A Shit List, for the Future

I don't often get days off of work. In fact, I usually never do unless I pay someone else to fill in for me. Every once in awhile though, my father-in-law has some time off of his own work and covers for me. Usually he has to really push it because I'd rather just do it myself, but that's besides the point. Today he had the day off and he told me he'd do one of my routes for me.

So, I relaxed a little bit instead of rushing to start work right away. I spent some more time in the morning with my wife and kid, and got a little bit of writing done. When I headed out to start up the route I was about and hour and a half later than I normally am. No big deal at all because I usually finish the route three hours before I have to be done -- time I use to go and do the second route which my father-in-law had covered.

Of course, people get accustomed to having things a certain way, and they don't really like change. Multiple people were standing around waiting for their papers as I pulled up, and I even fielded a call from someone I hadn't yet gotten to saying they didn't get a paper, most likely because they tried calling my employer first and were told they can't complain about not getting a paper until after 5 o'clock. But the real kicker was the guy that had the nerve to inform me I was late as I pulled up to hand him his paper.

I first responded in a friendly manner, informing him that my father-in-law was covering my second route so I didn't have to rush off right away today. He seemed annoyed by that, as if my entire life was only to deliver his paper. He told me that I was normally there at 2:30 (it was quarter to 4 at that time). I said yes, because I normally had to be so I could do my second route, but I wasn't late because it wasn't after 5. This didn't exactly satisfy him, but he grumbled and walked off.

You know, some people are so privileged that they seem to think the world plans itself around them. If the paper carrier is late, it must be because he's lazy. He should be delivering the paper at the exact same time every day, because surely he doesn't have a life outside of this one minuscule task which directly involves me!

I should start keeping a list of everyone that has shown behavior that proves they think like that. However long it is that I am stuck still delivering newspapers, I'll keep a file of their names and addresses. The day that I finally find a new job, I could then go and knock on every one of their doors and tell them exactly why they are awful people who can think of nobody but themselves.

Of course, I won't do that, but it'd be supremely satisfying if I did. I've said this before and I'll say this again: tip your paper carrier, mail carrier, pizza delivery boy, or whatever other person you have providing you with a service. You might not treat them like shit, but chances are there are a bunch of people that do.

I'm Sick of People Being Sick of [...] Shit

I am sick of people being sick of my shit.
If you are not into the wacky hi-jinks then why the hell are you into this?
Information wants to be free
charged particles expand through space
then bleed through greedy fingers
and explode in your face
I can't wait.

Alright, so World/Inferno Friendship Society were singing about their own things, but I think the sentiment fits for what I'm going to be writing about. Here, enjoy the song while you're reading:



You know what? You're entitled to your own opinion, sure, but that does not mean you're expected to voice it. People seem to think that the Internet demands of them to voice their like or dislike for every goddamn thing that comes along, and I'm sick of it.

Every time anyone is having any fun with anything there will always be someone there to pop up and kill the joy by announcing their hatred for whatever is causing that joy. An Internet meme that everyone is having a good time making jokes about? Well, surely you're going to hear about how much it is bothering someone else. Look, I'm over that whole Rebecca Black thing too, but for awhile it was really funny to me, and whenever someone popped up saying something about wanting everyone to shutup about her it killed the amusement just a little bit. It's been a few weeks now and she's still around. Every once in awhile someone still makes a joke about her on Twitter and I roll my eyes. What's the difference? I DON'T FUCKING @ REPLY THE PERSON AND TELL THEM HOW OLD AND UNFUNNY THAT THING THEY ARE CURRENTLY ENJOYING IS! (No one did that to me, just saying.)

That hot new game that came out that everyone is talking about? The whole world desperately wants to hear about how you don't like it without any reasoning to back it up! Please! Tell us! We don't want you to take any actual time to formulate your thoughts into a well-reasoned dissenting opinion and write them out somewhere for us to read and get into a spirited debate in the comment field. Fuck that! We just want to read "Ugh, sick of hearing about ShinyNewCoolGame! It's a piece of shit!"

You might be wondering why I'm ranting about this today. Every single year the good-natured fun of April Fool's Day is inevitably soiled by a bunch of uppity jerks that feel like they need to inform everyone how much they dislike the day and how unfunny everything is. I'm not asking you to find it funny, I'm just saying you don't have to tell everyone that you don't. Let people have fun for christs sake! You aren't coming across as the one person too cool for the whole thing, you're coming across as the dick that needs to shove his opinion in the face of everyone's fun. Just calm down and mutter to yourself. (This isn't about anyone really, just something that always bothered me and a few tiny comments from people today reminded me of it.)

You're the Reason I'm not Religious

Back when that giant earthquake and subsequent tsunami hit Japan, stupid people came out of the woodwork. An alarmingly large amount of them decided they were clever to relate the earthquake as some sort of karmic retribution for Pearl Harbor (as if those bombs weren't enough). I took one of these people to task on Facebook, as he had most uncleverly left his account completely open to any stranger that happened by.

