I say boo to you, Stevie boy.

I have to give it to ya, Steve Jobs.  You are a genius.  Charging people to even talk to your support center when the computer that they bought from you 8 months ago decides to stop regcognizing its hard drive is one of the best ways I can think of to wrangle more money out of people who have already doled out far-above-market-price bucks for one of your shiny white creations.

Indeed had I know that I could load up one of your plastic-encased number-crunchers with an entire year of my life, including pictures of the amazing things I’ve done, papers and research components that make up my entire portfolio for School, and all of the music that I have bought to support my burgeoning DJ career just in time for it’s hard drive to suddenly and inextricably perform digital suicide I would have built up my collections to the macbook’s critical mass sooner in order to streamline the process of shoveling money at you hand over fist.

Granted, it is partially  my bad for not getting a second hard drive and backing up my collections of gigs upon gigs of music and pictures and important documents; but at the same time there was a reasonable expectation on my behalf that a computer that is not even a year old and is supposed to be the pinnacle of Personal Laptop Engineering was going to up and die.

So I say boo to you, Stevie Boy.  I tip my hat in grudging respect at your marketing and profit-raking savvy.  I do this while at the same time slowly filling a tube sock with wood screws in the off chance that we meet, so I can let you know what it feels like to have a part of you forcibly removed, then charge you for directions to the hospital.

I failed to support the country

Or at least I am going to. You see, I am a part of a certain group of people who are going to use our US Economic Stimulus checks for nefarious purposes (as opposed to nefarious porpoises, which is an entirely different story).

Thats right, I am going to use my money, handed down from on high to aid the faltering US economy, to buy high-end Japanese electronics. I’m not even buying them from a US company, I am doing it all over the interweb.

And I don’t feel bad about it.

I don’t feel bad at all, and there are a couple of reasons: A) If I was to buy something here in America, it would be 2 months of rent and (maybe) a tank of gas and B) My 600 dollars, of which a large deal will be swallowed by taxes and sequestration in my change jar, is not going to do a damn thing for the economy when we are 4 trillion dollars in debt and getting deeper by the Bushy decree.

Now I know that there are some of you out there saying that I’m un-patriotic (completely untrue) and that I don’t really understand the math and economics of what is going on (totally true) but those people don’t realize some thing fundamental about my condition: I need a new mixer.

And headphones.

So if those people are willing to send me 400 bucks for a new mixer and 100 bucks for new headphones, I am more than willing to go buy new clothes at a wholesome American clothing outlet so that they can pay their bills to Asia, where all of their clothes are made.

Cynical Catharsis?

So in my Nazi Germany class this week ,a bizarre conversation got started and I need to vent about it.  The discussion was about whether or not a current generation can be held accountable fr the misdeeds of previous generations ago, be it a decade, a century or a millenia.  Obviously this was about the Holocaust, but it stepped into Slavery and other such historical sore-spots.  We were arguing whether the past gave certain advantages to certain groups (i.e. the victors in any given situation), and whether or not we should feel bad about that in the present day.  It is a really interesting idea, and something that has been kind of mulling around in my head.  Please let me know waht you think about that idea, or leave any questions for clerifications.

I thought I’d leave you with teh thing that I write in class while this debate swirled around me.  I have some really, really smart classmates, and it was neat to hear their different ways that people tackled this problem.  Anyway, here is what I wrote in class:

“Are advantages given to us through the upsetting of norms in society because of the dominance of the majority, because of the subjugation of people through the past, a reason for us to feel bad?  Are they reasons for us to feel bad about things that our people have done in the past?  Absolutely not, I think.

One cannot be held responsible for the crimes, excesses, and or issues of their grandparents.  If this were true then farmers everywhere would be held responsible for the pain and suffering of the feudal serfs during the agricultural revolution.  If one were to be held against the misdeeds of their forebears then those who live in America would be held continuously to task against the gains made by our country on the backs of the poor and the enslaved from Europe during the 16th century immigration to the Americas.

