Eternal Mind of a Spotless Sunshine

Re-Jected!

2007-10-24T13:57:00.000-07:00

I just received word that I have been rejected for a job. A job that would pay me a boatload of money, however, would not be worth the 3000 billable hours that would be required. A job that a friend of mine quit without having another one in the hopper (an anomaly in my field). A job that the company has not been able to keep filled for more than six months in five years. And this made me wonder if it feels worse to get rejected from something you really want, or something you wouldn't take even if offered to you.

For example, if a job that you really would love to have rejects you, then there is something understandable. After all, there are many qualified candidates in the world, some of whom are simply more talented or qualifed. If, however, the job is dog-shit-taster or something equally distasteful, and you're rejected from that, isn't that more demeaning?

Perhaps stated differently. You approach a woman in a bar. She is attractive, slightly buzzed, and dressed to the 8s (not to the 10s, but damn close). You approach her with your best anti-Mystery game and she shoots you down. "Good. Smart woman. I wouldn't take me home either, if I were her." But...if she is the city drunk slut, looks like she accepted the job as dog-shit-taster and hasn't rinsed her mouth out since work ended and SHE won't take you home, don't you feel all the worse?

Morning Missives

2007-10-23T03:09:00.000-07:00

This is the earliest I have ever written. It is still dark outside, and the only reason I am writing right now is to allow the cobwebs to fall away from my brain. That is because I have to go to work and have a "kick ass day." A "kick ass day" is either you kick ass, or you get your ass kicked. Since I am a professional writer, I figured a quick blog would assist to get the juices flowing. After all, if a singer practices scales, a baseball player hits fungos, and an actor does some method shit, then why don't more writers practice writing before jumping into the day? For that matter, why don't doctors play a quick game of "Operation" before they slice open a patient? If the fucker's red nose goes off, Dr. Slicem'n'dicem knows to stay out of the operating room on any given Wednesday and get his ass on the golf course. I guarantee the number of malpractice lawsuits would go down exponentially.

I wonder if the gossip industry warms up for the day by emailing friends about the prior night's dalliances of mutual acquaintances to other friends. In order for Gawker to publish its celebrity stalkings, does the editor email her girl Stacey (because I am sure they all have girls named Stacey) to tell her, "Guess who I saw, Rob, and he had a major cold sore!" before publishing, "Guess who I saw, Lindsay, and she had a major...."

This time, I am back for good, or until something better comes up

2007-10-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

I have decided to try this one more time. While my professional writing career is languishing in the mental reject pile at the back of my head, I've decided to give the Christian Slater of "Free Radio" spirit another shot. I just hope not to end up naked in the forest tied to the star quarterback. Oh wait, that was "Heathers."

Are we becoming more perverted?

2006-11-17T04:30:00.000-08:00

I saw this morning that Mark Foley was being investigated criminally for "allegedly" sending inappropriate instant messages to teenage pages at Congress.

What the fuck is going on?

Priests and little boys, Congressmen and a little bit older boys (but not old enough), gay governors (which is fine except when he gave his fucktoy a cushy job), ritual slayings of raped women who's only crime was they wanted to go dancing in Manhattan. It made me wonder if we are becoming more sick. Or have we just diluted the gene pool to such an extent that what we're left with is the mentally, sexually disturbed.

Or, in the alternative, is the argument that shit like this has lasted since the dawn of America. It is well documented that the Mayflower did not contain the wealthy gentlemen and women of merry ol' England, but rather the castoffs. The ones who the British assumed time would forget. This makes sense. If you were living in England, nice house, fine car (ok, horse and carriage), you're not making a voyage to the undiscovered country. As Seinfeld taught us all, "who leaves a country full of ponies, to go to a non-pony country."

So perhaps the American blacksmith, with 12 kids, was porking the next door neighbor's dog. But until the printing press, nobody knew about it except for a town of 100. Then, there was still a modicum of decency from the 1800s-1970s and Watergate. Watergate gave the press carte blanche to investigate, rob, cheat, steal, and lie as long as "truth" was the ultimate goal. And then Clinton and his pole being waxed poetic by you-know-who.

I have no idea how it happened. But I am willing to bet in the next twenty years, a public figure will be caught fucking a barnyard animal...on tape. And it'll appear on YouTube.

Batted around

2006-11-07T08:25:00.000-08:00

In baseball, it is a feat to bat around the order in the same inning. That means that the person that led off the inning, is back up to the plate because the other team has not been able to cause three outs.

