon is only ninety minutes long, so many of the episodes described in the book are expectedly truncated, but others, thankfully the more memorable ones, are lavished with attention and treated royally.

What impresses me most about The Hobbit is its striking artistic style, which depicts its characters not as baby-faced, wide-eyed cherubs, but as aged, callused, wrinkled creatures, full of thought and desire. The wondrous voice acting adds to this. John Huston gives Gandalf the kindness which is the badge of experience and wisdom, while Hans Conried brings just the right amounts of pomp, pride, and power to the dwarf prince Thorin. There is still a gee-whiz quality in Orson Bean's Bilbo, but I think this helps to relate him to younger viewers, and it works for the rest of us because the hobbit is indeed a fifty-year old man who has lived a hopelessly sheltered life. Later in the movie, when Bilbo is confronted with his companions' unshakable greed, he takes on a disillusionment and disappointment that is immediately appealing and cheer-worthy.

The most haunting performance, however, is provided by Brother Theodore, who plays that pitiful prisoner of the One Ring, Gollum.

Tolkien fans never tire of berating the Rankin-Bass depiction of Gollum, who was described in The Lord of the Rings as having once been a hobbit, and who, in this cartoon, looks less like one of Bilbo's kin and more like an amphibious beast. Gollum is drawn as a being indigenous to deep, wet caverns, and he speaks and moves in a slow, meandering style. While this conflicts with how the character was described in The Lord of the Rings, to readers who've only enjoyed its predecessor, the Rankin-Bass Gollum probably won't seem too distracting. I like to remember that Tolkien rarely describes how his characters look in detail, and aside from Bilbo and Gandalf, most of the faces of Middle-Earth are left clear for the reader to construct. This version of The Hobbit is Rankin-Bass's, and thus it is only one interpretation of another man's words. Let's be a little fair to it, all right? The Riddles in the Dark chapter is one of most important in the book, and it is given its due time in the cartoon. Gollum's expressions are speech here are genuinely scary, and his raspy, echoing delivery of Tolkien's riddles always gives me chills.

The best part of the Hobbit, and this is my opinion as both a reader and a writer, is the terrific twist that occurs once the story's main quest is ended, and the many factions encountered by Bilbo converge for a massive battle. Sadly, it seems that Rankin-Bass lacked the budget or the permission to fully realize this battle, but there is still some surprising violence shown. The theme isn't lost, either, and my favorite scene of them all, in which Thorin redeems himself to Bilbo, is extraordinary, and darkly relevant in these depressing, deadly times.

I think people need to go easier on this particular vision of The Hobbit. It's a child of the 60s, when music was soft and loving, and not loud and self-serving, when people took pride in mankind's courage and generosity, and weren't constantly presented with its vices and indifference. It's also when cartoon specials really were special. If you think that The Hobbit is for nerds, or that its message is buried behind a mythology you lack the patience to penetrate, I think that Rankin-Bass's version is the door you should open.

Just Don't Ask What My God Looks Like

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 01:19:00 +0000

I've had my share of requests from people who want me to visit their churches, and those people have had their share of rejections from me. The reason for this is not idleness, pride, or even agnosticism. The reason is that I am the founder of my own religion, and it would be faithless to observe another.

My religion is called the "Don't Be An Asshole Religion," and as of today, it is one man strong.

There is only one commandment in the Don't Be An Asshole Religion, and that commandment is "Thou shalt not be an asshole." It is absolutely sinless to be anything you want to be in the Don't Be An Asshole religion: male or female, homo or hetero, conservative or liberal, nerdy or gangsta. If you are not an asshole, you are welcome in our fold.

Followers of the Don't Be An Asshole Religion pursue heavenly bliss, but it's not something they attain when they die. They are encouraged to find it here on Earth, by working toward contentment with courage and conviction. Rudeness, egotism, and ignorance are not permitted in the Don't Be An Asshole Religion, because those are qualities often exhibited by assholes, and they are only allowed when they are displayed against known assholes.

