Delightful News From the Middle Coast

At 1451ft, Chicago's Willis Tower (née Sears) is the tallest building in the Western World

Our associates in Chicago informed us recently that some of the news out there in this cold, dark world these days is good and we felt we should share:

The Sears Tower, lately unceremoniously renamed the Willis tower, is about to pioneer a kind of crazy-innovative window, one that produces power without obstructing the view or letting in appreciably less sunlight.

At first the Willis tower will only replace windows on the south side of the 56th floor; eventually, the whole south face of the building could be slathered in glorious high tech energy generating windows, enough to generate 2 MW of power. The windows have the added benefit of keeping out the excess heat energy that plagues glass buildings.

As incredible as these windows sound, they're only a small part of a larger, $350 million initiative to reduce electricity consumption of the entire Willis tower by 80 percent.

(courtesy grist.org)

So please, Internet, I implore you to take a moment to block out the horrific situations in Japan, Libya, Egypt, Gaza, Saudi Arabia, the Gulf of Mexico, Wall Street, Detroit, Wisconsin, America, Mexico...etcetera, draw in a few good deep breaths, loosen the muscles in your neck, and soak-up a little ray of sunshine before you head back into the courtroom of public opinion and perjure yourself by saying the whole world has gone to shit because it hasn't.

Only most of it has.

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Racists on Youtube Do the Darnedest Things

The Youtubes makes people famous--there's no way around that, it is one of the few truths in this world, so deal with it the same way that you deal with the fact that there will always be racist assholes waving Confederate flags, laughing at Larry the Cable Guy, and preaching religion and family values as they secretly give non-gay handjobs to random men in the bathroom of the gas station by the highway and their teenage daughters give birth because they were told condoms were wrong.

On Youtubes, as everywhere else, all fame is justified for one reason or another, although most would never admit the reason everybody knows who they are is because they are the biggest asshole on the planet, the worst dancer in history, or a complete moron totally unaware of anything beyond the stomping grounds of their youth.

Enter "Babe 27", who no doubt longs for the fate of her idol, Justin "I was discovered on Youtube" Bieber and will no doubt never receive it. Instead of cruising the world in a pimped-out Rascal scooter with cupholders, parting seas of swooning teenagers in towns whose names she can't even pronounce, Babe 27's flavor of fame will not result in any financial reward, respect, or sex appeal.

Instead, millions will laugh at her, share her humiliation with all of their friends, and move on, leaving Babe 27 to wither in their dust, cruel laughter eternally echoing in her ears no matter how many earmuffs she dons, a three-legged cat her only friend.

Enjoy:



"...and THAT is why you don't post videos of yourself singing in your bedroom on Youtube!"

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The (Near) Future of Sex?

 
Imagine a world where people couldn't masturbate.

I'm talking about men and women here, remember, because women do it, too, whether they are as forward about it or not.

So, in this fantastical world that may only be two years in our future, imagine that, for whatever reason, there is now no masturbation in our genetic coding. Anything other than vaginal/anal/oral intercourse is not going to get the job done no matter how hard you try, so there is no reason to ever think it could happen.

The behavioral changes resulting from this slight reinterpretation (or evolutionary progression/regression depending on your point of view) of the human being would be stunning.

Viz:

- There would be a lot more sex happening. Women could not defer to their hand or vibrator, men could not defer to their hand or Pocket Pussy TM. Both sexes, for various reasons, would be more inclined to actual interpersonal interaction of the sexual variety, which is a truly undebatable result of this restriction, if you ask me.

- A lot more straight guys would be involved in gay sex--since they might get an undeniable urge at some point, be unable or unwilling to pick up a woman for a quickie, and would be unable to masturbate, remember--although my guess is that most straight crossovers would be in the "Only Blow Jobs, Thanks" category, and might even pay extra for some program that fakes men into women with digital wigs and whatnot (most helpful when paired with squinting), since it will happen often enough over a lifetime, let's be honest.

- A digital solution to the "I Can't Masturbate So What Do I Do" problem would emerge almost overnight, since computer geeks are out there and we all know the necessary technology exists at this moment for a virtual sex program.

A virtual sex program? What? Is this some kind of Strange Days meets laser tag meets sexting meets yeah-right-like-that-will-ever-exist bullshit?

Well...it actually could exist, it could be called "Pandora's Box," and hear me out:

A man puts some kind of sensor-equipped sleeve over his penis that is connected to his computer and a woman connects her specially-designed vibrator to her computer, they connect over the internet, and they're off.

Every thrust and clench is made digital, transmitted over the internet, and felt in near-real-time. Piggyback this onto a program like iChat or gChat, and tell me you don't have a near-sex experience with somebody--sound, sight, and sexual sensation.

Some of the long-term effects of this revolutionary leap would be as follow:

- Women will have more sex. Every time a woman would ordinarily reach for her vibrator or rely on her fingers, she would have the option of contacting some male friend of hers, ex-boyfriend of hers, or a total stranger for a virtual-sex session instead. Do you actually think she wouldn't? Disease-free, semi-private (he's not in your home, in your bed, there in the morning, etc), almost-not-really-cheating-since-it-isn't-real, etc...you have to admit this would be an extremely attractive option if a girl could do this instead of whatever she does now.

- Men will have more sex. Every time a man wants to masturbate, he would instead have the option of contacting a female friend, ex-girlfriend, or stranger for a little semi-illicit virtual sex session instead of being alone. He would know exactly who to call, and one of them would eventually say yes. In a pinch, he could always call a guy he knows and play make-believe.

- Cheating as we know it will splinter into a million shades of gray. Is it cheating to use this program? Is it more like cheating if it's an ex-significant-other instead of just a friend? Will fuck-friend finally be a term that makes it into the dictionary? Is it better to have a guy or girl virtually cheat than to actually cheat? Is virtually cheating okay, since it's safe and virtual? Will there be caps placed on the amount of virtual cheating, in order to maintain status quo in the relationship?

- Threesomes and foursomes will skyrocket in popularity once they can be accomplished virtually. Think about it--if it ever starts to feel weird, you just turn the unit off and do whatever you want to do. It pretty much sells itself to that enormous chunk of the population that is currently on the fence regarding group sex.