In my dating life, batting around the order means that I've run out of dating all the females I know and I have to start back with the first boink. Either that, or I have to recruit from another team. To help my recruitment, I enlisted the help of a "scout." A major league scout traverses the Earth trying to sneak promising ball players out of their home nations to groom them for baseball infamy. (N.b.- I hear that Madonna is now a scout)

Of course, I don't have the financial wherewithall to hire a professional scout. So I recruited the next best thing, my mother.

You would expect that my mother, who nurtured, fed, cared for me; who watched me mature from a toddler to awkward child, to more awkward adolescent, to an extremely awkward adult, would have some understanding of what I would find appealing in a mate. Apparently, she's gone with: "breathing." And, considering my last date, I can only assume that she was breathing because she didn't fall on the floor and have a convulsion. But I KNOW that oxygen was not getting to her brain.

I am going to keep out the more mundane questions (family, job, hobbies, etc.)

So after walking in a half hour late, she says that she has to use the restroom. I offer to get her a drink while she's indisposed and says that she will have a "cab". I'm sorry but a "cab" is the vehicular homicide device that I spend my existence avoiding. But, I decide to let that one go. She asks, "What are you going to have?" I decided on a Gin and Tonic (because that sounded mighty, mighty good to me) and she had this look of disgust.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Why?"

"Oh, no reason."

Ok, so maybe her ex was big G & T fan. Maybe she thinks only fascists drink gin. I don't know, but I had to let that one go as well.

In general the conversation flowed -- at least for five minutes until she started text messaging on her cell phone. She apologizes by explaining, "my roommate wants to go out with her boyfriend and she wants to know when I am coming home so I can watch the dogs." Umm...ok. Then she asks me:

"So when you go out on a date for drinks, how many drinks do you usually have?"

Now I know this date is DOA, and I am going to start having some fun. So I tell her, "usually around ten. If the date is going well, then we end up at one of the city's finer establishments imbibing and enjoying each other's company. If the date is for shit, I need to dull the pain."

She was not amused.

Anyway, the text messaging becomes more fervent as she is peppering serial-dating questions about my family. I tell her about my sister, soon to marry, and who is soon to be a DA (we're like our own "Johnny Dangerously" family-- just Jewish.)

So long story short, the date lasts one drink because she has to go home and watch the dogs. I then ask her if her roommate is gainfully employed. "Of course." "Then who watches the dogs while you two are at work?" I have now crossed the line from date, to the Grand Inquisitor. She says that her dogs were mistreated as pups and can't be left alone, so they have a dog walker. Now I am torn. Do I follow-up with, "So you're telling me you have a dog walker who walks the dogs 8-10 hours a day, every damn day?" But the story about the mistreated pups got to me, so I let it go.

Now I am not happy that I just spent an hour (with only one drink mind you) that has no been lost to the ether. Nonetheless, I am a gentleman and offer to walk her home as she lived in the neighborhood.

On the way home, she turns to me and asks, "Do you have any siblings?"

Thinking that she means any others, I reply, "Just the sister."

Then, I couldn't believe it. She said, "What does she do?"

"Oh. She's a chef."

"Really? That's cool"

"Yeah, she's always loved to cook but I am afraid that her busy schedule at the restaurant is going to make it hard to find a future husband."

You would think this would jog her mind about my sister and her betrothed, but she only said, "Yeah. It's hard for us working women out there to find the right one."

That was it. Luckily, we were just approaching her place, so I said, "Well, if you can find a dog walker to walk the dogs 8-10 hours a day, then I'm sure there's hope for my sister."

I wonder who is on deck.

And we're back....

2006-11-02T13:36:00.000-08:00

So I've been off in Never-Never Land for the last six months and I apologize to all my loyal readers-- both of you. It has been far too long since I've been here and I promise to at least post every two weeks or so. Although, in this land of anonymity, I don't think I have to worry about castration if I don't keep my word.

Life has become a little bit too ordinary, and I have forgotten my creedo, "Why the fuck not?" This is probably why I haven't written in far too long. Nothing to say. It seems every day I do the everyday schedule-- wake up, work, drink, sleep, repeat. I never thought I would become this person. But I'm not unhappy, just unfulfiiled-- if that makes sense. Or perhaps I've just entered into self-indulgent bullshit. In which case, you have permission to hunt me down for that ceremonial castration.