You may wonder what constitutes an asshole for the purposes of admittance into this religion. It's a fair question, but it's also not easily answered, as assholes have historically come in many colors, shapes, and flavors. It is sufficient to remember anyone about whom you've said, "Jesus, what an asshole," and then to not behave like that person.

It is against the Don't Be An Asshole Religion to make conscious efforts to recruit others into it, as that sort of pride is one of the most recognizable marks of the asshole, so propagation of the faith has been slow. I'm okay with that, however, as one of the innate laws of the religion is that the wider it spreads, the more likely it becomes that an asshole will infiltrate it, an event that heralds the faith's corruption and eventual downfall. So I'm in no hurry for the word to spread.

This blog post is not intended to be an advertisement, anyway. I merely felt it necessary to explain my invariable answer to those who would invite me to places of worship. Thank you for the generous offer, but spiritually speaking, I am covered.

Covered from the Asshole.

Stop This.

noreply@blogger.com (LisVender) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 07:19:00 +0000

Apparently some people haven't figured out that cameras work just as well when aimed at eye level.

I guess one of the reasons for this irritating trend is to showcase cleavage, and so to distract attention away from the face.

Another cause may be the desire of the subject to appear weak and waif-like by creating the illusion that she is the size of a child.

Am I supposed to be intimidated?

Ooh, you're so scary! Unfortunately it's because you're so hideous! Listen, ladies, holding your camera up high does nothing but present the same ugly subject from a new angle. All anyone learns about you from a portrait like this is that you have arms of a standard or perhaps excessive length.

Why is it that women these days are going out of their way to present themselves as being more unattractive than they already are? Pajama bottoms that make them look homeless, lip piercings that make them look like the ones that got away, and now these self-portraits from high in the sky, which serves only to make them appear less mature and technologically savvy than stereotype has already asserted. If you want to be treated as equals, it's time to grow up!

People I Can Do Without

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Wed, 24 Oct 2007 18:30:00 +0000

*Girls who say "dude."

*Anyone who wears pajama bottoms in public.

*People who use internet and text message acronyms in their actual speech.

*Parents who think their toddlers have ADD.

*People who believe in demons.

*Big fat guys with ponytails.

*Smokers who complain that they're always broke.

*Guys who wear their hoods indoors.

*Anyone over twelve who thinks ninjas are cool.

*Comedian activists.

*People who use the word "awesome" and mean it.

*American soccer fans.

*Women who think it's a feminist statement to not shave their legs. Lord save us!

What a Weird Message!

noreply@blogger.com (Travis Finn) — Tue, 23 Oct 2007 01:48:00 +0000

Hey everybody! Travis here, faithful office worker at your local Mervyn's! Uh, there really isn't much to tell you about these days, aside from one thing. Uh, it's a note I found at work, out in the open, undelivered. Heh, well, actually it was crumpled in the trash, but it was still pretty interesting! I was so darn intrigued by it that I figured, hey, maybe the person it's meant for is looking for it! So, for the fun of it, I've decided to put it up here so the person it's meant for might find it, uh, or something. This is a good idea, isn't it?

Here goes:

"Oh, is this that temper you're always so proud to tell me frightens people? That just tells me that I was right about all this. I'm not going to bother you about it though. Listen, if you want me to leave you alone, I only ask that you extend me the same courtesy. You have meddled in my work in the past, you have sneaked into my private projects, you have erased things that I have worked on, and knowing that you found my livejournal, not to mention some of the forum posts I've made which I never told you about, makes me nervous.

