All right, so it's a blatantly inflammatory title. And not really true. The earth's temperature has fluctuated over the course of its history, and the fact that we're not currently living in an ice age is evidence of global warming. (I believe!) But what people really mean when they say "global warming" or "climate change" is that global warming is our fault, in much the same way that "save the planet" really means "preserve the environment in such a way that sustains human life." It's undeniably a less catchy slogan, but I for one am confident that the planet itself will be around and just fine long after we've been ground down to dust - or melted down to little puddles of sweat.
But does human activity effect the climate? Hey, I don't know, and I bet you don't either. I haven't seen "Inconvenient Truth," admittedly, but so far haven't been confronted with proof that overcomes my main reservation: that our planet's such an insanely complex system that trying to ascribe cause and effect in it, given our current level of understanding, seems almost foolishly arrogant. We can't know, so what's the point? Yes, there's a historical correlation between human industrialization and rising temperatures, but (and I'm gonna write this one large, because I see this mistake all over the place and it's driving me nuts) CORRELATION IS NOT CAUSATION.
The point here is not that everything's fine, and we should continue on as we've been. Clearly a lot is wrong, and I'm in no way trying to debunk the efforts of people struggling to protect the environment (I give in, it's just so much easier to say) or to justify our current state of things. But nothing's wrong that wasn't already before all the climate change hullabaloo. The actual source of the problem is not one of environment, big industry, oil, coal, greenhouse gases, any other pollutants, George Bush, etc., but of ATTITUDE. "Are we causing it" is the wrong question, a thousand times over. Who cares? Who cares if there's even a problem? The need to "prove" global warming before any serious action is taken is an act of misdirection, a stall, while the actual illusion being pushed is the idea that if we're found "not guilty" that our way of life is somehow defensible. We need to consciously choose not to throw a TV (just to pick a single technology almost entirely at random) on the scrapheap at the promise of high-def. Why does there have to be a threat of repercussions, a global punishment for our sins, before Americans even think about getting off their asses and doing something about it?
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Misery loves....
I love human suffering. I wallow in it. Revel in it. Before you tune out and write me off as a sadistic bastard, hear me out. (Or read me out as the case may be.)
I don't get off on the physical pain of others. I consider myself a pacifist in reality. Yes, I often imagine what I would like to do to the nimrod who bumped into me on the train, but that's as far as it goes...well that and some mumbling under my breath.
The pain and suffering I'm talking about...the kind I love...it's emotional/mental pain. Don't get me wrong, I hate being the one experiencing said pain, and I don't want my friends/loved ones to experience it, but if I can watch another person reach wit's end, then I'm a happy fella. Perhaps it's the "at least my life isn't as bad as this guy's" mentality.
That said, the video below is pain pornography. Thanks to the magic of youtube, and to the cattiness of much of the female population, these bridesmaids filmed and lauged at the bride to be as she has a complete mental breakdown. THEN THEY POSTED IT ON THE INTERNET FOR THE WORLD TO SEE!!!!! You gotta love the loyalty and friendship displayed herein. Enjoy:
I don't get off on the physical pain of others. I consider myself a pacifist in reality. Yes, I often imagine what I would like to do to the nimrod who bumped into me on the train, but that's as far as it goes...well that and some mumbling under my breath.
The pain and suffering I'm talking about...the kind I love...it's emotional/mental pain. Don't get me wrong, I hate being the one experiencing said pain, and I don't want my friends/loved ones to experience it, but if I can watch another person reach wit's end, then I'm a happy fella. Perhaps it's the "at least my life isn't as bad as this guy's" mentality.
That said, the video below is pain pornography. Thanks to the magic of youtube, and to the cattiness of much of the female population, these bridesmaids filmed and lauged at the bride to be as she has a complete mental breakdown. THEN THEY POSTED IT ON THE INTERNET FOR THE WORLD TO SEE!!!!! You gotta love the loyalty and friendship displayed herein. Enjoy:
Stupid Human Tricks
Watch someone tow a plain with his penis.
Or don't, if you've got more sense than I do.
Or don't, if you've got more sense than I do.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Degenerates Say the Darndest Things....
Her: No, we're not the butch/femme kind of lesbian couple that you always think about.
Me: Well, what kind of lesbian couple that I always think about are you?
Me: Well, what kind of lesbian couple that I always think about are you?
The Pentagon's Got a Public Affairs Office...