So this past weekend, I did have the pleasure of going to my sister's engagement party. Little sister. The problem, of course, is that I am a bachelor (perhaps, entering into "confirmed" bachelor status) and my LITTLE sister is getting married. From a personal standpoint, this is a wonderful occassion. From my mother's standpoint, this is a wonderful occassion but would be made better if we could get a two-for-one special on the wedding ceremony. Luckily, I've hit a status in life where I can imbibe in front of my parents without them thinking that I am an alcoholic (they know I am), and the pangs of guilt become blunted.

Luckily, this weekend, the question "so when are you..." was asked, I had pat responses. Sometimes, I interrupted the "so when are you...." -- "going to Greece?" Of course, this double-entendre was left lacking on everyone who asked the question, but the quizical looks were no less priceless. The best is when the single, OLDER, uncles/aunts/friends asked the "so when are you...?" question. Easy response -- "The Day after you, which is probably the day after the pigs fly, but the day before hell freezes over."

My new family is going to love me.

On my Own

2006-05-03T10:08:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in everyone's life when they realize they are on their own. Even though I am in my late 20's now, I have friends who have failed to realize this concept. They are serial monogomists. I have one friend who has dated, non-stop, for the last 12 years. I've known him for about 10 of those years and I can say, with almost distinct certainty, that he has been single for three days in the last decade.

It started off innocently enough. He came to college with a high school sweetheart. For our sake, let's call her "controlling-psycho-bitch-who-was-constantly-PMSing." So contolling-psycho-bitch-who-was-constantly-PMSing would be on the phone with our protagonist for anywhere from 2-6 hours a night. Regardless of what we were doing: conversing, drinking, playing cards, watching a movie, etc.-- life would stand still for him. It was mind-boggling to us all, but he was our friend, our pussy-whipped-into-utter-submission friend. So we let it go...YEAH RIGHT! That guy spent 4 hours on the phone being told what clothes to wear the next day and then the next 4 hours being lambasted by his closest friends for being told what clothes to wear the next day. When they broke up, they're was cause for celebration throughout the land. Finally, it was time for the wicked witch to have the house dropped on her.

So what does male Dorothy do? He drinks, excessively. Puts his hand through a glass encasing a fire hydrant and is run to the hospital. A day later, a new girl appeared in my dorm room. She was part of our "college crew" and the three of us would spend hours lying awake in our room debating the issues of the day. Such as who's-fucking-who and which shitty fraternity we should hit that weekend.

Now during this time, I assumed life was going to improve for our male Dorothy. After all, he-she was a good looking dude and could bed half the campus if that was his desire. So the fact that our friend, who looked like a cracked-out munchkin, was sleeping in his bed didn't bother me. No way would he fuck her with MY dick. And I was right. He wasn't fucking her. Every night, after I went to bed, she would go down on him. He wouldn't kiss her or "please her back", she would just "finish him off" before bedtime. For 8 months, I thought Dorothy was finding himself, learning to be on his own, when in fact, he found another co-dependent to share some one-way fluid exchange. A bedtime blowjob to welcome Mr. Sandman.

And I don't even think it was the oral pleasure in which he delighted. Rather, it was the fact that another warm body was close to him, was helping him cope with life. After that ended, there was a parade of women, and he lives with another one now. Maybe they'll get married and then he'll never learn that he has to be on his own.

"Life moves pretty fast...

2006-04-18T12:26:00.000-07:00

...if you don't stop to smell the roses once in a while you might just miss it." So Ferris had a point. I realized that my dreams are a constantly moving target. When I was younger, I dreamt of owning a Nintendo. My "friend" across the ornamental wall that divided our backyard had one, and the best baseball video game ever made. I say friend in pithy quotes, because the guy was actually a punk-ass prick, but he lived close and had a Nintendo in his basement, so we were tight. And his mom was hot.

When I finally got a Nintendo, I wanted a dog. In truth, I always wanted a dog, but never really thought that it was in the realm of possibility. My father was "anti-", in that he was against anything that changed the status quo. Eventually, without explanation, the family decided to get a dog. I think my mom was a little down, and this was my father's attempt to cheer her up. Nothing says lovin' like a little bribery. I wanted a golden retriever, we got a toy poodle. Go figure.

Then I dreamt of getting out. I was ready to be anywhere in the world except living with my family. My love for them never waned, they just royally pissed me off. All the time. So I went to college. Then I realized that college isn't freedom, it's just a different prison. Broke ass college students have to live in a bubble: dorm room and cafeteria food. But at least we got to smoke pot, which was nice.