Here was his argument: On the 70th day of 2011, an 8.9 earthquake hit Japan. The Bible has 1189 chapters and 66 books; this earthquake happened 1189 days after the 66th anniversary of Pearl Harbor.

It's always been funny to me the ways in which religious people decide to try to convert non-believers, but this one really blew my mind. See, I'm not a staunch atheist. If anything I'd classify myself as agnostic, in that I'm not entirely sure what I believe. The only thing I know for sure is that I will never be a part of an organized religion, and these sorts of situations cement that fact for me daily.

Every time I drive past a group of Baptists screaming at people on a street corner, I wonder why they've decided that acting like crazy homeless people will be a good way to recruit people to their belief system. This is the exact same to me. Why on Earth would you want people to believe that God planned this earthquake as some sort of retribution to the people of Japan? That is not the kind of god I would want to believe in.

Years ago, back when I was struggling even more to find what exactly I chose to have faith in, my sister (someone who has clung to religion for awhile now to help her regain control of her life) brought over her friend to talk this out with me. It wasn't said so upfront, but more or less sprung upon me in the guise of her needing to "interview" someone. I quickly deduced that this "someone" was a person she hoped to convert. I didn't tell her to leave me alone, I just embraced the conversation and started asking questions.

I asked her what would happen to Buddhists, or Hindus. Would they go to hell just because they didn't practice Christianity? "Yes," she said, "because they haven't accepted Jesus." That struck me as a tad ridiculous so I reasoned that they were good people who have likely led honest and respectful lives. If they haven't committed egregious sins, did they still go to hell simply because they didn't believe in Jesus?

"Look," she began. "Ultimately it doesn't matter what kind of life they led, as long as they accept Jesus then their sins will be forgiven and they'll be allowed into Heaven."

So Hitler could have gone to Heaven? More or less the answer was yes. That was my out, and my overall answer to whether or not I should be religious. I told her that if there's a God, I choose to believe that he will judge our lives based on what we did and what type of person we were. If we were good people, then we can get into Heaven no matter what religion we were. I told her it didn't make sense for a god to condemn a group of people from an entirely different country just because they hadn't ever been confronted with "the right religion." I told her if that's how God chose to run things then God didn't make any sense to me and I didn't really want to believe in that type of God.

Christians, Baptists, Catholics, Whatevers: If you are trying to convert people, you're failing. That guy on Facebook tried to convert me numerous times during the course of our argument, despite the fact that he was trying to sell me on a God that would devastate a country just because of a grudge. If you say things like that, or if you believe that good people will end up in Hell just because of their specific religion, or if you yell at me from the street corner, then I'm not going to buy what you're selling. YOU'RE the reason I'm not religious. Stop it. Now!

Speed is Relative

Some time back when I was in middle school my family took a vacation up to a campground somewhere in the thumb part of Michigan. We set off in a convoy of rented RVs like some kind of awful Robin Williams movie off for an adventure of some kind. More than halfway through the trip we came behind a truck pulling a camper of it's own. As a car blew past both of us, my dad peeked around him preparing to pass when he stopped and settled back into his spot behind. "I was going to pass him, but I just realized he's going five over the speed limit already. I'm happy with that." my dad said to me.

When we come up behind that hulking camper, semi-truck, or other large vehicle on the highway, we're inclined to believe that we're going sooooooo slooooooooow, when in reality we're probably travelling the speed limit. It's just easy to perceive things as going much slower or faster depending on the situation we're in.

This has been thoroughly cemented in my mind because I now deal with it every single day. I'm firmly of the belief that just like a large camper in front of you on the highway will make you think you're going very slow, a 20-something delivering mail or newspapers in your rich neighborhood will make you think they are SPEED DEMONS OMG SLOOOW DOOOWN! That was a long sentence. Oh well.

As a newspaper carrier I've heard this constantly. Funnily enough, only when I drive through one of those little subdivisions with the culdesac at the end. People live on those for the very reason that they can let their children run wild without respecting the road or the cars on it at all. On more than a few occasions I have been stuck barely crawling behind a group of kids walking down the middle of the street without ever noticing me behind them. They don't teach their children to be wary of the road, and then they get pissed off at you for even entering their neighborhood.

The first time they yelled at me to slow down as I passed I was befuddled. I looked down and confirmed that I was going just over 20 mph. Well, I guess that's why they never wave back to me. So I specifically kept my speed to exactly 20 mph from then on, so that if they said anything again I could throw it back in their face. I'd turn in behind one of their neighbors in a big SUV and they would be completely down the street before I even made it halfway, but I kept to 20.

A little while ago as I went to pass the group of snobby broads one of their husbands stepped out into the road and held up his hand. I rolled down my window and he asked me to slow down. I let it all loose. I was going 20 mph and was making sure of it. One of the bitches let out, "The speed limit is 15 through here." from the back. "Alright," I said, "You wanna tell me your neighbors are going 15 when I'm making sure to go 20 and they fly ahead? I stick at 20-25 until I see a child and then I crawl past them, watching to make sure they don't run out."