- Sure, some people will abuse this capability and go off the deep end, spending 20 hours a day with some digital-capture attachment on their dicks, trolling the internet looking for any possible willing partner, but that is to be expected. There are always freaks around who do what they're not supposed to do and skew the data. Your average consumer, meanwhile, would still benefit from this enormously, as it is something that will be a godsend whenever one member of the couple has to travel, whenever people date long-distance, whenever people are just too shy to get it done in person, or whenever people might otherwise go out and date-rape or rape somebody, etc.

- Whoa, yeah--I pulled out the rape card. If people couldn't masturbate, there would be more rapes. That, I feel, is a tragic but inarguable point. Many of the potential-rapists out there today would jump off the fence and start getting into trouble once we removed masturbation as an alternative. But if we come back to the real world for a second, where masturbators are plentiful, and then add this revolutionary new program (Pandora's Box) into the mix, then what we have here is a virtual way to reduce incidences of rape. If some guy could get lucky with a random acquaintance or prank call a girl in the phonebook who's willing to virtually fuck him because she's bored or just horny or whatever, he is less likely to go out there and actually rape a girl. It may not drastically reduce the number of rapes, but if it even reduced that number by one it would be worth it.

Now, whether or not we ultimately get into a David-Foster-Wallacean situation--where people purchase realistic-looking digital representations of themselves that are way hotter than they should be or of a different sex or whatever (from freelancers at Pixar?)--let's just remember that while this potential development is fascinating from a philosophical/pyschological standpoint and full of further economic opportunity, it is also pretty much irrelevant to the conversation at hand.

The fact of the matter is that people who want to wear masks will be attracted to this, as will people who have no need for masks but won't ask too many questions for fear of the answers. When virtual sex becomes fairly commonplace, asking a partner whether their digital representation is real would be like asking your girlfriend today if her eyelashes are real--you won't even bother cuz you could never be sure you're getting a straight answer, so what's the point?

The gay men of today (who have iPhones) have Grindr...what will the gay AND straight people (who have iPhones and/or computers) have tomorrow?

The gays led us to all the trendy loft districts, all the trendy fashion updates...why not to all the trendy means of sexual gratification?

Why not jump into the endgame right away? I know we can do it and it'll be a beautiful slow-build with a seemingly infinite lifespan, add-ons, apps, accessories, avatars, additional sensory receptors...

Have I sold you on this yet? If not, then I don't think you are thinking clearly and I want you to forget you ever read this. If so, let's talk investment stake and get this thing off the ground, hit up Sean Parker for some extra money, etc.

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The Hottest Waste of Time in Years!

Question: In what manner are the pictures on the right better than those on the left?

Correct Answer: No manner. I cannot think of one possible reason why somebody would ever want an image to show less skin in order to increase arousal. The best possible matte to place on either of the images above would be one shaped exactly the size of the bathing suit--no more, no less--but that would be a complete waste of time, as those parts of her body are already covered by a bathing suit.

Answer Its Creator Wishes Was Correct: Every way, dude! Or at least in enough ways to make the purchase of his app that 'shittifies' otherwise titillating photos/cartoons worth a minimum of ninety-nine cents. Look at the bubbles! You can move them around to cover up her legs and shit! Awesome! I totally need to viral this shit on the Twitterne for major cool-dude pointst! [air guitar]

Here's how this totally fun app works, dudes and dudettes:

When you upload a photo of a swimsuit-clad figure, the program applies a transparent layer that you can manipulate using the iPhone's touch screen. You can poke holes--bubbles--in the surface of the transparent layer, opening up patches of skin while keeping clothed areas hidden. You can drag the bubbles around with your finger and resize them by pinching. When you're done, the swimsuit should be completely covered and the exposed areas of skin should imply nudity. After you save your work, you can share it over email, Facebook, Twitter and Flickr.

(courtesy HuffPo)

In other words, you have to actually do WORK to ruin swimsuit photos for no reason, after paying for the privilege.

If this is the direction we are headed as a tech-addled global community, a cave on an island somewhere--the kind where people never hear about world wars ending--is sounding better every second.

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There is Nothing to Fear

This just in:

(courtesy Videogum)

I have to admit--I was secretly elated to hear this news. I've been seriously worried about this shit since like October, thought the end of the world (as we know it) was nigh.

So...champagne anyone? I stockpiled just in case and now it will all go bad before I would ever want to finish it by myself in a non-apocalypse situation.

I shouldn't give my address out online, cuz there are creeps out there who would send me feces-smeared love notes in broken English, so just meet me in the park. I'm easy to find when you want to--I'll be the creep talking to himself on a park bench, wearing a vest because I'm afraid of drowning, and giving everybody the stinkeye. Let's be friends.

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Huey, Dewey, Louie, Scrooge, and Gandalf

It's pretty amazing this kid (what is he, 16?) can so effortlessly imitate the alcohol/cigarette/time-ravaged booming voice of Sir Ian McKellen (who, btw, has his own website).

Hollywood entertainment conglomerates must be relieved to know that should Sir Ian happen to meet his maker during the filming of a movie (The Hobbit 2?), some computer geeks and this kid's voice will ensure that nobody in the audience will notice.

Come to think of it--this might just add another 50-60 years to McKellen's lengthy career. Animated movies would be a snap and live-action would just require a green-masked body double and a slight increase in the visual-effects budget.

Hmmm...I wonder how Sir Ian feels about suddenly becoming so eminently replaceable...

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I Predict You Will Read This

What with Nostradamus being not only ancient but also wrong most of the time--not to mention painfully vague--and that whole Mayan 2012 thing clearly not gonna happen (right? RIGHT?!), the world is sorely lacking fashionable prognosticators these days.

WTF, psychic soldiers? Are you all doing so well reading tarot cards to middle-aged divorcees in the soiled living rooms of your creepy little suburban houses with neon signs in the window that you don't give a shit about the big picture anymore? Are you that selfish? People need to know how everything (Earth, humanity, Breaking Bad) is gonna end!

Goodtime Charlie's 8th Grade Yearbook Photo (courtesy GTC Archives)

Enter Goodtime Charlie to selflessly fill the void and launch a million imitators (Prediction #1).


Prediction #2:
You will die someday and although it will suck for you and your loved ones, the vast majority of the people in your neighborhood won't even notice.