If you're looking for some sign that my life is deteriorating while yours improves, you're wasting your time. Say it to me, don't sneak around. And don't tell me what I 'need' to do. I don't know if you remember, as it seems alarmingly easy for you to put such things behind you, but you've been an enormous part of my life. You were my first love, my first kiss, my first everything. Just because you were able to find true love (again), get pregnant and then married in Las Vegas all in the span of a year doesn't mean it's that easy for me. I'll end here with a mirror of your request: if you're rifling through my things, just say it to my face. If you're too afraid to do that, then stay out of my stuff. "

Love or Fear, You Can't Have Both, You Won't Get Either

noreply@blogger.com (LisVender) — Sat, 22 Sep 2007 22:44:00 +0000

An invariable question posed during a job interview is the one about the "team player." Are you a team player? How do you feel about being on a team? You realize that your actions will affect the team, don't you? After the employment, there are team-building exercises, there are team leaders barking orders, there are friendly team competitions, and there are team organizers who keep the teams in order. Jobs nowadays are simply teeming with teams. Get excited! Come on, we're a team, we're excited! Let's get out there and push that merchandise and make this the best fiscal year our company's ever had, huh? Guys? Why aren't you excited?

The reason it's so hard to get excited at team events is that the employee is being reminded that he is no longer the master of his destiny. He forfeited that title when he signed his W4. His sense of identity has been surrendered to simpering bureaucrats who will gladly throttle it until it falls silent.

Not long ago, I hosted a small soiree at my place with some workmates of mine. We chatted, we sang, we drank lots of wine. Perhaps too much, as my friends left quite a mess behind them. When I awoke the following morning, I surveyed the damage and decided that I would have to miss work so I could clean my home before the vermin set in. Upon hearing this, my manager phoned me multiple times, leaving messages that it was imperative that I call him. I was busy washing my carpet, so I refused to drop what I was doing just to talk to him. When I finally did call him back, he explained that none of the people I'd had over the previous night showed up to work either. He told me that he was very disappointed in me because so much of the team called in due to my gathering. He asked me what I felt about that. My honest opinion would have involved the term "rat's ass," but out of sensitivity I told him that I wasn't sure what to feel, and then I asked if he could provide a suggestion. He threatened my job after that. Disgusted, I hung up the phone. The manager has since transferred to some backwater to throw his flabby, tattooed weight around in, while I quit and moved to a more profitable position.

This sad little manager, pompous and laughable though he was, nevertheless impressed me. He helped me to realize just how small and powerless the men of this era really are. Like that picture-perfect caricature of authority, Michael Scott from The Office, today's men are desperate, petty creatures who rationalize their weakness by pushing their responsibilities on others, hiding pain and truth behind raucous humor and foul language, and using abstract paperwork to trick others into a sense of inferiority. It's the same as the "team" idea. It's about fooling you into thinking you're smaller than someone who's just as small as you. It's ageless, alpha male behavior, only diluted, demoralized, and soft.

The only true alphas in this world are the ones no one can see or touch. There are lots of fakers out there; lots of men who want you to think they are the big fish, but the vehemence they argue with exposes them. Small men who are ashamed of their lot are always the ones who will fight and fight and fight to prove they are special, even if proof is lacking, and all they can attain is the maintenance of a fantasy. Like a free Middle East.

So it's no great shock to me that women these days are shunning men as we know traditionally know them, and concentrating instead on scrawny, scraggly, mop-topped waifs such as Justin Timberlake and John Krasinki. Women nowadays don't look for barrel-chests, they want flat abs. They don't want savage, they want svelte. They don't want macho, they want metro. They want men to be more like they are. They want women.

My puissant town is full of these hideous, wrinkly, overly tan women with long, greasy-looking hair and sagging flaps of flesh, but you know what? They all have great nails. Their fingers are crested with cute little flowers, their toes are ribbed with pink and purple stripes. Now although there are men who enjoy looking at women's toes, most women are revolted by that idea. So who are these women trying to impress?

EACH OTHER.

Men don't care about jewelry. Men don't care about braids. Men don't care about brand name fashion. Women buy those things to outdo each other in battles of grace, femininity, and cash flow. Women want to feel assured that they are prettier, stronger, and richer than the other females in their clans. Women are turning into men. In an ideal world, women would find mates who share their fascination with conquering others of their own sex, and yet who are invulnerable to the battle themselves. This is why women get on with gay men so well.