The husband seemed satisfied. Actually, he seemed upset he'd even been forced into this confrontation in the first place. He was literally backing away with his hands up saying that all sounded fine and he just wanted to make sure. The gabbing bitches behind him seemed completely unconvinced, but unless I get rich, buy an SUV, and move into the neighborhood I think they always will. If I ever come across a large sum of money, the first thing I'm going to do is build a highway through the middle of their neighborhood. Maybe then they'll stop judging people and teach their kids to be careful of the roads.

Developing That Thick Skin

I've never taken well to criticism, and when writing online that's kind of a big issue. The real issue is that I blow things out of proportion and perceive them as an insult when they likely weren't meant that way. This unhelpful character trait would have likely helped to cripple my advancement into adulthood, were it not for Zoe coming along and helping to talk some sense into me.

It really helped having someone I trusted and loved around that could convince me that my perception of the world around me was much worse than what was actually happening. I needed to stop being so offended by things and flying off the handle in response, because it was only hurting myself. Prior to her I'd always sort of known I needed to stop taking things so harshly, I just couldn't bring myself to change. It was much easier to fall into the trap of believing that everyone else in the world hated me.

Though, that little issue likes to pop it's ugly head up from time to time and if I'm not careful I buy into it for long enough that I go off on someone and start a feud. Here's the thing I've noticed about the Internet. For someone like me, it's even easier to misconstrue something as a personal attack even if that's not at all what it was. When my wife and I text each other we have a code for when someone gets mad at something that wasn't meant to be mean. If she asks if tonight is alright for us to go visit my parents, and I respond with, "Fine" because I don't have anything else to say about it, but she reads that as, "Ugh, that doesn't work at all but fiiiiine, whatever!" and texts back that I don't need to be snotty, well, I just respond with MTMT. Misreading Text Message Tone. "MTMT. I actually am fine with that."

That sort of thing is common when text is your only means of communication, and it has led to more than a few situations online that I am now embarrassed by. I've come to realize I am never in the "right" when it comes to arguing online. It is impossible to know every detail about the situation, and I have likely assumed the worst about the person with whom I'm arguing.

Besides, there are two major hurdles to having a writing career in the online world. The first is actually being able to write, and the second is respecting and being friendly to people. You never win an Internet argument. Even if your assumptions of the person were correct, you were the asshole for bringing them up when you don't truly know for sure. And you might be able to make something of yourself if your self esteem is high enough that you can really sell your writing to people, but eventually acting like you're better than other people or flying off the handle and attacking others that you don't even really know will come back to bite you in the ass one day.

Deer are Morons

I don't get deer. I mean, I know they have a much smaller brain than we do, but it seems like they should be able to figure out that a car will kill them. Imagine a gazelle hidden behind some brush when suddenly a lion comes running past. Would that gazelle decide to make a mad dash right in front of the path of that lion, or would they wait for it to pass, or run another way? They would obviously do the latter, because the lion is a predator and they have enough mental capability to understand that it would kill them.

So why don't deer have that same mental capability?

On Saturday morning I was coming up over a hill on a dirt back road. Just as I reached the crest of the hill, two deer came dashing across the road. I hit my brakes, attempting to not slam them down and send myself careening off the road, but still slow enough so I wouldn't hit the deer that decided to run right in front of me. It was within inches, and luckily the second deer took a leisurely path behind my car. Both of them made it across the road, and I began fish-tailing on the loose dirt. I tried twice to steer out of it but it only got worse, so I hit my brakes and let myself spin out, knowing I wasn't going fast enough to roll or anything bad like that.

Surely they must be able to understand that the giant metal beast barreling down the road could crush them if they ran in front. I know they understand this, because when they make a last-minute attempt to get across the road right in front of your car, their ears are back and they are hauling ass as fast as they can with a look of fear in their face. So why can't they get it through their stupid deer heads that they could just wait one more second for me to pass before attempting their cross?

I have a huge amount of respect for opossums. I did a report on them in high school and developed a bit of a fascination. Did you know that opossums lived with the dinosaurs 70 million years ago and have changed very little since then? They have forked penises and a two-channel vagina so it's impossible for them to breed with any other species. How have they survived this long? They've ADAPTED to new surroundings. You might think they're dirty scavengers but what else should they do when we've built up cities all around their homes? They're survivors and they're gonna survive no matter what happens.

Deer? I give them another 200 years, tops. Morons.

American Owned: Stupid People in my Home Town

There is a restaurant in my town with the words "American Owned" on the signboard out front. This, of course, could only mean "White Owned" because you'd have to be an American citizen in order to own a business in the country. It is an obvious response to the fact that there are two Indian families that have each bought a couple of failing gas stations or party stores in town, and the racists think this is some sort of hostile takeover.