Then I dreamt of getting some money. So I went to grad school, and became a professional. So now I have some freedom and a little money, but considering my student loan check is the same as the check for my shoe box of a Manhattan apartment, it's still not enough.

So now I dream of becoming a professional in one of my hobbies. Or becoming a huge success in my career. Things that are within my reach, but outside my grasp (I know, I know -- "...or what's a heaven for?"). But my dreams are no longer stuck in a k-hole. Rather, I dream of so many unwritten things. So much so, that at times I lay awake at night...dreaming.

Weird Flashback

2006-04-03T12:54:00.000-07:00

Setting: Junior year, Front Seat of Ambulance
On: Extacy, Mushrooms and Pot
Location: Flying down Mass. Ave.

I was staring intently out the window while my friend was in a gurny in the back of the ambulance. The EMT driver looks over and asked me if I was ok.

I turned to him and said, "Dude. I'm trippin' with the Bradys."

The First Love

2006-03-28T09:13:00.000-08:00

1995: Bulletin Board Services (BBSs) were the main forum for electronic communications. Gore had just invented the Internet and Prodigy was the dominant player in the "full service" market. And I was in love.

She was my age and lived in Highland Falls, Illinois. From what I understand, as I'd never been to Highland Falls, this was Illinois' version of Long Island. We chatted for 8 hours, 6 on the computer and 2 on the phone. She fell in love with me that night. And she told me so, that night.

I had never been in love before and as I was only 17, I didn't really know what love was. I said, "thank you," as any other response would have been insincere. We continued to talk, hours and hours on end, on almost a daily basis. Internet time was charged per hour back then and long-distance calls were far from 3 cents a minute. But I didn't care, I was falling in love with her and she was already in love with me.

This went on and on (and I will not bore you with the details) until I went to college. Two months in-- freshman year. We had our first fight. To this day, I can't remember what it was about, only that it was around my birthday. I think it was about who was going to visit the other person during winter recess. Doesn't matter.

I got her birthday card a few days later, which said "we need to talk." I called her up and that's when my world stood still. First time. She was sobbing uncontrollably when I called.

"I understand if you never want to speak to me again."

"What are you talking about? It was just an argument, we'll get over it."

"Wait..wait. I have to tell you something. Last week, after our fight, Tom came over...and...and...I slept with him"

"WHAT??!?!?!"

"Wait there's more..."

"What do you mean there's more?"

Almost inaudibly, "I'm pregnant."

(Silence)

"I understand if you never want to speak to me again."

"I never want to speak to you again."

And I hung up the phone.

Sometimes It Is Better To Be Wrong

2006-03-13T14:21:00.000-08:00

So last week I went out with the ex-love. Much more than an ex-lover (some), ex-girlfriend (less but still numerous), an ex-love is few and far between. Reminds me of "A Bronx Tale" (every man has three great loves), well last week's meet was with number 2 on my sequence. Even if it ended there, dayenu (trans. "it would have been enough").

I thought I wanted to touch her again, physically, but I was wrong. What I really wanted was to remember what is was like to laugh with her. There was a time in the beginning when that was all we did-- laugh. We learned so much from each other.

But I was immature in such matters and despite having a rudimentary understanding of love, I didn't understand how to make love coincide with life. Love in a vacuum is much easier than love ensconsed in life. And when we broke up badly, my support network knew it. I told them all the tawdry details through self-slanted glasses. Now, we can never get back together, even if that is what we wanted, for friends and family will never allow me to forget.

Last week, however, was the perfect "non-date" date. There was innocent flirting and great stories and both of us were listening intently, actually giving a shit what the other was saying. And I told her that she was number 2 on my "Bronx Tale" list, not in the hopes of winning her back, just in the hopes that it would make her happy.

And most importantly, I apologized. I apologized for the little things but most importantly, I apologized for the one thing I had wanted to apologize for ever since I said it. I apologized because what I said was a lie. And it was uttered for one reason, to hurt her. So I apologized and told her it was a lie. She said, "do you know that was the reason we broke up?" In truth, there were 1000 reasons we broke up, this was just the straw that broke the proverbial back.

Two days later, I went out on a blind date. I was really excited coming off my non-date to ex-love, feeling rejuvenated about the possibility of finding number 3. What a fucktard (thanks Forksplit) this chick was. Spent two hours with this woman and it was like an interview. I'm sorry, that is belittling an interview. At least at the end of an interview, the candidate has some questions for the interviewer. This was simply a Q&A. I asked every question under the sun and got brief answers or drawn out stories, but never felt that she wanted me to contribute to the exchange.