But all the other men are angry, conservative beasts who aren't about to change, so they continue to pound their heads against the stone wall as hard as they can, hoarding what little power and influence they can reach, until they exhaust themselves and burn out to tiny piles of broken hopes, with naught of their bodies left but crooked mouths so they may continue pouring forth rationalizations for their failures.

It seems that we are all on the path to ruin. Where, o where, then, is the true will to power?

It is in the abandonment of ambition. It is in contentment with the present, and with the self. It is in the appreciation of one's capabilities, minute though they might be. It is in the understanding that all achievement is judged, and eventually forgotten, by other men, and thus it matters little. Power is in being grateful no matter what your lot is, how much money you have, or what women love you. If you attain that acceptance, there are none who can topple you.

Can You Tase the Rest of the Frat While You're at It?

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 00:33:00 +0000

Everyone genuflect before the glorious police force of Gainesville, Florida, what performed an act so very long overdue: they swept one of those shiftless, pretentious, single-celled, addle-pated, semi-pubescent, inarticulate, low-frequency, undeserving, self-celebrating, Bumfights-watching, shot-sucking, Abercrombie-wearing, XBox-playing, liquor-bottle collecting, rich and white children of privilege into the brutal currents of reality. I now hope that this fool's parents will separate from their denial that the fees they pay for their delightful progeny's education are being perceived by him as less of a tuition and more of a cover charge. Getting wasted and being ridiculous indeed. Quite a family legacy. A son to be proud of.

"Don't tase me, bro," he cried. An electrical jolt is but one of the punishments that this representative of our gene pool deserves. I suggest that he be sent to aid a unit bound and seized among the deathtrap of Iraq, not so that he can die or be maimed, and not so he can gather support for his pointless points of view on the matter. I make this suggestion so that he might witness and recognize youth of a species he obviously has never been peer to. Youth of sacrifice and strength who consider others before themselves, who toil and suffer with no expectation of personal glory or gain, who place their bodies beneath tremendous, crushing weights even with the understanding that they may break before their destiny is met, or even known.

I want this war to end, too. I hate knowing that so many people are being killed for some nebulous political purpose that no one really comprehends. But getting drunk, pulling moronic pranks, glorifying yourself, and then yelling and screaming like a douchebag that others are not serving you properly is the approach of the immature and the impotent. You don't deserve to be taken seriously, Mr. Meyers, and you have incurred the due consequence for your impertinence, your ineptitude, and your impetuosity. If you want to change the world, you need to give more of yourself than your bloated ego, healthy servings of it though there be.

Asphalt Groovin'

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 21:20:00 +0000

A fellow from a northern state yesterday told me that we Californians are horrible drivers. Like any good statesman, I was initially affronted by this declaration, and I made to defend my Western brethren with equally general soothsaying, but then I dropped into a window of thought, and found myself coaxed towards agreement.

I have ridden the roads of other states and nations, sometimes without choice, and I must here concede: the people of California drive like idiots. They become thoughtless, heartless monsters with hides of steel when they drive, as though they physically assume the forms and apparent brain sizes of the vehicles they pilot. We're really quite crazy behind the wheel, and our insanity does not fluctuate with relation to the business of our region. The smallest Schwarzeneggerin hamlet is just as likely to play home to an aspiring NASCAR entrant as the mad and cruel Los Angeles cloverleafs.

Racing for the winner's circle is not even our greatest goof, as in my experience, the opposite offense is the more common. I couldn't report what these folks are in search of, but I can say that they rarely seem to find it, as they crawl along demanding thoroughfares at speeds far below those recommended, before they make their abrupt choices without any concern for informing those surrounding about it.

No one likes to use turn signals in California. Tilting that plastic dowel, which juts but inches from their driving hands, a trifle upwards or downwards has become too great an effort for today's busy travelers, whose tunnels of attention are probably already filled by some demanding conversation taking place on their Chocolates, or else by the Venti Caramel Frappucinos they are balancing on their lips. I can predict with no small amount of confidence that my commute this evening will see me face death by uncommunicated lane change at least twice.

