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One of my goals in life has been to steal cable (either I have low ambitions or I’m more morally ambiguous than I realized). Free Cable is like the Holy Grail to this cheapskate. I like the idea of having cable, but I can’t fiscally justify it. Cable bills run north of $60, and I simply can’t see getting $60 a month of entertainment out of television. If I had an extra $2 a day to spend on something, I would blow it on food. A supersize here. A soda there. Maybe even upgrade from London broil to rib eye. Mmmm….rib eye.
I also take great joy in the idea of stealing cable. I hate the pay-TV services. Satellite, fiber optics, cable–they’re all the same. They toy with packages and plans–trying to outdo each other and market the lowest price. But the truth is, they’re all the same. Because $19.99 might seem like a great deal for television. But then you need to add a $10 box rental fee, another $10 for HD–oh, and that $19.99 price only includes local channels (ya know–the free stuff you get with an antenna). If you want TBS, ESPN, or USA that’s a different . . . . .
What I’m about to say might be the most controversial thing I’ve ever written. I expect to get more hate mail than I did that time when I wrote an article for my college newspaper that proclaimed we should round up the homeless and have them all sent to Mexico (I offended Mexicans, homeless sympathizers, and [somehow] PETA all in one article). This time, my words will result in more than a meeting with the dean and an apology in the next issue. I expect my controversial words to alienate two or three readers–which is significant when your audience is in the single digits (I’m just glad I have a big family). But enough with my rambling: just get to it.
I hate Dr. Seuss.
Duck. Dodge. Shield face from tomatoes and cinder blocks.
Yes, it’s true–I hate Dr. Seuss. I’m not sure if that makes me un-American (although, I’m pretty sure he was a Nazi–a name like that has to be German). I know Dr. Seuss has a big following. I understand he is beloved by children and adults alike…and I just don’t get it.
I don’t mean to insult anyone who does like the famous wordsmith, but he . . . . .
I read an article about a woman who was hit by four separate cars while trying to walk across the freeway (and you thought you were having a bad day). The first car hit her and pulled over. As the woman started to get up, another car hit her. A third and fourth car hit her as she was lying on the road. Needless to say, the pedestrian didn’t make it (further proof people are not cars and shouldn’t be walking on the freeway).
But the part that stands out most to me is two of the four drivers drove off without sticking around to make sure she was okay or talk to the police. I gotta hope there’s a special place in Hell for people that hit someone with their car and drive away because they don’t want to be held liable for their actions. I understand if someone robs a liquor store because they need the money. I can relate to someone who kills their wife for the insurance money. I can even fathom stabbing someone over a pair of sneakers. But I have no sympathy for the people who ran over this gal on the freeway. After . . . . .
While using a public restroom earlier today, I couldn’t help but notice the, uh, ‘artwork’ that decorated the stalls. Besides the dirty lyrics and phone numbers of girls looking for a good time, there were quite a few penises drawn on the walls. What compelled a man to draw a penis (I’m assuming man–this was a men’s room)? Much like any other drawing, it’s a skill that is perfected and mastered through time. Did Matt Groening draw a perfect Homer first time he sketched with his crayons? Of course not–through practice, he evolved to the point he could sketch the entire Simpson family in about 15 seconds. Same is probably true for the penis-sketchers. They spend their free time doodling ding-a-lings that they can throw one on a bathroom wall in seconds. I find a bit of irony in that. Those who write are walls do so to prove their manhood. They tend to be lowlife scumbags who masquerade in a macho persona. But if you’re a guy who spends his free time drawing penis replications, exactly how manly are you? If anything, that kinda fascinated with male genitals strikes me as a bit gay. But that’s just my take. . . . . .
When I was little, I thought Grownups knew everything. Whether it be a math problem, spelling a word, or trying to identify a rash, I felt like a Grownup would know the answer. Grownups were always so together–so calm and knowledgeable. That’s what made Grownups better than kids–they knew everything about everything. Maybe it’s because both of my parents were smart so I grew up in a home where knowledge was prevalent. Grownups weren’t just older kids–they were perfect people. They went to school, got smart, and became Grownups.
Six-year olds are naïve I was no different. I thought there was nothing a Grownup didn’t know or couldn’t do. My dad was always repairing the house, growing plants, and watching sports–it felt like he knew everything. My mom use to cook, fix all my booboos, and could answer any question I ever gave her. They were Grownups and in complete control of their lives.
My folks had me in their mid-20s–I’m getting close to an age when I can remember my parents being as old as I am now. I have memories dating back to when I was three-years old. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m older . . . . .