One has to be cognizant of the fact that there is a big difference between a tacit recognition of a crime, (a public knowledge of a wrong, known trauma to a people) and the need for an apology, or specially reparations, for the actions of our forebears.  If a people is required to be continuously inundated with negative opinion and derisive attention regarding things that happened before they were even born, then there is no real way for them to acknowledge the issue, learn form it, and move on to fix what they see as a problem in their collective psyche or history.  Continued depression, guilt, or feelings of responsibility over the past would render a people impotent to grow and basically hold the entirety of humanity responsible for the bad things that have happened since the birth of civilization (and possibly before, if one were to take into account inter-tribal atrocities long held in oral and collective memories).

While there is the possibility of apology on a governmental scale (the issue of slavery rings loudest here), I will not be held accountable for something that happened before my ancestors were even in the country.  I believe that yes, slavery happened, and it sucks that it happened, a lot, but I feel no need to apologize for it.  Likewise I do not believe that the people of Germany should be held responsible for things that happened during WWII.  Those few of that generation who are still alive can be made to pay for it, but something tells me that due to the continued attention given to it they do pay, in a multitude of ways.  But how can a people grow and get beyond a tumultuous past if they are forced daily to live in it?”

That is what I wrote.  I feel that I have to clarify some things about it, but I have to go to a concert so Ill fix it later.

The end of the bollocks.

Words cannot describe how happy I am to be done with my Geology 390 class.  While it was interesting on the odd occasion that I actually went, the ability to think “I never have to listen to a teacher say ‘I dont know, even though its on the syllabus and in the book and in my notes, I cant answer your question’” is a glorious feeling the likes of which I have not felt before.

Sweet, Sweet relief.

That being said, there are a few things that I will be missing about school:

1) The girls.  There are girls all over the place, and for some reason they all think that in order to go to school they must dress EXACTLY as they would if going to a fancy restaurant or maybe a lesser club.  While i never really found this distracting in class, it was an added perk, for sure.

2) Certain teachers.  Some of the teachers that I have come in contact with through my vague and wandering journe through college have enriched my life in many ways.  None of them actually gave me money, unfortunately, but these teachers actually made school fun.  Be it the stuff they were passionate about, the way that they taught, their attitude about interactions with students or simply the fact that they actually knew what they were talking about, there were several teachers whom I will really miss taking classes from.

3) An excuse to go to vending machines.  Yeah, I know this is lame, but I dig the excuse to say “hey, Ive been in class all day, I needs me some sugar.”  Mind you, this does not mean lovin’, but snickers.

4) An excuse to not be a grown up.  This is probably the one that I will miss the most.  I can sit on my ass every now and then for an entire day reading and justify it.  I have yet to get a full time, labor intensive job since moving to Vancouver becasue I have been too busy with school.  Now that that is over, here I come, Real-World.

I’m sure that there are other things I miss, and Ill probably write about them later, but right now I have to go format the Footnotes on the last paper I will ever have to write for school, masters program aside.

Contradictory messages

I just love it when the power goes out.  I get to sit across from the hospital, its lights ablaze with freely flowing power from its powerful and loud Diesel generator so that it can supply the needs of the sick while bathing the neighborhoods of the healthy in a noxious cloud of low lying and painfully thick exhaust.  They probably do this to drive up business.

Just a thought.

The weather man is my enemy.

I have come to the conclusion that the weather man ahs sold out to corporate America. You heard me, people, sold the hell out.

It is April here in the good ol’ Pacific NW. April. One year ago I was wearing T-shirt and shorts on a fairly regular basis. IT got cold at night, but not too much so. BBQ’s were a regular occurrence. Now, it freaking snowed last night. We knew it was coming, but that is because the weather man told me so. here is where my problem comes in.