That defensive slice of me that was prickled when my friend made his first attack wants to put forth that the discourteous driving habits of the common Californian are actually indicative of a sensible, statewide philosophy, one which celebrates assertiveness, multitasking, and punctuality. When faced with the results of these teachings myself, however, my argument tends to deflate, as any idea that the SUV who just cut me off is helmed by a determined captain of industry is replaced by the image of a self-righteous, demanding dotard, whose expectations of entitlement have climbed to grossly high levels.

Well! It's time to go to work. I'll see you on the road, and though I cannot make a promise of it, I shall try not to present you with a rude, inflammatory gesture.

No No No!

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Wed, 22 Aug 2007 19:49:00 +0000

It's not like Vietnam at all, so stop comparing the two, would you? In Vietnam, Americans actually cared about the people we were trying to save. In this war, the people we're trying to help are blowing our soldiers up. After Vietnam, we said, "Oh, those poor innocent people, they never even had a chance." For Iraq, we're saying, "Fuck those fundamentalist, head-chopping assfucks! We should have bombed that whole region a long time ago!" They were killing themselves before the war, they're killing themselves (and us) throughout the war, and they'll be killing themselves after the war. We hate Iraq because Iraq hates itself. You can only intervene for so long before you have to throw up your hands and say, "Well, I've done all I can do." It's time to let go, and allow the Iraqis to tire themselves out on civil war. You and Dick may have a rough time cutting deals with whoever ends up in charge, Mr. Bush, but I doubt that the rest of the U.S. will have any problems sleeping at night.

Sore in the Shoulders

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 18:52:00 +0000

Have you ever remembered a safe, comfortable time in your life, and then longed for it? Sometimes the hurt is brought on by an image, other times a song, and still other times a person. When this happens to me, strange memories return to me. I remember sensations, such as comfort, hopelessness, or fear, and sometimes I remember details, such as a smile or a laugh, or a view through a doorway, or the position of the sun. Indeed, some of my sharpest, most poignant remembrances are marked by their time of day.

Sometimes everything gets mixed and jumbled, and that's when I feel sad, because without cohesion, these memories lack meaning. I look at the scattered mess of my past and wonder about my motivations. Were my days ever my own, or were they ordered by someone else? Did I seek the things I really wanted, or did I just dodge the things that frightened me? Am I doing what's right, or am I just playing it safe?

Everyone is younger than me in my current job, and I'm not used to that. I was always the ineffectual little boy that no one talked to or cared about. So long as I was playing Nintendo, it was assumed that I was safe, and I was left alone. I'm a grown man now, and I still just want to be left alone. No one will do that anymore, though. Everyone wants a piece of you when you get to be my age, and it's never for the reasons you want them to.

I'm too old to break free from my shell and do the things I wished I'd done as a younger man. Those opportunities are gone. Where is the reward for my abstinence? When does my civility and restraint pay off? I believe that Heaven must be made on Earth, but it's hard to create paradise without some daring, and it's even harder to maintain it. People don't often share personal visions of Heaven, and then they want to take it away when they see someone else in it. The hunt for Heaven, therefore, must be a solitary pursuit, and the price of paradise, therefore, must be a chronic loneliness.

We toil daily, searching for satisfaction, and when our time is up, we look back and lament happiness as something very distant. Somewhere along the road, we forget where we're supposed to be going, and we get sidetracked. Then the sun sinks behind the clouds and we never see it again. What is this distraction that pulls us off to the wrong exit?

Perhaps I can distract myself back, using the memories and joys that keep calling out to remind me of who Daniel is. Precious people may have disappeared, but perhaps are there more.