They say the only stupid question is the one you don't ask:
Dear Sirs;
I was interested to hear that it is the official position of Secretary of Defense Gates, and presumably the Department of Defense as a whole, that criticism of the surge in Iraqistan emboldens the enemy. General Petraeus went so far as to say that it gives aid and comfort to the enemy. I couldn’t agree more. I’ve always thought that the very idea of having the actions of the President constrained by both a Congress, and the public at large, projects an image of weakness to our enemies. The ultimate goal of getting rid of the burden that Congress, Free Speech and the democratic system of government established by the Constitution is probably too large an issue to take up in a single email. In the mean time, I would like to know what I can do in my capacity as a private citizen to fight against this second front in the Global War on Terrorism.
I would like to bring your attention to Josh, who sits two cubicles down from me at work. When he first started working at the office, I noticed that he had a “No Blood for Oil” button on his backpack. When I brought this to the attention of Human Resources, they notified that no matter how anti-American his personal views were, they could neither fire him nor drag him out into the alley behind the office to beat some sense in to him. Indeed, they even went so far as to tell me that I would be fired if I attempted to do so on my own initiative.
Since then, he has gone on to verbally disparage our Glorious Leader on an almost daily basis, both criticizing specific policies in Iraqistan, and generally. The other day he even went so far as to call Our Leader a “Needle dicked bug fucker.” I’m not really sure what he even means by that, but I assume that it has negative connotations. He reads pro-terrorist propaganda, such as the New York Times and CNN, while surfing the web on company time, and frequently calls attention to their defeatist propaganda to others. He is, in short, helping to further the Enemy’s objectives on the home front by turning Americans against the war in Iraqistan.
Since he is giving aid and comfort to the enemy, and directly working to undermine our military actions in Iraqistan, I would like to know how it is possible to neutralize the threat that he poses to our way of life. Ideally, I think that he should be designated an Enemy Combatant and sent to Guantanamo. I understand that there are some difficulties involved in this. For example, he is not a Muslim so you will not be able to exert psychological pressure on him by desecrating the Koran or smearing him with menstrual blood. But I’m sure that a steady regime of beatings, sleep depravation, mock executions and other forms of harsh treatment falling short of torture will have him confessing to being in league with the Evil Doers before too long.
On a broader note, I live in New York City and, as I’m sure that you understand, I hear negative comments about Our Glorious Leader on a fairly regular basis. It would be convenient if there were a hotline that I could call when this happens to bring these traitors to the Global War on Terror to justice. That way loyal patriotic Americans such as myself could help fight this domestic insurgency against our continued success in the Global War On Terrorism.
Yours in eternal struggle against the forces of evil,
V Jones
Dear Sirs;
I was interested to hear that it is the official position of Secretary of Defense Gates, and presumably the Department of Defense as a whole, that criticism of the surge in Iraqistan emboldens the enemy. General Petraeus went so far as to say that it gives aid and comfort to the enemy. I couldn’t agree more. I’ve always thought that the very idea of having the actions of the President constrained by both a Congress, and the public at large, projects an image of weakness to our enemies. The ultimate goal of getting rid of the burden that Congress, Free Speech and the democratic system of government established by the Constitution is probably too large an issue to take up in a single email. In the mean time, I would like to know what I can do in my capacity as a private citizen to fight against this second front in the Global War on Terrorism.
I would like to bring your attention to Josh, who sits two cubicles down from me at work. When he first started working at the office, I noticed that he had a “No Blood for Oil” button on his backpack. When I brought this to the attention of Human Resources, they notified that no matter how anti-American his personal views were, they could neither fire him nor drag him out into the alley behind the office to beat some sense in to him. Indeed, they even went so far as to tell me that I would be fired if I attempted to do so on my own initiative.
Since then, he has gone on to verbally disparage our Glorious Leader on an almost daily basis, both criticizing specific policies in Iraqistan, and generally. The other day he even went so far as to call Our Leader a “Needle dicked bug fucker.” I’m not really sure what he even means by that, but I assume that it has negative connotations. He reads pro-terrorist propaganda, such as the New York Times and CNN, while surfing the web on company time, and frequently calls attention to their defeatist propaganda to others. He is, in short, helping to further the Enemy’s objectives on the home front by turning Americans against the war in Iraqistan.