The owner of that restaurant is the girlfriend of a well-known racist. His brother owns a towing business on nearby highway and got in some hot water when he showed up to tow a woman and refused when he saw she was black. She was a judge. It did not end well for him. Still, his towing business is around, and he is likely a stupid racist. Just like his mom that co-owns the disgusting strip club next to it, and his brother that has seized control of that stupid signboard of that restaurant.

I've heard so many comments about the Indian people taking over the town. They bought businesses from people who couldn't afford to keep them running, so I don't really understand why they're demonized. Oh yeah, racism. You know, I love my town sometimes. This is not one of those times.

Making it Through February

I used to laugh when people said things about certain months being particularly unlucky, but February has come to be a time of great stress in my life. Now sure, three years ago I was lucky enough to see my first child born on the first of February, but that may have come to haunt me later.

After barely making it through Christmas each year, we have to turn around and get ready for a birthday party in just one month's time. This has been made all the more difficult by the fact that we purchased a piece of shit car that has had a transmission fail the last two years in a row; in February.

This year the money has been so tight that we've come down to below $50 left in our bank account each and every week of that accursed month just trying to keep up on the bills. The very last week of the month we finally had a couple hundred dollars left over that we might have been able to use to pay back some of the money we've had to borrow. Of course, I suddenly learned I'd need to spend that on control arms to once again fix my car.

It is now the first day of March, and we're entering the new month with sizable debts to family members who graciously helped us to get through. I'm crossing my fingers that this month goes MUCH better for us, but on the last day of the devil month I found out I'd need to replace the shocks and possibly struts on my car as well if I didn't want my tires worn to nothing.

February just won't let us go. March is going to have to be one hell of a great month in order to make up for all the shit we've got coming into it.

Cops Can Be Real Dicks When They Wanna Be

See, I mostly have a very prominent dislike for cops. Not because I'm a criminal, but because it seems like it is a cops job to treat you like a criminal at all times. To me, the sight of a cop should make me (someone who doesn't ever commit crimes) feel safe. How did you feel the last time you saw a cop? Chances are you got a little nervous and started thinking about exactly how you were driving. That is always the way I feel when I see a cop. Did I stay at that stop sign for long enough or was that a "rolling stop?" Am I staying completely in my lane or drifting a little bit out of it? Does that make me look drunk?

Let me be clear, I have never once been drunk in my entire life. This thought process is completely irrational, but with the way cops analyze you for any slight mistakes, it breeds paranoia. I should never have to be paranoid about a cop pulling me over because I don't commit crimes, but they will find something you did wrong. One of the lights above your license plate is out, better check if you're drunk. Why else would you be out driving in the middle of the night? Well, the license plate light seems to be working fine once we got home, so I guess that was just a load of bullshit.

Delivering newspapers has put me up against cops on plenty of occasions. The thing is, it's actually made me kind of like them. I usually pass them when I am driving down the shoulder of the road, the wrong way. Or I'm doing a u-turn right in front of where they are parked so that I can deliver a paper out my window and then continue down the road in the wrong lane. One time when I did that last thing right in front of a cop, he pulled out and drove up next to me at the next box. I rolled down my window and he asked if I was delivering something. I said yes and held up one of the papers, and he replied "Oh, that's fine then. Just making sure." and drove off.

The other day when I slid off the road a bit in front of someone's mailbox and a man in a truck stopped to help pull me back up, a cop who was driving past stopped. He asked how I'd gotten there and I told him I was delivering papers. He took my license, then stopped traffic while we worked on pulling me back onto the road. Afterwards, he told me he was giving me a verbal warning because I needed to rotate my tires and I was improperly using the lane by being on the wrong side of the road. I was a bit confused. I said, "Even with the paper delivering?" He said yes. So, that means that all the cops I've passed while driving down the wrong side of the road could have pulled me over and given me a ticket, they just aren't dicks and they understand I'm just trying to do my job. That cop that drove up next to me and asked if I was delivering just wanted to make sure before he gave me a free pass to bend the rules.

So, really, it's entirely in their hands whether they want to be a dick about it or not. Back when I delivered papers in town, I would drop papers off at stores and in the big metal paper machines around town. This meant I usually double parked in front of the stores when there weren't any available parking spots, because I was only going to be there a minute at the most. Of course, one day a cop pulled up within the minute it took me to reload the box in front of a local coffee house.

I explained to him that I was just filling the paper box, but he didn't really care. "It doesn't matter if you're delivering anything, you need to park in an actual spot." Of course, this was complete bullshit, because several times a week I would have to maneuver around the beer trucks that were double parked in front of the bars downtown for at least a half an hour at a time. I mentioned this to the cop, and he informed me that they delivered to the back of the bars. Funny, every time I've seen them it has been in the street, so I guess he's just never come across that despite the fact they're sitting there for much longer than I ever do. Or maybe it's just that he decided he wanted to be a dick to me right then, and he valued the beer trucks more than the newspaper. His choice I guess.

In a small town the police force is usually full of the dumb jocks from high school that couldn't achieve anything better in their life. Of course, in a big city you come across more serious issues like racial profiling and bribing. Cops should make you feel safe, but when it seems to be completely up to their mood that particular day whether or not you get a ticket -- or worse -- well, it's hard to feel safe, and not just paranoid.