At least I had better luck this weekend, two women, who both appear to be fantastic possibilities. But I fucked up, twice. I put the ball in their court and have to hope that they call/email. Should have taken the first steps. On the flip side, if they do contact me, then I know it's "on like Donkey Kong." Let you know how it turns out.

I've officially lost my mind

2006-03-07T15:27:00.000-08:00

I've decided to take an earnest shot at a weekly blog. I know I was too overambitious initally, thinking I would stay on top of this on a daily basis. Weekly, there's a shot.

So I am having a drink with my ex-girlfriend tonight. Apparently, I have this masochistic side that is bursting at the seams. The ridiculousness of it all. First, it took me over a year to get over her (we dated for a year and a half). Second, that last "half" was spent sleeping in the same bed without physical intimacy and the relationship ended with me saying the worst thing I've ever said to a woman, which I am not going to share at the moment. Third, I am wearing a new shirt (new shoes and a new belt too).

Now, I extrinsically have no interest in this woman anymore. She isn't even a blip on the proverbial radar. I also have no desire to make her jealous (perhaps subconsciously, but I doubt that as well). The best I can come up with is that if there is a shot in hell I can have one more night with her, might as well take my shot.

Sometimes, I don't like me.

So long and thanks for all the fish

2006-01-17T13:19:00.000-08:00

There are certain things we take for granted as "normal" or "standard" in NY, but when truly contemplated, are just f'ed up. This past Saturday night @ Rock Candy, a NYC Hot spot. Celebrity sightings abound. I walk by with my "crew," which for the evening was 6 guys and a girl. Bouncer says: "6 dudes and a girl, I can't do it" Without dejection or more than mild protestation we move on. Now if we all had women, what the hell would we be doing at a glorified pickup joint?

I am confused

2006-01-10T14:51:00.000-08:00

Ok, so Jessica and Nick break up and decide to sell their home. That makes sense. It's a nice house, lots of room and now part of cultural history. What confuses me is the purchaser for $3.75 million is...JUSTIN BERFIELD! WTF!!! Reese from Malcolm in the Middle has enough money to buy this place??? Perhaps I am missing something. Does some bank think this yo-yo is going to have enough of a thespian future to pay the mortgage on this? Now I definitley want to smoke whatever that loan officer was smoking...

4 Legs Good, 2 Legs Bad

2005-11-29T12:34:00.000-08:00

I raise with you the following thought: About a century ago there were white men who believed that justice consisted of blacks being considered 2/5 a person. Those saged white men were the Supreme Court (Plessy v. Ferguson). 40 years later-- Brown v. Board of Education created a national uproar -- riots were the norm not the exception, black children were chastised, beaten and killed. 60 years later we live in a country where exceptance is the norm (ok, we can debate that but let's except it as fact for sake of conversation).
Compare:
100 years ago, abortion was not only illegal, it was murder. There was no debate when life started, when a fetus was fertilized, 1st 2nd or 3rd trimester made no difference. 60 years later, Roe v. Wade created a national uproar, abortion clinics were bombed, women were scorned and beaten for having an abortion. 40 years later, nothing has changed. Roe v. Wade hangs by the thread but my question is this. As our country moves to the right, 100 years from now, will the abortion debate be anything? In the next 20 years, Roe v. Wade will be overturned or limited so that you can only have an abortion on February 29. So 80 years after that, will our children's children look back on us and think "I can't believe our grandparent's generation thought abortion was acceptable, that it was the woman's right to choose whether to commit such a travesty."
Sad...

Things That Make You Go Hmmmm....

2005-11-28T13:19:00.000-08:00

For some reason I started wondering what happened to the following five "rap/hip-hop" acts:

1. C&C Music Factory: They made me sweat and now, radio silence.

2. KLF: 3 A.M. Eternal has the best use of machine guns in any song except for "Throw Ya Gunz in the Air by....

3. ONYX: Just Slam, du dah dah, du dah dah, let the boyz be boyz and SLAM

4. B.G. The Prince of Rap: This Beat is Hot was Hot but after 15-20 years, you'd figure B.G would be the King, if not the Queen Mother of Rap by now

5. M.C. Search: Clearly the greatest Jewish rapper of all time

My thought is that they are all hanging out at the hip-hop retirement home having an old school battle every weekend while drinking Mad Dog 20/20 and hanging with Big Daddy Kane, Slick Rick and Tribe Called Quest (Qtip is fine but come on already Tribe, I need to find out if you ever found that wallet you left in El Segundo)

At the very least, this would make for a solid SNL Skit.