Since he is giving aid and comfort to the enemy, and directly working to undermine our military actions in Iraqistan, I would like to know how it is possible to neutralize the threat that he poses to our way of life. Ideally, I think that he should be designated an Enemy Combatant and sent to Guantanamo. I understand that there are some difficulties involved in this. For example, he is not a Muslim so you will not be able to exert psychological pressure on him by desecrating the Koran or smearing him with menstrual blood. But I’m sure that a steady regime of beatings, sleep depravation, mock executions and other forms of harsh treatment falling short of torture will have him confessing to being in league with the Evil Doers before too long.
On a broader note, I live in New York City and, as I’m sure that you understand, I hear negative comments about Our Glorious Leader on a fairly regular basis. It would be convenient if there were a hotline that I could call when this happens to bring these traitors to the Global War on Terror to justice. That way loyal patriotic Americans such as myself could help fight this domestic insurgency against our continued success in the Global War On Terrorism.
Yours in eternal struggle against the forces of evil,
V Jones
An Inconvenient Truth
I watched the movie last weekend. The impending doom of the earth depicted came to life. I didn't pay much attention to Al Gore when he was in politics, but I'm glad he made the documentary. I wasn't planning on seeing it. I figured that it would be depressing and that I already have a pretty good idea about what's going on with the climate. I'm glad I saw it. It reinforced my suspicions that we're pretty much fucked on the climate front.
The thing I'm really confused about is why are the world's priorities so fucked up. As a civilization we are pretty self-destructive. As Americans we are at the top of the list. We know that McBurgers, and Yukon XL SUV's operated while talking on the mobile phone kills people. This is a common practice by the bastards in the upper middle class of our society. They have all the resources to know that 14 miles per gallon is a fucked up number in the 21st century, but they don't give a shit. They can't even stop eating french fries long enough to prevent a heart attack, these are people with college degrees and professional jobs. Somebody should know better. That's where the yuppies come in, former hippies who now make money, they annoy the shit out of everyone with their self-righteous hybrids and designer jeans. They do enough to clear their conscience, but not much else because they are too busy making appointments for a de-tox treatment and massage at the local spa.
So the question is, how do people like me slow down and let go long enough to stop judging all the fuckers long enough to live my own life. Meditation? Join the Marines? Wander the world pretending I'm looking for the truth when I'm more interested in chasing exotic tail?
The thing I'm really confused about is why are the world's priorities so fucked up. As a civilization we are pretty self-destructive. As Americans we are at the top of the list. We know that McBurgers, and Yukon XL SUV's operated while talking on the mobile phone kills people. This is a common practice by the bastards in the upper middle class of our society. They have all the resources to know that 14 miles per gallon is a fucked up number in the 21st century, but they don't give a shit. They can't even stop eating french fries long enough to prevent a heart attack, these are people with college degrees and professional jobs. Somebody should know better. That's where the yuppies come in, former hippies who now make money, they annoy the shit out of everyone with their self-righteous hybrids and designer jeans. They do enough to clear their conscience, but not much else because they are too busy making appointments for a de-tox treatment and massage at the local spa.
So the question is, how do people like me slow down and let go long enough to stop judging all the fuckers long enough to live my own life. Meditation? Join the Marines? Wander the world pretending I'm looking for the truth when I'm more interested in chasing exotic tail?
Monday, January 29, 2007
Success?
I wasn't sure what to write for my first post, so I figure I'll share some news that's huge to me and fairly insignificant to the rest of the world (a few key people in my "inner circle" aside). I have finally given in to all of that tobacco propaganda. No, I'm not speaking of the "Alive with Pleasure" "Welcome to Flavor Country" kind, but the equally obnoxious from the other side kind. The sanctimonious, holier than thou, young college do-gooder kind. I have finally quit smoking after nearly eleven years of a pack and a half to two pack daily habit.
I label this post "Success?" with a question mark, because it's only been about four days since I've been cigarette free. Hopefully I can keep it up. I'd like to think that I'm stronger than a goddamn leaf.
Also, Wellbutrin is a godsend. Those who know me intimately, are quite aware of my....bitterness for lack of a better term. (Vermin, I'm looking in your direction.) In these past four days, I haven't desired to kill anyone with any more frequency than is normal for me. That's not to say that I haven't wanted to kill roughly 70% of the people I have come in contact with, but it hasn't gotten worse.
I label this post "Success?" with a question mark, because it's only been about four days since I've been cigarette free. Hopefully I can keep it up. I'd like to think that I'm stronger than a goddamn leaf.