Cautiously Helpful

As I climbed down into the ditch to shovel away the snow packed up under my car so as to hopefully drive away without sliding further in, a man in a truck pulls into the driveway across the street and gets out. I assume he is the owner of the house I was delivering the paper to.

"Hey. I'm kind of in a precarious situation here with your metal mailbox." I say as he walks up.

"Oh, it's not mine. I just stopped to help." he replies.

"Oh great. Well, I've got a tow strap, I think you can pull me away from the mailbox if we hook it up there on the passenger side."

"Yeah...have you hooked it up before?" he asks awkwardly.

"Yeah, plenty of times." I say.

"Could you hook it up then?"

I've become very accustomed to that kind of exchange. Doing papers in Michigan means I've gotten stuck countless times throughout the years. It's why I carry a tow strap with me in my trunk. The first time a helpful stranger stopped to give me a hand, that back and forth left me a little confused. I didn't have my own tow strap at that point in time, and didn't have the first clue about where would be the best place to hook one. He'd stopped because he was in a truck and had his own tow strap. Surely he must have a better idea of where to hook one up, so why was he so adamant that I do it myself?

After I fumbled around and found someplace I could wrap it around the frame, it struck me. He was worried about getting sued if it had somehow damaged my car. Well, that got must have been a tad too paranoid for his own good I thought, and scoffed it off.

It didn't stop with him though. Every single person that has ever stopped to help pull me out of a snowbank has made the same demand. Not that I'd expect they lay down on the ground and hook it up themselves when I'm the one that needs help, but they always lead off with that request. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that everyone was put through a strict course upon purchasing a truck where it is pounded into their heads to never hook up a tow strap to someone else's car.

The more likely scenario is that our society has made everyone scared shitless of being sued. The kind stranger stopping to help someone in need on the side of the road is often rewarded with a big fat lawsuit when the flimsy plastic body of the needy person's car is cracked in the process. It's sad, really. Even the few helpful people still out there have to be cautious about it.

Wishing Winter Would End

After we finished cleaning up from the biggest snowstorm since the seventies, a solar flare gave us all a much needed break from dealing with the snow. Almost all of the snow melted away last week, and I got to enjoy driving down a road without worrying about sliding off of it. Sadly, on Sunday morning we were dealt a harsh reality; it isn't Spring quite yet.

There wasn't as much of a fuss about this snowstorm, but based on the shoveling I had to do after both storms I'd say we got near the same amount of snow. The real problem is that our county barely has any money for snow removal this year, and the storm decided to come around on a Sunday when they'd have to pay overtime to all the plow drivers. Couple that with the fact that today is President's Day and they probably assumed not many people would have to work, and I had a rough time of delivering my paper routes.

I approached the first street I normally turn on and hesitated, but turn I did. I barely made it to the first driveway, where I wisely decided to bail out while I still could. I passed by the the three customers on that street and moved onto the next ones. After I got past the last possible place for me to give up and turn around, I realized I probably shouldn't have come this way either. I slowed to a stop in the middle of the road, with snow packed up under my car. I could move forward and backward, but not for more than a couple of feet. I was stuck.

I called my father-in-law, and waited to be rescued. He had to pull me at least a mile before we reached a road that hadn't been completely drifted over. I told him I was just going to skip the rest of the country roads and head straight into town to deliver those papers. I gave him enough papers to finish the country should he feel so inclined and ventured off.

Luckily the rest of the day went much better, and my father-in-law finished the country before I could get back to help him. I got home and started shoveling. Two hours later the driveway was finished, and I was exhausted.

It's not even that today was that much worse than some days I've had this winter, it was just that week's reprieve that got feeling fond of the springtime weather to come. Now that I've been thrown back into the harsh reality of winter, I want out. Really bad.

On the Detroit RoboCop Statue

It is now official; Detroit is getting a statue of RoboCop. Of course, the fact that a ragtag band of Internet jokesters have managed to succeed in their somewhat ridiculous goal has angered many people.

Of course that 50,000 dollars could be used for something much better, but you don't have to all of a sudden come to that realization when people are having fun. A statue of RoboCop is a stupid way of spending that much money, but the people that put forth the money most likely wouldn't have spent it otherwise. You, the whiny complainer, could use the effort it takes to whine about it and actually attempt to raise money for something positive.

Start your own KickStarter campaign that piggybacks off of the Internet buzz from the RoboCop statue and presents a goal for something more deserving in a fun way. Chances are everyone else that thinks the statue is dumb will jump on top of it. At the very least just find a better cause and pass that link around on the net in place of your stupid complaining.

If you really want to get into it, what else does Detroit have? I live a mere two hours from there, and I have never once driven over for anything other than a concert. There's a zoo, and some other things that my kid might enjoy, but it doesn't really seem like a worthwhile trip. A funny statue based on a movie just adds one more thing to that list. It's probably worth it just for the stupid TwitPics and Facebook profile pics I can get out of the whole experience.

