|
|
So think I killed someone recently. It was not my intent to kill them (that would be first degree murder), but rather a course of circumstances that I was involved in lead to their probable death (second degree manslaughter–a far lighter sentence). But we’ll get to that in a moment.
Recently I attempted to sell a mobile phone I was no longer using. A year ago it was top of the line, but I didn’t care much for it and hardly used it (I’m old school: I need a keyboard). I posted the phone on craigslist for $200 because they were selling for about $250 on eBay and I saw nothing cheaper than $240 on craigslist.
Ahh craigslist…it’s a great place to buy and sell goods. Unfortunately, you have to deal with craigslist people. I don’t think highly of craigslist people: you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy outside of craigslist. Sure, craigslist is great when you’re trading with a decent person. But in my experience, 95 percent of craiglisters are illiterate, stupid, cheap, rude, dishonest, or just downright annoying.
Part of it is my doing. I sell things cheap so I’m dealing with . . . . .
As a child of the 80s, I grew up worshiping Star Wars. Obsessions with lightsabers, Wookies, and the ability to choke someone with your mind were quite common for boys of my age (for some reason, girls didn’t like Star Wars: maybe My Little Pony was really good back then). I’m probably the perfect Star Wars age. My brothers don’t share the same obsession I do, so it’s definitely a generational thing. After all, when we were talking about a getting a cat I was the only one who wanted to name him Chewbacca.
When I was a kid, Star Wars was everywhere. Besides the obvious action figures, I had lunchboxes, coloring books, audio books (in record form), Shrink-A-Doodles, Underoos, Lite-Brite–you name it, George Lucas found a way to market it with a Star Wars twist. I grew up wishing to be a Jedi and to strike my father down with a lightsaber. I played Star Wars. I slept in Star Wars sheets. I dreamt Star Wars. I even liked Princess Leia.
One year for Christmas someone gave us the Star Wars movies (in VHS form). From that point forward, I watched the trilogy at least once a month. The . . . . .
The other day I walked passed a booth of volunteers trying to get people to register to vote. A chik jumped in front of me and asked with her biggest smile, “Are you registered to vote?”
“Of course I am,” I said politely. While I saw no need to be rude, this was a conversation I really didn’t want to participate in. With finals to worry about, 90 percent of my brainpower was focused on something else and I didn’t even realize I was talking to her.
“That’s wonderful,” she replied. “Would you like to volunteer your time?”
And without realizing what I was doing, I blurted out a laugh. I feel a little bad because I respect what she was doing…but volunteer work is just something I don’t believe in. Kinda like charity and the Easter Bunny.
The “Terminator” movie recently came out. I have little interest in seeing it in the theaters because of my “no sequel” policy. The Wife, on the other hand, is dying to see it. Even though she’s never seen a Terminator movie before, she’s driven to view this incarnation because she finds Christian Bale dreamy. Seems like faulty logic to me. I think . . . . .
I’m not sure what to think of this, but my wife Photoshopped our wedding photos. She didn’t like the color of her dress so she changed it. You can’t rewrite history. I just hope her next alteration does involve replacing me with someone better looking.
When I was a kid, I used to twist around in circles just because I liked to see the world spin when I stopped. I grew out of it eventually–but the point is I didn’t use to get sick. First time I went on “Star Tours” I was ten years old and I didn’t get sick. Merry-go-rounds, carousel, or roundabouts, it didn’t matter: I could ride any amusement park attraction without getting sick (except the Teacups–that’s way too much spinning for any human to endure).
As I get older, I realize my stomach ain’t what it use to be. They say taste buds evolve as you get older; allergies can develop after adolescence. I think susceptibility to motion sickness is another change you body makes when you get older. My parents couldn’t tolerate even the mildest roller coaster…and I fear I might be joining them.
Over the past couple years, I find myself about to . . . . .
As someone who works in the entertainment business, I find it amusing how many fans care more about our media than us–the folks who produce it. When we canceled a program a few months back we were bombard by emails and phone calls from angry viewers who were horrified their show was no longer on the air. You should see some of the letters we received–folks were talking like they lost their only reason to live. The ironic part is no one who works at our station ever bothered even watching the show.
Employees of the station act like we’re performing some service to the community and publicly emphasizes our quality and importance. But everyone–from the cameramen on the floor to the directors in the booth to the talent we have on screen–we all know it’s kind of a joke. To all of us, it’s just a paycheck; to some viewers, it’s a daily ritual.
I know this expands far beyond my little podunk television station. I listen to podcasts and radio shows were the host clearly doesn’t know as much about their show as I do. I can think of one podcast in particular. It’s only about 20 minutes . . . . .
|
|