Also, Wellbutrin is a godsend. Those who know me intimately, are quite aware of my....bitterness for lack of a better term. (Vermin, I'm looking in your direction.) In these past four days, I haven't desired to kill anyone with any more frequency than is normal for me. That's not to say that I haven't wanted to kill roughly 70% of the people I have come in contact with, but it hasn't gotten worse.
Time
For the first and probably the last time for a long time, I have a long vacation. I don't have anything to do. So why am I writing this? Why am I not doing all of the shit I'd imagined I would do with a bunch of time on my hands? Why have I not disappeared into the wilderness or into the wilds of old Mexico? That's how I usually handle my business. But I got myself to deal with and here is as good as a place as any. I'm a tough motherfucker to take on. I may be be skinny but I'm wirey. I can walk for days, drink myself into a stupor, and follow my dick the entire length of the applachian trail without food, but in the end I come back to myself just more haggard for it.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
A second voice
After a long distraction with life, I'm back to put my words down. Vernin put it down more eloquently, but I'm also here to figure some shit out.
Almost four years ago in an act of desperation mixed with curiosity I went down to the strip mall to enlist in the us air force. I was tired of working for peanuts and being trapped in the cube. I was going mad. I was newly married with a wife from out of the country that I needed to support, but I also had to escape my mundane job and life. Now to many, a stint in the military at a time when a cowboy is in charge is nothing short of madness, but as I just said I was going mad myself. It wasn't quite patriotism that led me into the recruiter's office, I mean we had just invaded Iraq and I thought it was a mistake from the beginning. I think I wanted to join the club. I wanted the experience of it all. My father had done it. I wanted to be apart of the fraternity of those who have learned to wear a uniform flawlessly down to the last detail and how to drill on a parade field in perfect synchronization. Ultimately I wanted to become one of those that have trained their minds to make the ultimate sacrifice for their country whether they believed in the cause or not. Maybe I saw too many images of the noble American soldier selflessly serving his country in foreign lands, and I wanted to do that too. I wanted to do something honorable. I wanted gain the stoicism of a warrior, which I compared to the stoicism of the Bushido culture I observed while living in Japan. I was excited to perfect myself. I enjoyed boot camp as I was molded by military discipline. In fact, some of the hype is true. There is something to be said for it. I was proud on graduation day as I marched in perfect step across the parade ground in my air force blues with my family watching. When the parade was over we stood locked at attention and waited as our families rushed from the bleachers to greet us and see the changes we had undergone is such a short period. Unfortunately it starts to look more and more like an average job the longer you stay in.
In fact, there are many cubicles in the Air Force. Furthermore, when I didn't find the samurai-like lifestyle I was hoping for my fascination wained and I longed for freer days. Maybe I should have joined the Marines, maybe they could have really shaped my mind, maybe the air force is just too half-assed. See, I wanted to blindly follow the group and quiet my mind, and sleep content every night. I thought the US military could do that for me. Perception is everything. I've realized I can't let go of society like a true soldier should. I wasn't able to divorce myself from the politics and my moral hangups on how the government uses the US military.
Besides that, I can't wait to let it all hang out out again. I can't wait to get back to rambling around the globe free again. I've got a feeling that I'll still feel moral weight to try to change something. Now's the time to sort it out.
Almost four years ago in an act of desperation mixed with curiosity I went down to the strip mall to enlist in the us air force. I was tired of working for peanuts and being trapped in the cube. I was going mad. I was newly married with a wife from out of the country that I needed to support, but I also had to escape my mundane job and life. Now to many, a stint in the military at a time when a cowboy is in charge is nothing short of madness, but as I just said I was going mad myself. It wasn't quite patriotism that led me into the recruiter's office, I mean we had just invaded Iraq and I thought it was a mistake from the beginning. I think I wanted to join the club. I wanted the experience of it all. My father had done it. I wanted to be apart of the fraternity of those who have learned to wear a uniform flawlessly down to the last detail and how to drill on a parade field in perfect synchronization. Ultimately I wanted to become one of those that have trained their minds to make the ultimate sacrifice for their country whether they believed in the cause or not. Maybe I saw too many images of the noble American soldier selflessly serving his country in foreign lands, and I wanted to do that too. I wanted to do something honorable. I wanted gain the stoicism of a warrior, which I compared to the stoicism of the Bushido culture I observed while living in Japan. I was excited to perfect myself. I enjoyed boot camp as I was molded by military discipline. In fact, some of the hype is true. There is something to be said for it. I was proud on graduation day as I marched in perfect step across the parade ground in my air force blues with my family watching. When the parade was over we stood locked at attention and waited as our families rushed from the bleachers to greet us and see the changes we had undergone is such a short period. Unfortunately it starts to look more and more like an average job the longer you stay in.