It's a cruel (CRUEL) cruel summer

2005-11-23T07:02:00.000-08:00

Alas, I didn't make it to U2 last night. I heard they rocked despite the fact that their finale was actually a Patsy Kline (the opening act) song. Well, there is always the next time they're in town five years from now. Argh!

On the other side of reality, I have had the pleasure over the last two days to taste test a variety of cold medicines, and am under the impression that they are gobblygook. Nothing helps a cold, you just need to ride it out. Except for Nyquil. That stuff knocks me on my ass. The only comparison I can think of is a 1/5 of J.D. without the need for greasy eggs and homefries in the morning.

Happy Thanksgiving World!

U2 Tonight!!!

2005-11-22T09:28:00.000-08:00

Here are my top five expectations for the show:

5. The fact that I woke up legitimately sick (not, I-want-to-stay-in-bed-and-watch-morning- talk-show sick) is not going to stop me from this show.

4. Bono's political correctness will not bother me because it is heartfelt and true

3. I will spill something on the person in front, next to or behind me

2. I will spot an "A", "B" AND "C" list celebrity and

1. This will be the greatest concert I've ever been to.

By the way, any idea why the show got changed from U2 coming on at 9 to coming on at 8:45?

And we're back

2005-11-21T06:53:00.000-08:00

After taking a blogging hiatus, it is time to renew with all of my kindred spirits out there in never never land. If you all missed the Save the Earth telethon on TBS, you must see it when it comes on repeat. Sadly, I only caught the first few minutes (and DVR was too busy with the Fox Sunday lineup and Housewives) but it was hysterical and important. I particularly enjoyed Conan's skit where he discusses NBC's lineup for who will be playing the world leaders in the Global Warming movie (i.e., Karl Rove as Boss Hogg) with the best being that Pres. Bush will be played by Ralph Wiggam. Ahhh Ralphie!

Best Episode Ever

2005-08-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

After viewing this past week's "Entourage" I figured it was time to compile a list of the best episodes ever (for Entourage, this is very close, if not, the top) Here are my results of the work in progress:

5. Saved by the Bell: Episode where Zack and Kelly break up at the school dance but profess to be friends forever, just for the sheer comedic value of watching some of Mark Paul and Tiffani-Amber's worse acting moments ever.

4. Different Strokes: The bicycle store episode, nuff said.

3. Beverly Hills 90210: "Donna Moss Graduates" is up there, but I think when Steve "loans" his car to the girl with the bra top in the hopes she would play with his stick shift must come in at #1.

2. Seinfeld: Don't make me choose (although my favorite bit is probably when George pulls the golf ball from the great fish....(Jerry: "Mammal"; George: "Whatever")

1. The Cosby Show: When Dr. Huxtable decides to teach Theo about "real life" and makes him pay rent to his landlord, played brilliantly by Keisha-Knight as an old woman (really showed her range as a thespian)

Ooompa Loompa

2005-08-29T12:04:00.000-07:00

So I am at the movies on Saturday night and decide, as all Americans do, this is the perfect time to purge on some good old fashioned candy crap. Of course I went for the sour patch kids (despite the woman professing there were only sour melons, eventually she dug down and found some kids--pays to flirt with the nice candy lady) Anyway, it has come to my attention that when we were small, these bags of candy contained at least twenty five pounds of candy, and now...I think there were about four kids in the entire pacakge. What gives? Are the packages getting smaller or are we getting bigger. (Note that the soda sizes are still growing at an alarminly exponential rate-- so that I was able to enjoy my diet coke jacuzzi well until Tuesday)

Popping My Blog Cherry

2005-08-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

So like many others in the world I have nothing to say but feel like it must be said anyway, so welcome to my little blog in the forrest of life. Stay as long as you like and let's see if we can't make this world a little better one post at a time. On that note....

According to yesterday's CNN:

A U.S. Pentagon invention could make air combat resemble a battle scene from the movie 'Star Wars' with a laser so small it can fit on a fighter jet, yet powerful enough to knock down an enemy missile in flight...But the Pentagon's Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency reckons it has solved the problem by merging liquid and solid state lasers to cut the size and weight by "an order of magnitude", according to its Web site.

Is it just me, or wasn't this the ending to the Val Kilmer classic, "Real Genius"?