Prediction#3:
If there is a hell, John Mayer and Shia Lebeouf will be in it--which is reason enough to repent and be a good boy from here on out, if you ask me.


Prediction #4:
This man will continue to get beat up ("For no reason!") for the rest of his meager existence.


Prediction #5:
KFC's currently infamous, way-over-exposed-by-the-media, and disgustingly profitable Double-Down monstrosity will one day seem totally normal and may even be casually referred to by the populace as a 'sandwich.'


Prediction #6:
Drug addicts will soon comprise an overwhelming majority of the population, but it will not be as cool as you think because they will be using the wrong kind of drugs.


Prediction #7:
Despite the efforts of far too many losers, jorts will never become cool.


Prediction #8:
After he breaks up with Bar Rafaeli, Leonardo DiCaprio will for some reason date another devastatingly delectable supermodel and Bar--not missing a beat, cheeky bird--will immediately join me in the hot tub in my dreams.


Prediction #9:
The Republicans will win some elections and lose others, as will the Democrats; afterward, everything will remain pretty much the same.


Prediction #10:
It won't take long for the ballooning income disparity in America to result in a fully-formed, third-world, two-class nation and a bloody revolution that will ultimately fix nothing.



Well, there you have it, commoners without truly enlightened vision! Tune in next time I randomly make predictions while sitting on the toilet in the men's room at a highway rest stop, stance set to 'wide,' patiently waiting for some ass before I go home to my loving wife and kids for pasketti and meatbulbs night.

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Are we not already?

Theoretical physicist and stater-of-the-obvious Stephen Hawking recently informed the people of Earth that they should be afraid of aliens.

Viz:

World renowned scientist Stephen Hawking believes extraterrestrial life almost certainly exists -- and humans should be extremely cautious about interacting with it.

He suggests that aliens might simply raid Earth for its resources and then move on:

"We only have to look at ourselves to see how intelligent life might develop into something we wouldn't want to meet. I imagine they might exist in massive ships, having used up all the resources from their home planet. Such advanced aliens would perhaps become nomads, looking to conquer and colonise whatever planets they can reach."

He concludes that trying to make contact with alien races is "a little too risky". He said: "If aliens ever visit us, I think the outcome would be much as when Christopher Columbus first landed in America, which didn't turn out very well for the Native Americans."

(courtesy Huffington Post)

I mean, how many movies do we have to make/watch about this exact hypothetical situation before scientists understand that we get it?

I wish Stephen Hawking and his ilk would stop being so theoretical/theatrical and spend their time on more constructive endeavors, like inventing an alien-slaughtering death ray.

In other news, you should be afraid of snakes--very afraid:

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21st Century Jesus

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Children: Are They a Good Idea?

Most people would say yes without having to think about it, but these people haven't learned the value of thinking things through before answering a question.

Let's dissect the issue like informed adults, shall we?

Pros:
- Generally speaking, they're pretty fucking cute
- When everybody else abandons you, they will usually hang around
- They say the darnedest things
- Their love is unconditional, as long as you give them exactly what they want
- Their black-market value is consistently pretty high, which is good to know if you're the kind of chap who's often in a pinch

Cons:
- They cost a lot of money to maintain
- They cry a lot, steal things, shit themselves, and always want food
- They take up a lot of your time
- They can't take care of themselves when you want to get really drunk and/or spontaneously hop a plane to Ecuador
- They lengthen relationships that are otherwise totally endable
- They always need to be driven around
- They propagate the human race

That last one may seem at first glance like it should be a Pro, but think about this:

If there were no more children, there would be no crying babies on public transportation, 15-year-old girls wouldn't dominate the entertainment marketplace, every movie could be rated NC17, more husbands could buy sports cars with a clear conscience, single women in their late twenties could stop freaking out, everybody would either get way more sleep or party every night, pedophilia would be eliminated, adults would have more disposable income, assholes would become a finite resource, and nobody would need to worry about global warming, overpopulation, or being a role model.

It's sounding better already, isn't it? At the same time, maybe we'd better sleep on this one before we do anything rash...

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I Can See the Future

And in that future, some punk 5th grader will point his iPhone at the smart kid and an alarm will sound:

Nerd-alert! Nerd-alert!

The smart, awkward kid will turn red in the face. If he's lucky the teacher will come over to intervene, but the punk will immediately shift the blame.

"What? I didn't say it--Google Goggles did! And it's never wrong!"

Of course, it will be a customized Google Goggles, with various messages attached to pictures the punk takes of everybody he knows ("Well, Miranda, I don't know what to tell you, but it says you're the girl who's going to blow me in the back of the bus today..."), but the teacher doesn't need to know that.

What is Google Goggles, you ask? Well, it is this:

The world, like the World Wide Web before it, is about to be hyperlinked. Soon, you may be able to find information about almost any physical object with the click of a smartphone.

This vision, once the stuff of science fiction, took a significant step forward this month when Google unveiled a smartphone application called Goggles. It allows users to search the Web, not by typing or by speaking keywords, but by snapping an image with a cellphone and feeding it into Google’s search engine.

How tall is that mountain on the horizon? Snap and get the answer. Who is the artist behind this painting? Snap and find out. What about that stadium in front of you? Snap and see a schedule of future games there.

Goggles, in essence, offers the promise to bridge the gap between the physical world and the Web.

(courtesy NYTimes.com)

Although I can certainly see benefits to this application/database, if used to augment a normal education/existence, there is also something disconcerting about it.

Thanks to word processors, hardly anybody knows how to spell these days. Thanks to cell phones, nobody remembers phone numbers or even writes them down. Thanks to GPS, most people have no idea where they are going in their own hometown.

In a few more generations of smart phones, or at least in a few more generations of users, many people will have in their pockets a consistent excuse to never know anything, to retain nothing, to depend on their phone as a replacement brain.

Are we becoming too dependent on technology? Will some evil mastermind slowly fuck over humanity by hacking into the Google database and subtly creating an alternate reality, biding his time before shutting down our outsourced brain and taking over a new world populated by blithering idiots suddenly unable to navigate their own subdivision, call each other, or differentiate between an orange and a hand grenade? Will people in the future see reality like the Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, but none of it will make any sense?

