Note: This is long, it is rambling, at times incoherent, and should probably not be read by anyone.
After learning the details behind the Giffords shooting this past weekend – kinda strange that we call it the Giffords shooting, when she survived, when all those others did not; why not the John Roll shooting [and it goes to show that just a few days after the shooting, it took me ten minutes to actually find an article that references his name and not Giffords] – I was as disgusted as anyone, and probably a bit more than the average American. I was disgusted that this is the world we live in, that any douchebag with a mental problem can get his hands on a gun and kill people with no real danger to himself, and that it took no time for people on either side of the political “spectrum” (hard to call anything that consists of two points a spectrum, honestly) to start pointing fingers at each other. The ongoing debate over it all disgusts me. Humans disgust me. Read the rest of this entry
It seems to me that sometime shortly after Man began taking his first tottering, uncertain steps without using his knuckles, he became totally, utterly bored. Reality was so disenchanting and dull. The tribe was unimpressed by the truth of the deer Grog brought back from the hunt: sick from disease and weakened by thirst and fever, the animal fell behind the pack and just sort of laid down on the ground and Grog just hit in the head with the big rock. It’s Truth, but it is also Dull. So one day, Grog decided to embellish the story just a little: now, Grog let fly with a rock just as the majestic deer was in mid-leap across the stream that would forever deny the lucky tribe their tasty venison, and his powerful throw that struck the deer in the head saved them all from starvation.
On the one hand, it’s true: Grog hit a deer in the head with a rock, killed it, and took it back to camp where everyone fed. It’s just the circumstances behind the Truth that are subtly changed. And thus, as Man realized how exciting the world could be, he began to copulate like mad to fill this exciting new world. And along with all of the children who would, millenia later, be genetically honed to become department-store perfume salespeople and middle managers, the Myth was born.
It might have happened something like that. The Truth is undoubtedly more dull and obvious.
So far, so good. I’ve hit (or ever-so-slightly exceeded) the 1,667 word daily quota each day. I haven’t been able to build a buffer yet, which isn’t great, but I’ll still take it. The site this year adds some interesting stats, like how many days in a row you’ve made quota, how many words you need each day based on your current output, things like that. It’s funny, because if I write 5,000 words today and 500 tomorrow, that would be well above a two-day quota, but since the site would call that 1 Successful Day and 1 Unsuccessful Day, it makes me want to hit the minimum at least every time. Ahh, the incentives that stats bring.
A couple of things I’ve had on my mind the last few days: Read the rest of this entry
1. I’ve been reading a lot about the idea that this health care reform bill is going to cost the Democrats a lot in November’s elections. The Republicans are planning on pushing the idea of repeal as a cornerstone of their election plank. The problem I see with that approach is the idea that health reform is going to be on the minds of the public in seven months. I think that overestimates the attention span of the American electorate by about six-and-a-half months at least.
1. Lady Aravan and I bought Bioshock 2, Mass Effect 2, and Dragon Age yesterday. We were going to buy our own copy of Mass Effect as well, but they were sold out. With the prospect of a coming snowstorm, fond hopes of a day off filling with gooey Xbox action floated around, right up until 9am when it was determined that I had to come into work. Where less than half the staff actually came in. Curses.
1. My frazzled work-self is making it difficult for me to write. I can barely think of five things to talk about without making one of them a ranty bitchy screed that no one cares about. Of course, almost no one reads this anyway, so what’s the harm? I guess I’d prefer to talk and think about other things.