Birthrights and Entitlements

noreply@blogger.com (LisVender) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 04:35:00 +0000

So, it's finally happened: we've witnessed the dubious debacle of a debate dominated by dolts. By "dolts," I refer to those folks who clog the bandwidth of our precious internet at YouTube. Those rich and powerful candidates, while hardly flawless themselves, were forced to address the concerns of a rabble of self-centered, unenlightened, me-me-me lightweights who effectively revealed the half-tech-savvy for the campy, pretentious kooks that they are. I imagine the rest of the country took in this event with slack jaws and crooked brows.

Smug, snide, and only vaguely creative, the Liberal Elite lined up to make fools of themselves on television, our new national pastime. Two plump, short-haired lesbians, who apparently thought they were being cleverly sarcastic in broaching a controversial topic, submitted a video in which they asked if any of the Democratic candidates would object to their getting married...to each other. They then kissed each other...on the mouth. Gurgle! Gasp! Recoil!

Whatever.

While I appreciate an earthy assault on the ivory tower as much as the next monsieur, I consider this question to be the truest example of why the United States, my home for as long as the tectonic plates beneath it stay in place, is devolving to sludge. I'm not talking about the issue of homosexuality as sin here, I'm talking about the elevation of it from old-fashioned American prejudice to humanitarian crisis. While good kids are bleeding the sands red in Iraq, we have fat, man-hating women complaining about how they can't get married and have more kids to send off to die.

Weren't the Democrats hired into the Majority to stop this war, or am I just wrong about that? Young Americans are being killed and tortured daily for the fourth straight year, and we're still wasting our time on gay people and global warming? People try to say that you shouldn't belittle their problems, but the simple truth is that these issues were born for the back burner.

There is only one problem this country should be focusing on right now, and he's sitting in the White House, laughing his empty-headed ass off and eating healthily. Instead of fussing over what lobbies they're taking money from, the Democratic candidates should be uniting to decide who'll ride this idiot out, and who'll bring the rail. If they can't accomplish this, they will only prove their membership to that great club of tax thieves who put us in this mess to begin with.

To Catch a, uh, Stealing Person

noreply@blogger.com (Travis Finn) — Mon, 06 Aug 2007 16:21:00 +0000

Hello all. Travis here again, and have I got a story to tell ya today, boy howdy.

Y'all know how Mervyn's looks so pretty and clean and invitin' when you come inside to buy things, right? Well, in the back of the store, where customers don't go, things are pretty different. Back there, things are ugly, disorganized, and, well, just plain yucky, to tell ya the truth. It's gray, it's dim, and it's cramped, and it's easy to get lost back there. It's already happened to me a couple of times. I made sure to take a picture of the store map with my cell phone so I could refer to it whenever I'm back there.

Anyway, even though I'm assigned to the office, it seems like Mervyn's is always aching for help with inventory, so I'm often sent into the dark corridors to fold things and box things and stuff things on shelves. I was on one of those little runs when I saw something weird.

Alberto is in logistics. He's one of the guys who gets inventory out of our shipping trucks and makes sure that they're put on the sales floor in a timely manner. Some people call this product flow, because he keeps the products flowing, ya know what I mean?

So I'm edging around the tall metal shelves in the back of the store, on the hunt for a bag of towels, when I see Alberto, hunkered down between two piles of boxes. One pile is a batch of brand new appliances, meant to be put on display in our home department. The other pile is a bunch of empties, meant for the trash. He's opening the new boxes and transferring the contents to the old ones. Then he tapes them up real tight. He does it all real quick-like, too. He's moving faster than I've ever seen him move. I don't say anythin', I just kinda hide behind one of the shelves and watch. When he's done puttin' the appliances into the unmarked boxes, he takes the originals and tosses them in a trash cart. He shoves them deep into the cart and covers them with some of the garbage that was already in there. Then he comes back, hefts the now-filled unmarked boxes, and tucks them behind a locker near one of the exits. He shoves them back a bit, so they're obscured by the shadows. Then he looks around and walks away.

I came back a few hours later, when the store was closing, and just kinda took a peek behind that locker. I doubt you'll be surprised when I tell you that those boxes were nowhere to be seen.