In a town that is filled with houses like the one above, abandoned and forgotten to run down neighborhoods, they could use a little bit of fun. The mayor is doing things to take care of the serious issues, like paying people to take and restore those dilapidated houses. Sure, the Internet's power could be used for good, but more often than not it is used for fun. It's up to you to throw a good cause in front of that wave of fun.

Here, I did a Google search for you:
Charity Motors takes donated cars, repairs them, and sells them for cheap to poor car-less folks in Detroit.
The Society of St. Vincent de Paul provides food, clothing, and shelter to the poor.
Maybe The Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History is a tourist destination you'd approve of.
Here's the Ronald McDonald House of Detroit.

Ruining a Life (For the Children!)

She's just begging to have her innocence exploited.

Local news sources are buzzing about the case of Evan Emory and his "disturbing" YouTube video. The 21-year old musician asked a teacher if he could play in front of her classroom of first graders and record it for his portfolio. He then replaced the audio with another one of his songs, which included sexual situations, and put it up on YouTube.

Now, I'm not completely defending the guy, because it was pretty stupid of him to go about it that way, but the way it's being handled makes me a thousand times more sick than the video itself. Honestly, I've seen the joke a thousand times from professional comedians. To open his set on his Bigger and Blackerer DVD, David Cross had a child come out on stage dressed as him and start to tell jokes, only to go off on someone taping in the audience and let out a stream of f-bombs then storm off stage. I'm fairly certain that I there were skits of Dave Chappelle and Sarah Silverman saying inappropriate things in front of little kids on their respective shows. The only difference is that those people likely had parents sign contracts before they hit record.

Did ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead get arrested when they edited children into their song and then cussed at them? Of course not.



If my child was in his video, I would be upset. Only, all I would demand is that he took the video down, if that. Some people have a lot of problems with their little kids appearing on video, though I've never been 100% sure why. Is some sicko honestly going to track down your kid because he saw them on a video? Calm down a little.

You might be asking yourself why this whole thing bothers me so much. They're saying that he could get 20 years in prison. At the arraignment there was talk of him not being allowed to be in the vicinity of children without supervision. Seriously people, he looks like a frat douchebag, but let's not ruin his entire life over a joke.

BUT WE HAVE TO PROTECT THE CHILDREN! I'm honestly sick of this shit. Just like neutering recess of everything fun, and slapping "Adults Only" warnings on Sesame Street, we're blowing everything out of proportion. I'm scared to be raising a child in this day and age. Not because of the things that can hurt her, but because of our constant obsession with keeping kids away from things that could hurt them.

It's stupid to be so scared of bumps and bruises that we remove things that they use to have fun, but it's even more insane that we've now graduated to pretend threats. YOUR CHILD WASN'T EXPOSED TO VULGAR LANGUAGE, IT WAS EDITED! Congratulations on successfully protecting your child from something that wouldn't have negatively affected them at all, though. Just remember, Evan is 21 years old. He's still a child, really. 21-year olds do stupid things sometimes, I'm sure you did as well. What happens when your kid is twenty something and somebody deems something stupid they did as "disturbing" and chooses to ruin their lives? Will you think back to how you crusaded against Evan and see the irony, or will that fly right over your head? I'm guessing the latter.

It Was the Transmission

You know when you get really bad news, and you have that sick feeling? I've become accustomed to that feeling when it comes to money. After only one year of having to fight to get the dealership to replace a transmission that only lasted me a couple months, I have to do it again.

If they choose to ignore me this time, I guess I owe almost $10k on a gigantic paperweight. It's never even a feeling of anger, more helplessness. This is going to be short, because honestly, I'm kind of in the middle of a whirlwind of activity right now and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about everything. I'm sure there will be plenty of ranting at a future date.

SuperBowl Snacking

My favorite part of the SuperBowl is gorging on a bunch of food that I really shouldn't be stuffing down my throat when I'm already so pudgy. Either way, a plate full of buffalo wings, mini tacos covered in Frank's Red Hot, mozzarella sticks, pizza rolls, and chips sits before me, and I feast.

This year, something made me feel a little bit shittier than normal about the whole thing, even before I was on the toilet that night. Venturing to the store to get more food supplies, I figured I'd stop at McDonalds and get one of those 50 packs of chicken nuggets for the ridiculously low price of $10, because, why the hell not.

I was handed a box with 50 chicken nuggets, and a bag with six packets of sauce. Six. There is no way that is enough sauce. You get, maybe five nuggets out of a sauce packet. How many people are eating those 50 nuggets. Hopefully at least three people, meaning each gets two packets of sauce and there are 20 nuggets left over without any sauce. Eating a chicken mcnugget without any sauce is like chewing on styrofoam.

But let's really get into the nitty-gritty here. 50 chicken nuggets for $10 means each nugget costs 20 cents. Ignore the fact that you're eating a piece of "meat" that only cost you 20 cents for a moment. After they give you six packets of sauce, McDonalds charges for any more sauce you might want. How much do they charge for each subsequent sauce packet? 20 cents.