I'd like to say that this is an absurd notion--in league with my daydream that some deviously clever Luddite is behind the emergence of fully-keyless automobiles, as part of a brilliant plan to freeze them all in place one fateful day and show us the error of our ways-- but the annals of history overfloweth with reasons to be wary of evil men bent on world domination, the consolidation of information, and over-dependence on technology.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. Meanwhile, I grow more uncomfortable with the realities made possible by the clever and efficient folks at Google.

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Thought of the Day:

You know things are bad when your dreams about time machines focus only on the past.

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Postapocalypse Now?

I realize it's no surprise to those of us 'in the know,' since we know everything, wink, wink, but for the rest of y'all, recognize:

A depressed relic of a mining community in Bumble, Kansas, is little more than a gasping ghost town full of toxic poor people crying for help. There is no work. There is nothing to do. Everybody in town wants to go anywhere else. The Earth may as well be salted.

Don't believe me? Peep this:

The Mayor of Treece

This is what the Mayor of Treece, Kansas, has to say:

Mayor Bill Blunk sees no reason for sugar-coating his opinion when asked to describe this town.

“It’s dead,” he said. “Wasted land.”

Almost anywhere else on the map, such bluntness could cost a politician re-election. But not here. Mr. Blunk has the near-unanimous support of the population, 140 people or so, who are perhaps singular among residents of municipalities in that they all want out of theirs.

“I’d be happy to go as anyone,” said Randall Barr, a retired sand company worker. “You can’t do anything with this land. What good is it?”

“My father was one of the last miners,” Glenda Powell said. “He died of cancer, and so did my mom — bad lungs. This has always been home, and I don’t know where we’d go, just a place where we can breathe.”

(courtesy NYTimes.com)

What the fuck? Is this the dust bowl? What year is this? Is the reanimated corpse of John Steinbeck crouching in the weeds over there, gleefully jotting notes for Grapes of Wrath 2: A Zombie Tale? Is this all part of some twisted, evil-mastermind/New-York-art gallery-director's plan to amass a treasure trove of fresh, achingly expressive black+white portraits of poor people to sell to rich people for a blushing profit?

But what shall become of the babbittry? Where are their Republican saviors on white horses, sworn to protect the rights of poor people everywhere to be poor enough and dumb enough to trust them implicitly and never revolt, but never so poor that they might organize and try something drastic?

It not being an election year, I suppose those jowly heroes are just too busy accepting bribes, lying with each breath, contaminating the environment, cheating on their wives and constituents, being hypocritical, and childishly impeding necessary change to care too much about 140 unemployed Kansans in a state they always win anyway.

The great Strom Thurmond's protege, GOP Congressman Joe Wilson

The people of Treece (which just sounds like some city-state in a Greek tragedy, doesn't it?) have naught to do but sit idly on their dilapidated porches chewing inedible objects, unsure of how to respond to the neglect:

What the F?! Never saw this horseshit coming. Thankfully, I'm in a position where, despite the fact that I am destitute and living in a veritable fire swamp, I can easily ignore it all, watch NASCAR, and somehow still pack on the pounds. It is even easier than I thought to turn a deaf ear to that small voice in the back of my stunted brain, shouting into the wind, 'wait--why aren't they doing anything, those capable, loving, God-fearing-when-convenient men and women in charge? They promised to look after me if I voted for them! Can't they get out here and kiss some babies, airlift in some powdered milk, distribute free toaster ovens, pose for a few triumphant photos, and make me feel less unhappy/guilty/greedy/fat?'

Well, come on, little voices in the back of the brains of Treecians--stop asking for so much. Let us give those tireless public servants the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it's not their fault. Maybe the Republicans could devote a few minutes of their time to defend the common man if that pesky colored fella wasn't wasting all their time trying to help the little man in the health care game, forcing them to fight tooth and nail for the sake of their obscenely wealthy, fearful financial base...


Which brings me to my point--perhaps without realizing it, we are living in a post-apocalyptic world, populated with near-neanderthals and ruled by untrustworthy, blood-sucking, survivalist assholes. Maybe it was a slow burn and we didn't even feel it, but here we are, suddenly realizing we just got off a ride, our minds reeling post-involuntary-extraction from the Matrix.

What the fuck is going on? How did we get here? After untold centuries of incessant labor, how is it we are not all able to finally just chill out, sleep in, spend our afternoons sitting in cafes philosophizing as our money effortlessly multiplies, and go home to write a hit play, then watch it in the national theater next week with our old college buddies and begin a torrid affair with the blossoming prima donna?

Why have we allowed ourselves to arrive at a point in time where I would rather live in the past than the future? When was the last time so many intelligent people felt this way? During the Plague? Why have we created a world inhabited by more sandwich artists than real artists?

Word to all you ostriches out there: shit sucks and it is not getting better. It's every man for himself. Primal shit. You want my advice, get yourself a piece of land, a tent, a couple hundred Bic lighters, some Cheetos, and an arsenal that would make Dick Cheney blush. When you see three flares in the night sky, it's time to storm the Bastille. It's the only way to enact any real change, for better or worse. Trust me.

Hey--before you go, I'll trade you 42 shiny things for that one little can of soup and that jerk mag in your backpack. Deal?

_

"I think you won--let me just make a phone call to find out."

Not that I care all that much about the sanctity and entertainment value of collegiate athletics, but this is pretty depressing:

At Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pa., the women’s swim team held a “virtual swim meet” with Bryn Mawr College, in Pennsylvania, about 112 miles away. Each team swam in its home pool, then compared times to determine the winners. (“We probably saved $900 on bus travel,” said William G. Durden, Dickinson’s president.)

(courtesy nytimes.com)

$900.00? First of all, y'all gotta look into a different bus company. Or just drive yourselves:

Bryn Mawr and Dickinson are 112 miles apart; that's 6 gallons of gas per car x 5 cars x $3/gallon x 2 (round trip)= $180.00.

But that's all beside the point--it only took $900.00 to degrade competitive swimming to a mere time trial? Why bother having the 'meet' in the first place? Why not just swim each race 5000 times over the course of a year and turn in your best score and buy yourself a used trophy on eBay?

I cringe for the future.

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One Great Leap...

It struck me the other day--and not for the first time, I might add, since I'm so ahead of the game it would blow your mind--that terrorism is not that surprising an offspring of more 'conventional warfare'. For all its detractors, terrorism is but another notch carved into the scarce virgin territory of mankind's belt, a further honing of skill in that most loathsome of crafts--murder.