These people have been telling us all week that it was going to snow.
“A foot in the mountains, an inch on the valley floors, god-damn locusts by morning,” these people have been coopted by their individual news-stations to tell people whate the hell ever they can to get them to watch the news. Now knowing the propensity for people here to freak out whenever they think that there is going to be any inclement weather (I seriously had the highway STOP here a few days ago during a rain shower), this feat shouldn’t seem like somehting that is tough.

Indeed it isn’t.

That being said, I am getting kind of tired of heading to work early each morning and not knowing if sunshine or hailstones or fireballs are going to be falling out of the sky. When they forcast that it is going to snow with thunderstorms, this is how I dress, so you can imagine my chagrin when I walk out of clas and it is sunny and (relatively) warm outside.

Anyway, I believe that the weather men are jsut telling us what clear-channel wants us to hear in order to get us to watch their crappy news, becasue the news is so depressing now that no one wants to watch it, even to see the weather.

Hybrid Tomato Tree of doom?

Ok. I have now seen advertisements for the “Amazing Tomato Tree” on TV, in the papers and in magazines. It is time for this to stop already.

Tomatos are supposed to grow out of smallish bushes on the ground. This bushtree is advertised to grow to 8-10 feet tall in basically no time and produce bumper crops of gigantic tomatoes every week. If I ever look out in my garden and there is an eight foot tall treeshrub sprouting tomatoes the size of my fist like some kind of licopene-funded biological slot machine, I am going to run screaming to my nearest armory and douse the entire neighborhood with Agent Orange.

Seriously.

Tomatoes are not supposed to be 2 lbs and literally the size of Chers head. Its just not natural. I can only imagine the bizarre chemicals and growth additives that come pre-loaded in the ‘decorative’ pots. It should be a sign that you dont plant them, it comes as a package (presumably to keep you out of what can only be a caustic and highly dangerous chemical environment). Barry bonds didn’t take the kinds of hormones that would allow a bushtreeshrubdemon to put off an entire crop of tomatoes every week. And Hybrid? Is it okay to call somethingthat grows out of the ground hybrid? I think not, friends.

I think not.

When I think hybrid I think of Jerri Ryan and her *ahem* implants on Star Trek. I think of that chick from Species or maybe the funny little cars that Toyota makes. I do not ever think “MmMm… hybrid (insert vegetable here) sure sounds good on my salad”

Now I’m all for genetic engineering in food. I yearn for the day that I am able to harvest a steak from a corn-stalk. That being said, I have seen attack of the killer tomatoes and know what is in the future. If there is one thing that scares me more than a future full of metal, soulless, uber-intelligent and heavily armed robotic killing machines, it is one full of intelligent, mobile and dangerously delicious fruit.

Mark my words, this will not end well.

The Dangers Of Being A Student

Walking into my class today I noticed soemthing that struck me as slightly odd.  On the door to what I had origionaly thought was a closet, there are three rather large “Radioactive Element” warning labels.

Granted, this is the Engineering and Life Sciences Building, but what about life sciences requires us to have a closet full of radioactive god-knows-what?  I have no idea, but neither am I going to investigate further.

I just hope that this shitty class I’m taking does not render me infertile (though a new super power would be okay).

Thoughts From The Airport Bar

As I sit here in the Portland airport, I begin to ponder something(s). According to TSA Law, it is illegal for a person to be inebriated or appear intoxicated in any way. So Why is it that when you buy a beer at the bar in the concourse, they offer to enbiggen it for you for only a Dollar more, then when you gladly accept this offer (because one dollar more is not that bad of a deal on a 7 dollar beer), they offer to give you a shot of whatever you want for only 3 bucks.

3 dollars, I say!

What a steal… Seriously, people, I understand that you want those unruly business travelers and frat boys and Phobic people who freak out every time the plane makes any noise (including the little *bung* that is created when they push a button), to be unconscious for the duration of their flight, but come on. Inane conversations with people that you will never again meet can be tortuous enough without them thinking that they are your best friend and calling you Dave.