Yes, we've arrived, America. The food we are eating is now worth as much as the condiments we dip it in. Feel the pride, we've earned it. It took a lot of work to make our food products so cheaply. I'd like to congratulate the giant labs filled with people in white lab coats that made this all possible. You guys are what makes America great.

I'm Switching to Horses

Remember that $15 part that I hoped would fix the car problems that started the other day? It didn't. My car is now playing games with me. Sometimes it moves, sometimes it doesn't. Here's the thing, I've been trying my best to ignore the fact that it has the exact same symptoms it had almost exactly a year ago; when I needed a new transmission.

One year ago -- a mere 3 months after I'd bought the car -- I had to replace a transmission that only had 40,000 miles on it. I had to fight tooth and nail, making countless phone calls and sending angry emails to anyone and everyone I could find at the car dealership to get them to replace it for me, but eventually they did. Now, a mere year later it probably needs to be replaced again. Clearly I bought a car that couldn't handle the paper delivery business.

We still owe almost 10 thousand dollars on it still, and I honestly have no idea about selling a car before you've even paid it off. That's not how I function. So, I'm clinging to the false hope that maybe it is a smaller problem, because I'm not really sure what my next step should be if it's the transmission. I guess I'll start experimenting with ways to strap bundles of papers to a horse.

One of Those Days (or Nights, Rather)

R.I.P. my faithful headphones. You provided me with hundreds of hours of joy.

You know those days when everything goes wrong? They are the reason the phrase, "When it rains, it pours" exists.

I woke up last night at 11pm, tired from getting just under four hours of sleep, but ready to start a night of paper delivery. As I got on the laptop to sync my iPod, I noticed that it was displaying a big red X on the screen, instead of my list of music. Annoyed, I looked up on Apple's site exactly what that symbol meant. The directions told me to put it into "disk mode," though, no matter how many times I attempted to follow them to the letter I'd fail to actually achieve the desired effect. So I gave up, loaded my wife's old 1gb nano with my night's podcasts and set out.

After loading the papers into my car and buying the needed energy drinks, I went to put on my trusty headphones, only to have the the right side snap off. My attempt to tape it back together left much to be desired, but it had to do.

I got through my first route nearly finished when I discovered I was going to be significantly short on one of the three sections of the paper. 17 short, to be exact -- and just as I was realizing this, the podcast I was listening to abruptly ended. The iPod battery had died and I had no way to recharge it. Still half the night ahead of me and I was stuck with NPR/BBC and shitty music stations.

I trudged on and finished my second route. The caffeine was fading, but it was finally time to head home. Cue the unexplained car problems. As I left the gas station I noticed my speedometer was going a little haywire. I pulled over and it went back to 0, then I started up again and as I reached what felt like a normal speed it told me I was going 110 mph.

Apparently there are a couple things that could be wrong. One is a loose battery connection, which I pray is the problem. The other is a faulty powertrain control module. Hopefully that's not an expensive part to replace if it ends up being that one.

So, in one night I'm left headphone-less, with an iPod that I can't seem to repair, and a new car thing to have to fix. When it rains, it pours.

People Don't Understand Hyphens

It sometimes amazes me how dense people can be. My wife's name is Zoe, which is pronounced exactly how it looks. Still, pretty much everybody with that name pronounces it as Zoey, so I can understand how everyone does the same for my wife when reading her name in written form.

Yet, even when one of us says her name out loud to someone, they come back with, "Oh, hi Zoey." 99% of the time. No, nobody said Zoey, they said Zoe. If I was in that situation I would never respond with anything but an attempt at pronouncing it exactly how I heard them say it, even if I'd never heard that name before. If you'd never met someone with the name hispanic name Jesus (I can't do an accented U on my laptop), would you return their introduction with, "Oh, hi Jeez-Us. Nice to meet you!"?

But after trudging through that swamp of stupidity, I discovered an even bigger pond of muck. Apparently people don't have the slightest idea of what they should do when someone has a hyphenated last name. On top of that, they can't even fathom of a man having one.

When Zoe and I were engaged, we talked about the whole name issue. She didn't want to take my last name, Young, because she didn't like the way Zoe Young sounded. It probably didn't help that my brother joked about it sounding Chinese, but either way I wasn't going to force it down her throat. I didn't particularly want to change my last name completely either, so I understood it.

Still, I didn't want us to have two different last names because we wouldn't seem like as much of a family then. So, we both went with Cronk-Young and I couldn't be happier. I love having a (most likely) completely original last name that no one else has, and it feels like we're our own family, apart from her parents and mine.

But I never dreamed of the responses we'd get. We've seen everything at this point. Some people just skip the hyphen and write out Cronkyoung. Others invent their own name using an amalgamation of the letters. A lot of people just pretend half of it doesn't exist. They look down at what's written and look back up at me to say, "Uh, Mr. Cronk?"