For your consideration:


476 A.D. -- The Roman Empire Falls. Long ago, before even unicorns were invented, the almighty Roman Empire was decimated* by hordes of barbarians from the Germanic tribal regions of Europe. The highly-organized, efficient, top-of-class Roman Army was no match for the raw, brutal tactics of the barbarians--kill/rape, pillage, burn, move on. No sharp uniforms, no fancy swordplay, no philosophers--yet.



1775 -- The American Revolutionary War. The finely-tuned war machinery of the then-alpha-male British Empire simply could not compete with the ill-trained, ill-equipped rapscallions hiding behind trees in the Colonies. Whatever happened to gentlemanliness in warfare? I mean, tut-tut--how can you have a good war if you don't all simply line up and walk towards each other--slowly--shooting at each other, in a match of 'which nation of pillagers can afford to have the most soldiers with guns?' It's clearly the only way to do battle...or, more properly, was.



1945 -- The Atomic Bomb. Who needs a fucking army? We'll just spend millions of dollars, rape the world's greatest scientific minds, and drop a goddamn instant-apocalypse on you. Easy. Done. We're smarter than you, so we win.




2001 -- September 11th. "Tell ya what--we're smart enough to know you're dumb enough to let us use your own icons of technological advancement against you. All we need are a handful of dudes with fucking box cutters and we will cripple your nation for the rest of its life. Better still, you will never be able to fight back--enemies have never been so clearly undefined. We are not a nation--we are a merely a people with a common interest. We are everywhere. We are dedicated. We win. Eat that."

Shit, man--what's next?

The Degradation of Language, the Decline of an Empire

With the appalling lack of interpersonal communication between people younger than age 22 or so, the explosion of text-based cellular and internet communication--each complete with its own dialect--along with the growing prevalence of Spanish and other 'invasive' languages, and the long-gestating plague of literature-aversion, it should come as no surprise to you that English is firmly on the downslope of prominence; we are now slowly sliding down the backside of a bell-curve, much like the once almighty Dollar. Not that language is tied to the dollar, but, in this instance, the debilitating cracks in each institution can be traced back to the same source: Greed.

America during its heyday was little more than a giant, relentless steam engine, fueled by the combustion of millions of impoverished dreamseekers. Cheap labor, plentiful resources, no rules except the ones we make and the ones we break. Heroes abounded. Possibilities were limitless. A ripe chance for utopia, but man cannot protect himself from himself. It is his fatal weakness.


We Americans started out with plenty of space to flex the old muscles, plenty of opportunity to start things over, and plenty of grand ideas. We exploded onto the world stage as the most feared and loved nation on Earth. As Machiavelli predicted, we have had it well for quite some time now as a result.

But it is easy to become gluttonous.

That sentence is acceptable now, in published material, whereas I was marked down for opening a sentence with 'but' in school. Colloquialisms are now in the dictionary. Symbols are acceptable substitutes for letters. Abbreviations are the norm. Few read books. People meet their spouses via computers.

Why? Because we are too busy. Too busy to call somebody, so we'll just text them, or check their Facebook status to see whether they had any stated plans that evening. Too busy to write complete words when we do.

Why are we so busy? Because Americans now are working longer hours than their fathers, for less money and less benefits. The '50s dream of a computer-aided 10-hour work week have been vaporized by the computer-aided 70-hour work week. There's more money in that, it turns out.

When is there ever enough, when there's always more? More money to be made, more beauties to ravish, more enemies to destroy, more newcomers swiping at that luscious pie on the windowsill, or at least wanting to, waiting to. A smart giant chooses his battles carefully, however, and does not try to destroy everything and everybody else--he fools them into thinking they are in a great position, in control.

Today France is wealthy, powerful, and one of the most prideful countries in the world, despite the fact that their heyday is long-since buried. This is so only because we allowed it. We learned from our study of the Romans that it is far too difficult to unify and govern far-flung territories; it is much better to let them take care of themselves, provided they remain an ally, let us trade with them, and rubber stamp all of our decisions with regard to global policy.

Besides, if we destroyed France, where would we vacation? DisneyFrance comes complete with an Eiffel Tower, a French Quarter, crepes, baguettes, all the stockinged legs you could shake a stick at, and a nation of voluntary servants at every luxurious resort, restaurant, bar, and brothel. We had to bring our own Starbucks, though. And Burger King. And KFC. And Coca-Cola. And Wrigley's Gum. And MTV. And movies. And music. Nothing like a taste of home.

The Romans used swords and spears; we Americans wielded our culture as a weapon, and the world wept at our feet. Oh, sure, we had military might as well, but not so much that we could have coated the globe and, even if we had, it's difficult, costly, and time-consuming to take over your enemies/allies with guns--a sneak attack is far more subtle and strategic.

The world was ours because we allowed the other nations to operate under the impression they were autonomous, when in fact we pulled the strings. They appeased us, we gave them money. They gave us money, we gave them our goods. We acted, our enemies reacted as planned. The populace elected a ruler we didn't like, we funded guerrilla armies to place a more 'likable' candidate in office. That candidate got a little power hungry, we made him disappear.

This method of world domination was extremely successful in building the United States as the most powerful empire in history. Yet here we are today with few allies, more enemies, a trade deficit, declining real wages, pervasive ignorance, an artistic vacuum, a marketplace ruled by teenagers, a fractured language, a fragile and obese population, a dwindling army occupied on two fronts...our poisonous culture has proved too effective a weapon; it has even destroyed its creator.

The Roman Empire crumbled because it got too big for its britches, and to think America is any different is dishonest--we have over-stayed our welcome in the Imperial Lavatory, as had the Greeks before them, the Ottomans, Spanish, British, and French after them.

Although our method was unique, the result is the same--our reach has become too vast, our enemies too numerous, our greed too compromising, our citizens too wealthy, obese, clueless, and soft. We are the prized hog at the county fair, and every passerby drools in anticipation of our demise.

The question remains--did we stink it up a bit too much in here for the others?