Thats right, <em>Dave</em>. I’m looking at you, guy in freshly-pressed polo shirt sitting next to me. If your son wasn’t a Coug I’d have rebuked you long ago.

Also on my mind:

-There is an F-15 taxing back and forth on the tarmac outside the window of the bar, air brake deployed and nose high in the air. Not trying to fly, just driving around with its nose in the air. I imagine that it is displaying this behavior in order to either: A) Scare away the larger, more aggressive but slower airliner which hog all of the space on the hammerhead or B) Attract a mate. I’m not sure which I am more comfortable with. While I am all for airplane/airplane love (I have heard that the military life is not conducive to long-lasting relationships), I don’t like the idea of a missile-armed interceptor competing for concrete space with its larger, slower and presumably less well armed brethren. Just seems like a potentially explosive situation (notice what I did there? explosive? genius.) So I guess I do know which I am more comfortable with. Whatever.

-Tiger Woods is not doing so well in the Masters. People in this bar (mostly stuffed suits) seem to be surprised by this, even angered. Business people, more than almost anyone, should understand that the laws of probability will catch up to anyone, and the odds of Le Tigre winning his 2,528,580,351,658 Masters in a row are pretty low.

-Why do they dress up the little plazas in airports to look like quaint little villages or trendy urban centers or, in my case, replica Columbia River Gorge Indian Villages. I mean inherent stereotyping aside (I don’t think that the decoration dept of the Port of Portland put too much thought into the historical accuracy of Native American bar-and-grills), I find it hard to believe that this aesthetic touch serves to help people forget that hey are sitting in the middle of a massive institutional building, surrounded by miracles of aviation technology (MD-80’s aside). I mean the wreak of kerosene and the constant rumbles of Fighter Planes looking for love should enough to make anyone think “hey, I think I’m in an airport. Jeez, and for a second there I had forgotten that I was not in the Pearl District. Must have been the beersandshotsandbeers.”

-Concurrence among bar patrons leads to many things, but the main thing that I can tell is that people can agree that babble is important part of sitting to close to people. This is a fact whether you are in an airport bar, and airplane, a train or any place where you are forced into close proximity with people who have been drinking and or sitting in an airport for 18 hours because McDonnel-Douglas makes airplanes whose nose-gear refuses to lock into place. That being said talking to people in a bar can turn out to be a profitable enterprise. I win.

Fortunes of lameness

Today I ate at Panda Express. Now, put aside any disparaging comments that you may have about the status of my diet; it’s as good as Chinese gets near enough my work to access on my lunch break, and when a person gets a hankerin’, they get a hankerin’.

One of my favorite parts of said Chinese Food is the fortune cookie that you get to eat at the end. Today, I opened my little morsel of clam-shaped pressed cardboard and excitedly waited to see what my glorious fortune was. It said “You shall have pieces of Gold by the bushel.”

Wait, what?

Pieces of Gold?

What the hell is this? I go to eat at a relatively greasy Chinese food chain and all of a sudden I have dubloons in my future? Why could it not be “You will achieve greatness” or “Prosperity will be yours” or “Kate Moss will magically appear in your bed tonight (sans crazy)?” Don’t get me wrong, an increase in monitary income would be nice, but seriously, cookie, you might as well be wishing pieces of eight on me.

Now I don’t know what form my bushel of gold will come in. With my luck it will come in little teeny pieces the size and shape of Hot Tamales that I will have to melt down and turn into doubloons myself. And how am I going to use it? I’m not sure that one can still walk into a store and say “Say, chum, I would like to trade my crazy Chinese fortune cookie pirate money for your goods and /or services.”

Can You?

Anyway, this was the lamest fortune that I have had in a while. I demand that those employed in the obviously not lucrative enough fortune cookie fortune writing profession step up their game, or I’m going to go find me an Esmarelda to tell my fortune. At least that way I might get duckets.