Do people seriously ignore people that blatantly whenever they speak, or are people just completely unwilling to adapt to something they haven't yet experienced? Or is the entire world full of complete morons? Those are the three reasons I've thought up. Have you got a better explanation?

The Degradation of Society Through the Lens of Children's Programming

Think outside the box.

Earlier a Twitter friend linked a video of a woman talking about the fact that in Australia they've decided to slap a "For Adult Viewing Only" sticker on a DVD release of some early Sesame Street episodes. Why? Because the children play freely outside in their city streets and greet older-men neighbors with a friendly wave. We wouldn't want children thinking that being outside is safe.

Of course, Australia and censorship seem to go hand-in-hand, and this sort of ridiculousness doesn't translate over here in the states...yet. Because honestly we seem to be walking down that road more and more everyday. I've written about this before through the veil of video games. Here's the relevant parts of that article:

"We are raising our children in a scary new world of knowledge. We know about more things that could hurt them than our parents could have ever imagined. We truck out all of the gravel in playgrounds and replace it with recycled rubber; we ban games like dodgeball; and we freak out at every bump and bruise.

In our fear, we've begun to treat our children like Faberge Eggs, and just as we assume they won't be able to handle a scrape, we also assume they won't be able to handle a challenging game. Chances are, they would be better at games than we could ever be -- if we'd just stop assuming."

I've been noticing a progression toward this awful, bubble-wrapped future in a rather unlikely place; Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends. As I've mentioned before, Emmy is a little obsessed with that show. The show began even before I was born, but various iterations have continued to be released. Through the nightly ritual of scouring Netflix Instant for a new Thomas DVD to watch, I've noticed there is a clear downward spiral.




None of the Thomas shows say the date of release on them, but I can tell what came first. Older episodes don't shy away from putting the trains in actual danger. They're on bridges that get washed out from a flood and are washed down the river toward a waterfall. They careen off of docks into the water and into buildings when their brakes give out. In one episode a train refused to leave a tunnel because it was raining and he didn't want to dirty his new paint job, so they removed the tracks and built a wall in front of him and left him. That's how the episode ended. It wasn't until the next episode that a chance happening gave reason for them to let him out again.

You know what happens in the newer episodes of Thomas? They chase a runaway kite. Lots of drama and tension, aye?

Look, I'm not saying we're going to end up like that Idiocracy movie, but we could definitely take a good hard look at how much we're coddling our kids. Everyone throws heaps of praise at Pixar for putting real emotion into their films and not being afraid to include genuinely sad or scary moments. As far as I can remember nearly every kid's movie from my childhood was pretty damn sad at times. I think Pixar might be one of the few studios around that haven't bubble-wrapped their movies for maximum child protection. I'm just glad people are praising them for it instead of demonizing it.

Texting > Calling

Let's try one of those Plinky suggestions for today's One A Day post. Do I prefer text messaging or actually calling people? That's easy. Always texting.

No, I'm not a 14 year-old girl, but I really can't stand talking to people on the phone. Every second that goes by feels like torture. Here is a typical phone conversation with my mother:

Mom: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi, I'm supposed to ask you what day would be good for us to come over this week."
Mom: "Oooooooh, I don't know. Uuuuum, let's see."
Me: "Wednesday? Is Wednesday good?"
Mom: "Ooh, I think so. I don't think your dad has anything that night."
Me: "Alright, we'll assume Wednesday and you can call Zoe if that doesn't work."
Mom: "OK. So what's new?"
Me: "Uh, nothing."
Mom: "How's Emmy?"
Me: "Fine?"
Mom: "OK."
Me: "Alright, we'll see you Wednesday. Bye."

Like torture. It's not that I hate talking to my mother, I just hate talking to people on the phone entirely. I'd much prefer to just send her a text message that says "Does Wednesday work for us to come over?" and wait for the response.

And this doesn't even necessarily mean I dislike actual human interaction. My mother-in-law has the annoying habit of leaving a completely pointless voicemail whenever she calls and I'm in a bad service area or something and miss it.

"Hello. Caaall me back."

Ugh! I had to call my voicemail inbox, enter my password, listen to the robot lady for 10 seconds, and press another button, for that? If I see that I have a missed call, I'm going to assume that I should probably call that person back. It is completely pointless to leave a message asking me to do so without actually just leaving the information that you called to deliver in the first place. I have told her this and it hasn't stopped her from doing it. Which leads me to believe it is just something that comes with that generation.

Like when my mom calls me and tells me who it is. Yep, I know who it is, because my phone tells me who it is before I even answer the phone.

It's quite clearly a generational thing, and some people hate that. They feel like text speak and a desire to constantly shorten the time it takes us to communicate is destroying the English language. I think it's easy to assume things like that, and takes a little bit more thought to actually analyze it like Clive Thompson has multiple times in his monthly Wired column. Taking shortcuts in our means of communication isn't making us less intelligence, our intelligence is just evolving to adapt to our new technology.