Most intelligent Americans get their news from comedians. So do kids, if they get it at all. Children play video games instead of sports. Junk food is their food. They speak however they like, like. They don't shun the establishment--they ignore it completely, except when they listen to and watch the made-for-the-masses politico-corporate brainwashing drivel that fills our radio stations and our cinemas. They have no time or desire to work to find better material and so they unwittingly buy into the scatterbrained propaganda of the ruling class.

Parents let their kids read whatever they want to read and do whatever they want to do. Parents yell and scream a lot, but eventually surrender. Parents watch Two and a Half Men instead of the news. Parents eat and drink and smoke and drug their problems away. Parents have to pay their slaves these days, and pay their servants even more. Parents buy a lavishly-advertised image and receive a flimsy product produced by slave-wage drones half a world away. Parents abhor the behavior of their offspring. Parents are aware that things are changing and fight it, which only makes it worse.

Arnold Schwarzennegger is the governor of California. We market video games to grown men and music and books to teenage girls. There are more lawyers than farmers. We spend more than we earn. The most successful movies are based on comic books, teen fiction, and defunct television shows. To compare our Presidents to Emperors, especially these days, is hardly a stretch. The Romans used democracy as an ingenious smokescreen, while increasing the power of the oligarchy; so do we.


Like Latin and French, English has had a spell as lingua franca. What's next? Mandarin? Cantonese? Hindi? How long will it be before English is no longer the official language of our own country, replaced by the dialect of peasants, as Latin fell victim to Italian? Or will we speak Spanish? Hindi? Will English one day become a quaint ancestral language, maintained only in the homes of the poisonously-conservative bourgeoisie?

Like a rocket with an empty booster, our acceleration has ceased; we are now powerless as to our fate. We will exit gracefully, I hope, as Italy and France before us. We will concentrate our efforts on more important things than warfare and mass-production. We will learn to make the perfect cappuccino, bake the perfect loaf of bread, cook the perfect meal, tailor the perfect clothes, cultivate the perfect wine, develop an interest in philosophy, and talk ourselves to death in a cafe off the square, as our currency plummets and other countries fight each other.

It's the political equivalent of a retirement home.

Well, who is waiting in the wings, willing to duke it out for the top spot? Who will we Americans have the pleasure to serve in our boutiques, cafes, galleries, and brothels? Will China have a go of it? India? The E.U?

They still have time, mind you--plenty of time. Our demise will not be sudden. There are still people in the world who are able to speak Latin, and French clearly isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Just as the Roman Empire survived the sack of Rome by moving the capital to Istanbul, where it carried on for 900 more years, our fall will be cushioned by centuries of mediocrity and flattery. Our son, as it were, has granted us the privilege of dying in solitude, while preparing to take the reins.

But what sort of playground will this new power acquire? How long will their tenure last before mankind is plunged into darkness and barbarism once more? A fitting final act for the comedy that would make anyone smile.

The Earth is ill. Pollution of the air, land, and sea. Overextraction of resources. Eradication of flora and fauna. Destruction of the ozone. Unpredictable, severe weather. Catastrophic overpopulation.

We will milk this beast to death, by Jove! And why not--that's what it's there for! There's plenty more where that came from, and if there's not, then you should have gotten there first! It was delicious!


The Earth will recover, as it always has, but that will be long after man brings about its own demise. So who cares that when my nephew is my age he will watch a rapper or valley girl deliver the news, in their underwear, in ten-second bursts on his phone? Who cares that he might never read a book from start to finish? Who cares that he might have sex exclusively virtually? Who cares that he might have sex with a thousand women? Who cares that at some point he might have a microchip implanted in his body? Who cares that in his lifetime we will run out of oil? Who cares that he might see nations go to war over drinking water?

Nobody cares, because we have all given up, given in to the idea that we just want to lay around an eat and drink and fornicate while somebody else does all the work for a change. We let ourselves be ruled by power-hungry lunatics, who unwittingly cultivate our ruin. We have accepted our demise, even if we are not all yet aware of it. We work toward our demise each day, because it's easier than constantly striving for better. We eat another donut instead of the dangling carrot, because it tastes better. We nap, rather than fight.

Don't get me wrong--I am not some crazed Conservative aiming to right the ship and fight to keep America on top. Nor am I a wacky Liberal who is naive enough to think the crazy train can be turned around. On the contrary, I simply enjoy watching fate take its course, watching this comedy unfold. After all, I have a pretty good seat, and as long as the wine keeps flowing, I'll die with my eyes open and a smile on my face, wishing I could stay until the end.

Hey, hey, we're the Monkids!

So, I read something in Radar today, in one of the tiny sidebars, that indirectly informed me that a term exists for a monkey who was raised as a child by an infertile human couple, unlikely parents who volunteer for the privilege.

Monkey + Kid = Monkid

Two Things Pop Into My Head:

1. Who are these people? Who is this desperate for love? Why don't don't they just start swinging or something, and spending their relatively-inordinate free time a bit more wisely?

2. I wonder what would happen if one of these monkids went to high school in suburban Chicago? I wonder if he would 'fit in,' if he'd be good at sports, if the popular girl will want to bang him, if he would even have a challenger for Senior Class President...

Hope for the Future After All

As I walked to meet a couple friends for a late dinner the other night, lost in thought, probably thinking about how badly I need a hair cut, or that I should start stuffing my drawers with a bigger sock, I was roused back to reality by the laughter of little girls.

I turned to my right and was delighted to discover a glowing two-man tent on the other side of a fence, in the postage-stamp-sized front yard of a tiny house crammed onto a small wedge of a lot, between a skeezy old church and a hair salon.

I was not delighted in the 'I'm a pervert' sense, like you might have been, pervert, but rather because this is exactly the sort of romanticized childhood activity that I did not think existed anymore--especially in 'the city.'

The girls were playing with flashlights, talking, giggling--totally unaware of the danger they were in, the tempting bait they represented to the countless pedophiles that troll around at night praying to stumble upon this exact situation.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that there are at least two parents in this country who refuse to protect their children from life, who refuse to expect worst-case scenarios, who refuse to abandon their faith in mankind--albeit at a risk. No doubt aware of this risk, the parents, or parent, remained out of sight, but ostensibly awake and nearby, projecting their presence loudly at any would-be kidnapper/molester. All the lights in the house were on. The television blared. The front door was wide open, as were the windows.