Now, I don't like to use such a harsh word as "thief" if I can avoid it. I'd much rather use a phrase like "person who took something that isn't theirs." Even so, it's not fair for me to make any assumptions, so if anyone asks about the missing appliances, I'll just say I have no idea. Rumors and hearsay, that's all that is. Hopefully, I will have gotten over the nosebleeds I usually get when I tell a lie by the time that happens.

Business People are the Unluckiest People

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Mon, 23 Jul 2007 16:34:00 +0000

Have you seen that dumbass commercial where the losers in three-piece suits are running around with laser pointers, acting like they're having fun and being all creative? Then it turns out that all they are drawing are PIE CHARTS and LINE GRAPHS?

What sad, soulless people businessmen and businesswomen must be. To dream only of increasing numbers, of improving sales, of impressing richer, more important people, and of serving a faceless, heartless, emotionless boardroom is a fate so dreary that I cannot imagine it, and I've been committed to a mental hospital.

I wonder if there are any children out there who dream about raising percentages and building profits. I wonder if there are any six-year-olds who study corporate practices and say, "When I grow up, I'm going to steal my stockholders' assets!"

It takes all kinds to make a world, but it's always been problematic for me to comprehend the mind of someone who is thrilled by the man-made sciences. I'd rather delve into the dark places that cannot be sheared by the cold light of law.

Like the vagina. Who can fathom that soft and enticing cavern of death?

The Vaccine Takes Over

noreply@blogger.com (Daniel) — Sat, 14 Jul 2007 17:53:00 +0000

Man alive! I've been struggling to uninstall my Symantec Antivirus in order to switch to BitDefender, and the damn SAV just won't die! It keeps officiously replicating itself in order to maintain its duty of protecting my data. The damn thing is so stubborn that it's as bad as a virus itself!

Why are these programs so difficult to remove? Why does their influence seep into the tiniest cracks of my system, where I can't extricate it without some special scouring utility? Who thought that making anti-virus programs impossible to remove was a good idea? Hasn't anyone seen Roujin-Z? There's a point where technology can be a little too helpful. Hey Symantec, you really shouldn't assume that a user is going to stick with your software for all eternity, okay? That's just arrogant, and I won't stand for it. I am hereby banning all Symantec products from this home, and any that enter shall be incinerated in my fireplace!

Um...This Isn't Quite What I Expected

noreply@blogger.com (Travis Finn) — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 16:55:00 +0000

Travis here, everybody. I've been workin' at Mervyn's for a little while now, in the, um, "office," and I'm, uh, a little confused about the whole thing.

You see, when I applied for the office position, I thought that I might be doin' something, you know, like office work. Typing, maybe, or puttin' files away. Or maybe just peckin' keys on a computer. You know how department stores always have those really ol' DOS computers that no one can figure out? I thought I might be able to help people with that.

Well, the thing is, I'm not doing anything like that. Instead, they got me standing in this little alcove at the back of the store, helpin' folks who come back there with complaints or returns, and, um...I'm doing a lot of gift-wrapping. I've never been very good at wrappin' gifts, I usually like ta just slide my presents inta gift bags and call it a day, so I'm kinda struggling.

Then, uh...there's this other thing I have to do. I really don't understand it, but I have to do it every fifteen minutes. What I have to do is recite a page of words into the store's PA so all the customers can hear it. The words kinda go like this:

"Hello, Mervyn's shoppers! Today we are selling lingerie and baby shoes for 15% off! That's right, 15% off! And remember, if you use your Mervyn's card, you will receive an extra 5% off! What a deal! Have a great day, and thank you for shopping at Mervyn's!"

I have to recite this message every fifteen minutes. I'm, uh, not sure why the store doesn't just record this message and have it play over the PA automatically, but hey, I'm not the boss here.

The real boss, Shelly, likes to come around whenever I make this announcement and tell me that I'm not reading it loudly or enthusiastically enough. She says that I need to really yell this thing. Usually this sort of enthusiasm comes quite naturally to me, so I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I think I'm really tryin' hard here.