Recently I walked out of a Jon Cena movie…but not for the reasons you’d think. It only took about five minutes of the “12 Rounds” to make me sick (also not for reasons you’d think). The movie is part of a growing phenomenon in cinematography that I think is ruining movies. I can live with WWE superstars make movies; I can’t stand movies shot on hand cameras.
I don’t understand why more and more movies are shot this way. Instead of using a perfectly balance tripod, a great deal of movies today are shot by handheld cameras. I think directors do it to create a ‘gritty’ feel that puts the audience into the action (in reality, it puts me in the bathroom). This is a style that I’m not comfortable with. The quick pans and extreme close-ups make me queasier than an overeater at an all-you-can-eat buffet of week-old fish. I can’t stand it. Quick zoom. Quick cut. Extreme close-up. Pan left. Pan right. Hurl in the aisle–I’m telling you, it ain’t for me.
I’m not sure I get the appeal of it. Admittedly, I didn’t grow up watching music videos and I’m not a fan of rapid cuts–but I . . . . .
The concept of appraisal values is as confusing to me as slurred Spanish spoken by a stuttering drunk. My brother majored in business so maybe he might be able to grasp the concept better than me (then again, he turned that business degree into a lucrative career of waiting tables for a chain restaurant that promotes “flair”). To me, an item is only worth what people are willing to pay for it. If a rare, 16th century gold coin is worth $2 million that means there’s some bonehead out there with too much money willing to pay $2 million for it. If a painting is worth a hundred grand it’s because someone will pay $100,000 to get it. Guides, catalogs, and estimates mean nothing because I believe market determines price–not some ‘expert’ in an expensive suit with bifocals.
When I was a kid, I use to collect baseball cards and the baseball card collector’s bible was a monthly magazine called “Beckett.” Not only did it provide interesting articles, it also listed the price of every baseball card known to man. This was useful when trading cards with your buddies so nobody got ripped off (“I’ll trade your Carl Yastrzemski baseball . . . . .
Somewhere, somehow my brain died. It’s very hard for me to concentrate right now–which is a shame because concentrating is what I need to do.
The Wife has a theory: Man isn’t meant to be awake at seven in the morning. She believes no matter how early one goes to bed, seven is simply too early. “If I go to bed at 11 and wake up at seven, I feel like garbage. If I go to bed at three and wake up at nine, I’m fine,” she said. I always thought that sounded kinda silly. I’ll agree it’s harder to get out of bed when the weather is cold, but sleep is sleep. The human body can adjust and if you get to bed early enough on a consistent basis, seven in the morning is no big deal.
I say that fully admitting I had a terribly difficult time waking up at 6:45 when I went to high school–but things have changed since then. When I was a teenager, I needed ten hours of sleep a night–it’s what kids need to grow. As an adult, I really only need six and am perfectly fine with seven. If I was given . . . . .
Not being gay myself, I wouldn’t dare assume to know what gay people think. But I’m a compassionate individual and an observer of the world around me. In my opinion, there’s two kinds of gay people: those who were born that way and those who choose to be gay.
What’s that you say? I’m coping out on the world’s most controversial topic since Tastes Great vs. Less Filling? I don’t think of it as a copout…more like my way of saying everybody is right.
There are those who will tell you homosexuality is in your DNA–some people are born gay and some are not. I believe there are a lot of things out of an individual’s control. I wish I was taller. And no matter how much milk I drink or much I practice, I’ll never get taller. I think it’s the same way for a lot of gay folks. I don’t choose to be short; they don’t choose to be gay. Life can’t be easy as a homosexual. There’s the ridicule from parents and friends. They ugly stereotypes portrayed in Hollywood. The ruthless beatings from small-minded brutes. Why would anyone choose that lifestyle? All your inert desires contradict everything . . . . .
I spent much of November badmouthing elections–always with the disclaimer that I don’t vote. I figured I didn’t have to expand on the issue because it had already been discussed. But when I looked back through past archives, I realized that I never directly explained why I don’t vote. I’ve made comments here and there, but I have never sat down and detailed my logical reasons as to what I’m not part of the process. So here goes.
I don’t vote because I hate the system. It’s flawed, hypocritical, and a total charade. What we call modern elections isn’t what our forefathers conceived 200 years ago. It’s a far cry from the practice Socrates and Aristotle practiced in ancient Greece. Elections are a joke and I refuse to be a part of them.
Elections have nothing to do with candidates or issues: it’s about who puts on the better ad campaign. I’ve heard numerous pundits discuss how excellent Obama’s campaign was and that’s probably why he won. Meanwhile, most experts agreed McCain’s campaign was hectic, unorganized, and a bit of joke. That’s why he lost.
Ideally, a voter listens to both candidate discuss the issues and chooses the one he . . . . .
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