For all I knew, however, the situation inside the house could have been any of the following:

1. A solitary mom or dad was sleeping on the couch in front of the TV, derelict of duty.
2. A solitary mom or dad was sitting on the floor by the front door, shaking from an overdose of caffeine, clutching a loaded gun, hoping they wouldn't have to use it, hoping they would be able to if they had to, vowing not to sleep that night so his/her child (+1) could have careless fun that night, wondering what that noise was...
3. Two parents were sitting on the couch in front of the TV, dead, killed for the $6 in their wallets as their innocent, oblivious children giggled in the front yard.
4. Two parents were sitting on the couch, eating popcorn, watching Leno, pretending their ears weren't attuned to the slightest changes in the sonic patterns of the cool spring evening, pretending they were cool enough to let their kids be kids without having to worry about it every second, feigning an inability to sleep so they could stay up longer to safeguard their children, thinking every second that they should probably bring the kids inside now just to be on the safe side.

Remember when such activities weren't dangerous? When everything fun didn't have a dark side? When we lived in a Norman Rockwell world of ice cream sundaes, steadies, hot-rods, and baseball cards? When parents didn't sue everybody under the sun when an accident happened? When you didn't hear about every bad thing that ever happened to a child because the news programs used to actually focus on newsworthy events like wars, politics, the economy, global/national culture, etc? When kids could be kids, and only a small percentage of them were kidnapped or raped? I do. It wasn't that long ago.

[Actually, now that I think about it, kids have probably always been safer in their front yard at night than in a church. Ha! It's funny because it's true...]

Yep, kids today sure do have it bad.

"Your grades aren't good? That's nonsense. You're smart. You must just have ADD--here, take this speed. I mean, it's not speed, it has a different name, so it's totally fine. It's medicine. You look depressed. Are you depressed? Here, take these mood-altering drugs with atrocious side effects--but don't you dare ever drink beer or smoke pot or I'll be really mad! I'll go through all your possessions to make sure you're not smoking pot, because I saw a TV movie where a kid was smoking pot and then he got hit by a car. No, you can't go outside now--it's after dark. I saw on the news that a kid in Detroit got killed when he was outside at night. I watched part of the funeral on Oprah. I didn't have time to cook tonight, again, since I'm working two jobs to pay for our meds, so you'll have to eat Burger King again. No, you can't play football--people get paralyzed playing football. Why are you always playing video games? Why are you so fat? Go play in the playground or something, they finally replaced all those scary things like merry-go-rounds and tornado slides and open spaces with three-foot-long plastic slides and really fun games like tic-tac-toe and spin-the-pointless-steering-wheel. I'll drive you..."

Hopefully the backlash has begun; hopefully the pendulum will now swing away from this over-medicated, over-protected, overweight extreme we have been tolerating for the last twenty years, back toward the kinder, gentler, carefree, healthy, grass-stained childhood I remember. A couple girls camping in their front yard have finally given me a reason to believe this might actually happen, and that's a beautiful thing.

Here's to hoping they made it through the night...

I Have Seen the Future, and It Wore Zippered Pants

Last Saturday, I had to return a minivan that had been rented for a film shoot I was working on. It was my last errand for the day, and I looked forward to starting my weekend.

I rolled into Enterprise at 11:30am, parked the vehicle, and walked into the office. Another young man patiently waited in front of me, at the counter. I hung back and listened as a smooth-talking sleazy salesman type--27 going on 40, wrinkled cheap suit, inability to make eye contact--was in the middle of a pitch. He spoke into a phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, as he typed something into a computer.

"Yeah, I mean, I got nothing right now. We're slammed. I could give you a pick-up truck. I could give you a pick-up truck for $40, just to get it off my lot, you know? No sense lettin' it sit around takin' up space, might as well get it on the road."

A middle-aged couple, clearly from out of town, came into the office. I was immediately glad to be in front of them; they looked like the type who never do anything fast, and always have problems. The man wore shiny grey polyester pants with zippers all over them--zippered pockets, zippered flare-bottoms, and zippers to cut off the pants at a capri length.

This is a disturbing trend I have noticed with a certain portion of the 'middle-aged man' demographic. Why does a man think he needs convertible pants? At what point does he feel the need to zip off into capris a mere four inches shorter than his pants? What does that accomplish? What do you do with the removed anklets? Do they become stylish bracelets? And why does he tuck a Polo shirt into these pants and think it's a cool look?

His wife looked like a real bitch. She had a narrow bird-like face, which I am pre-disposed to hate. Maybe because every woman with that look lives up to the billing. [For those of you curious, I would say the 'rodent face' would be the male equivalent. Hate 'em.] She also looked older than her husband, but who knows whether or not that was true. Maybe it's a just a simple case of him getting the bad zipper pants, and her getting the bad genes. Hey! Ho! Zing! I'll be here forever! Try the shrimp!

The point is that they both looked patently unhappy, by sight and behavior, but her scowl ran much deeper. She struck me immediately as the kind of woman who leaves fifty-cent tips for their waiter at Olive Garden, writes mean notes to her mail carrier, and doesn't understand why she can't return a soiled shirt she no longer wants at Target.

As the sleazy car salesman babbled on, she walked in real close to her husband.

"We need to bring the car with us."

"What car?"

"THE CAR WE'RE PICKING UP RIGHT NOW!"

"Oh."

"Traffic better be good on the way to San Diego--we're late."

Her husband didn't say anything, didn't care, probably has zero tolerance for his wife at this point in his life. I smiled--what a life these two must have together. Endless love...

The Salesman rambled on.

"Yeah, yeah, you could pick it up today. A Jaguar? No--the Jaguar's ninety. Well, it was probably the only thing we had left, but now I got some pick-up trucks. Look--forty bucks is the cheapest rate, so I'll give you the truck for that, since I got no cars, you know? Yeah. Alright, no sweat. Let me know what you wanna do. Cool."

He hung up the phone, handed the man in front of me a printed receipt, said goodbye, then looked at me. It was my turn.

"Hey. I just need to drop off a minivan."

I handed him the key.

"Alright, I just gotta check it out."

He left to inspect the vehicle.

The Wife sat down on a nearby bench seat, which must have been removed from one of their minivans, and began tapping her foot. The husband leaned against the counter and stared off into space.