Well, I'm tryin' as hard as I can, anyway. It's kinda hard to get excited about things you really don't understand or believe in, but I must keep trying! My future is on the line! I, I...I'm not about to get fired again! Never!

I Eat Little Girls for Breakfast. No, Really.

noreply@blogger.com (Lord Evil) — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 04:50:00 +0000

The release of the upcoming Transformers movie has caught my interest, as it coincides with a plan for constructing giant robots that I recently hatched. I've been looking over the trailers, and...there's this scene that really bothers me.

It's the scene in which a Transformer emerges from a swimming pool, and...ehh...there's this little girl watching it. She just stands there, clutching a teddy bear, and she doesn't emote at all as this horrifying alien creature stomps past her.

What the hell is this?

This isn't a true performance. A real little girl would scamper under her bed if something that gigantic came clomping through her yard. And don't try to tell me that the little girl is so innocent that she doesn't recognize this creature as a threat. That's not innocence, that's stupidity. Human beings are animals, and whether they want to admit it or not, the primal instincts that kept them alive in prehistoric times are still present in their psyches. That means that when something that's ten times larger than you are comes barreling toward you, you're going to want to run away from it.

When a human encounters another creature, the first physical quality its brain recognizes is the creature's size. This is because size is the simplest way to judge whether that creature is capable of killing you. Color, shape, composition and focus are all secondary. That's just how the eyes and brain work. And here in this Transformers movie, we are expected to believe that this little girl sees an enormous monster crawl from her backyard and doesn't feel a thing. Dubious.

What is this reverence that Hollywood has for little girls anyway? Movies like The Ring, The Shining, Resident Evil, and Apocalypto (which I otherwise enjoyed), they all turn little girls into fetish objects, idols of great power and dread. I look at this and I burst out laughing. When was it decided that we're supposed to be afraid of little girls? And who decided it? I'm guessing it was a closet pedophile whose own self-hatred for fantasizing about his nieces materialized as a dark and confessional screenplay, and you rubes bought it.

It's time to climb out from the well, everyone. There's nothing scary or special about little girls. Like all young animals, they are puny, and they are weak. They are not to be feared. They are to be hunted and killed for sport, and then served whole with orange sauce.

Office Work...In a Store! What Next?

noreply@blogger.com (Travis Finn) — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 05:04:00 +0000

Well, thank heavens, it looks like all is not lost. Just a coupla weeks after I was fired from Liggett Real Estate, I found a new job! I applied for an office position at my local Mervyn's, and I was hired in what was kind of a group interview. I made sure to speak up and tell everyone about my experience as an administrative assistant. The supervisors there were very impressed, I could just tell. I did so well!

So after that was all over, the manager, Shelley, took me aside and asked me if I'd like to work in the store's office! I told her I'd be honored to share my talents with the company. She said that a few details had to be finalized, such as my pay rate, but it shouldn't be more than a week before I start my new job!

Accordin' to Shelley, my pay will be determined by considering the rates of my previous jobs, so I have a feeling that I'm going to be hitting the ground running with this position! Yeah, I know that I'll have to tighten the ol' pursestrings this month 'cause of gettin' fired and all, but I'm sure that everything will get back on track as soon as I get my first check.

Thanks so much, God, for gettin' me this new job, and helping me get back on my feet. Miracles really do happen, ya know? Some people don't think so, but I know that they do. I'll be back real soon with a report on just how great things are goin'! So long! See ya later! Bye bye! O, sing us a song, you're the Piano Man....

It Ends With Silence

noreply@blogger.com (LisVender) — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 04:37:00 +0000

What, were you expecting a war?

The boldest closing I have ever seen just socked me in the stomach.

I feel like I can't breathe, I'm so overcome. I want to cry, and I want to smile.

It is genius. There is no other word for it.

With all enemies defeated, and invincible horrors closing in, the screen goes black as a new hope makes the effort to show.

And he's been waiting for her. That's all we need to know.

Made in America.