A young woman walked into the office, another customer. She wasn't unattractive, but I wouldn't say she was attractive; she was kind of a Goldilocks. The Husband, however, seemed to be a big fan of her immediately--I noticed him surreptitiously checking her out several times. I guess the older you get, you start to appreciate any young woman, if only because of the natural attraction of the flower of youth, the lack of cellulite, the unfamiliarity. Compared to his wife, this girl was a supermodel.

As Goldilocks had walked inside the office, I heard a loud, irritating BEEP. I figured it was a motion sensor intended to inform people in the back room when a customer or thief has arrived, but then the BEEP happened again.

And again.

And again.

The Wife winced and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"What is that God-awful noise? Where is it coming from?"

"I think it's the phone. I see a light on the phone flashing."

"Well, is anybody going to answer it?"

"I don't know."

The Wife squirmed uncomfortably on the bench seat, occasionally peeking outside to see if the Salesman was coming back. Her Husband turned around to face the speaker emitting the noise, raised his arms like a zombie, and said, in a monotone voice:

"Yes, master, I will do as you command. I am your slave."

He looked at Goldilocks and smiled. She didn't smile back. I don't think she even made eye contact with him, which greatly deflated the Husband, since the 'joke' was clearly designed solely for her benefit. He turned back around and leaned on the counter.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

His Wife had had enough of that loud noise--which was, in her defense, annoyingly loud and unending--and was on the move. She crept behind the counter, keeping her eyes peeled for the Salesman. She glanced at the phones, she looked up, she looked at the others in the waiting area, she reached for the handset and paused.

"Do you see him coming?"

As soon as she spoke, she realized he was on his way back and scurried back over to her bench seat.

"I was just going to answer the phone for him," she said to nobody in particular.

Right...I'm sure she wasn't going to pick up the handset and accidentally drop it back into the cradle...

The Salesman returned, but he was not alone. An intense, petite young man in a shirt and tie steamed in behind him, shot tremendously brief glances at the assembled customers, and accompanied each look with a curt, "Hi." It sounded something like this:

"Hi, hi, hi, hi."

The young, hip, lip-service version of Wal-Mart's infamously unnecessary Greeter.

The Greeter immediately fanned the ire of the Wife when he moved straight to the back of the office without helping her. She rose, and was about to say something, when he cut her off.

"Who's next?"

The Husband and Wife both angrily said, "me." The Greeter took one look at them and realized they deserved each other, and must therefore be married.

"And what can I do for you two?"

My Salesman typed a hundred things into the computer, as he smooth-talked another customer on the phone, but I didn't pay much attention--the Greeter's conversation was much more interesting.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes."

The Husband handed him a folded printout, and the Greeter analyzed it intensely.

"Hmm. A one-way."

The Greeter handed the paper to the Salesman, for his input.

"Mmm-hmm. One-way."

"Wait a minute--we can't do a one-way on GPS."

"Nope."

"We can't do a one-way on GPS. It's our policy."

The Husband looked the Greeter dead in the eyes.

"This isn't our home planet--WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

The Greeter looked at his computer screen, looked over at the Salesman, looked back at the Husband.

"You could...get a map?"

"A map? We need a GPS. How are we supposed to get to La Jolla?"

"I'm sorry...I...can't do it. It's our policy."

"Well, can you call someone?"

"No--that's just our policy. There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? What good does that do us--WE'RE SCREWED!"

The Wife, tired of throwing out occasional, irrational requests from the bench seat, stood to ask the same question everybody unfamiliar with the perils of Internet booking ignorantly asks.

"Why would they tell us we could have a GPS if we can't?"

"I...don't know. We don't do one-way rentals. Most places don't. I don't know why they would tell you that. It's always been our policy."

"Well they did."

The Salesman finally chimed in:

"You're lucky we even have one. We can't even guarantee that we will ever have one. But we do. But we can't give it to you."

This didn't help. He resumed typing up my paperwork, which seemed to be taking on Dickensian proportions.

The Husband threw his arms up in the air. "We're screwed!"

The Wife got crafty again."What would happen if we said we'd bring it back, but we didn't?"

"Then we'd charge you $300 to replace it. That's the cost of the machine."

"We're screwed!"

A lightbulb illuminated over the Greeter's head. "Wait--I know! I can Mapquest directions to where you're going and print it out for you. It'll give you the exact same directions as a GPS."

The Husband leaned in, "We need a GPS because Mapquest is 100% unreliable. I use to use it but I never use it anymore."

The Sales man and the Greeter both stared at their computers, not sure of their next move. "Uhmmm..."

The Husband suddenly screamed at his wife, who was typing something into her cell phone. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!"

"I'M LOOKING UP CAR RENTAL PLACES!"

She was frantic. Tears were nigh. I couldn't stop smiling.

It was at this point that I nearly inserted myself into the mix. I couldn't take it anymore. These two old fuckers were so clueless--as if these two Enterprise schmucks decide 'the policy' and can bend the rules for them, as if that's how things work in corporate America. And even if they did have the power to negotiate, was this really the way to persuade them to cut a deal? I don't like people who project their own unhappiness on others--especially when they're at work. Especially when they have a shitty job.

What would I have said? Why, exactly what should be on all your minds right now:

"What the fuck did you guys do before GPS was invented? For the 50+ years of your life before you ever used a GPS device? Did you never leave your house? Did you never travel anywhere? I bet you did. I bet you used a map, asked people for directions, FIGURED IT OUT. Now just take the car, leave these guys alone, buy a road atlas and some snacks at the gas station on the way to the highway that is THREE BLOCKS AWAY, get on that highway, merge onto another highway, and wind up effortlessly in beautiful, sprawling, McMansioned La Jolla, 105 miles later. Call your daughter when you get off the highway and she can guide you in--I'm sure she has GPS at home. But hurry--I bet her husband can't wait for you to get there!"

But I didn't. The Salesman finished his novel, handed it over, and offered me a ride back. I said I'd rather walk and left--the old couple is probably still there.

The most frightening thing about this whole unpleasant affair? If people in their sixties are this unnecessarily dependent on technology, imagine when children alive today grow up. All a terrorist would have to do is shoot down the GPS satellites and our entire nation will starve to death because they won't know how to get to the grocery store. We're doomed--begin senseless fornication with the most attractive person nearby.