In fact, there are many cubicles in the Air Force. Furthermore, when I didn't find the samurai-like lifestyle I was hoping for my fascination wained and I longed for freer days. Maybe I should have joined the Marines, maybe they could have really shaped my mind, maybe the air force is just too half-assed. See, I wanted to blindly follow the group and quiet my mind, and sleep content every night. I thought the US military could do that for me. Perception is everything. I've realized I can't let go of society like a true soldier should. I wasn't able to divorce myself from the politics and my moral hangups on how the government uses the US military.
Besides that, I can't wait to let it all hang out out again. I can't wait to get back to rambling around the globe free again. I've got a feeling that I'll still feel moral weight to try to change something. Now's the time to sort it out.
You Are Not My Problem
Somewhere between the hours of 9 to 5 every day I inhabit a world that is delicately described as "Hard to Employ Populations". Don't get me wrong, I hate having to get my ass out of bed in the morning as much as the next guy, am disgusted at the fact that I sit in a cubicle, and am generally offended that I'm not given a salary for simply being the all around bundle of joy that you know and love. But aside from that I generally like my job. It's a wonderful mix of writing grants, doing mind numbing paper work and research, and having people threaten to kill me.
There are various degrees of "Hard to Employ" out there. Somewhere near the bottom of the pile lies the guy who was talking to the wall the other morning. A manager runs in to my side of the office with the unmistakable "Somebody come quick" urgency of someone who smells impending violence in the air. We all rush in to the waiting room - itself an act that generally pushes people over the edge from agitation to outright rage - and just stop.
He's not really menacing. Just standing next to the wall having a conversation. With it. After it became clear that no blood was going to be shed, most people wandered back to their desks. I stuck around and stood halfway between the two conversations taking place, the guy talking to the wall, and his councillor talking to her boss.
Upon further observation, it became clear that the guy was actually involved in two conversations. The one with the wall was pretty calm. It consisted mostly of, "No, take another hit... shit smoke all you want, I don't care... yeah, I used to have to smoke a lot to get off, but now I can get high just by thinking of it... no man, hit it again, I'm cool... yeah, don't it feel great... I feel like I could take on the world... I mean, nothing matters at all... yeah... yeah... no, hit it one more time, I'm just floating away here...."
If it were taking place with an actual human being back in my pothead days, he would be pretty cool. I sincerely doubt he was talking about the reefer, though... The second conversation, which was interspersed with that one, was where the aggression was coming out. "Motherfuckers think they can thrown me out...." "what the fuck am I to you, huh?" "you cant try and tell me how to fucking act, I live my own god damn life, motherfucker.... don't you look at me... don't you look at me." This conversation was taking place in a manner that in saner people would be described as "talking to yourself" He, on the other hand, seemed to be addressing the space two feet in front of him. He went back and forth, turning to the wall all chill, and going back to threaten the air in front of him. The conversation between the Councilor and her boss was even more entertaining. Apparently being batshit crazy isn't reason enough to throw him out of the program, and we need to terminate him in a way that doesn't leave us open for a lawsuit. The prospect of him standing in front of a judge testifying seemed pretty amusing at the time, but what do I know. I'm the guy who laughs at all the inappropriate parts of movies... while everyone else is getting around to empathy and human emotions...
Somewhere while they were having the conversation, we lost track of the guy. He stepped into the elevator and wandered off into the world.... "Where did he go?" "Well," I suggested "if he got off in one of the other floors and starts to do his act we'll hear the screams soon enough, and if not he's not really our problem anymore... is he?" With a certain class of people my goal is to get them out of the office without incident. Beyond that, I don't really care. I have no power to save them from themselves or anybody else. All I can accomplish is to convert them into somebody else's problem, and hope that I'm not around to clean up the messes they leave behind.
There are various degrees of "Hard to Employ" out there. Somewhere near the bottom of the pile lies the guy who was talking to the wall the other morning. A manager runs in to my side of the office with the unmistakable "Somebody come quick" urgency of someone who smells impending violence in the air. We all rush in to the waiting room - itself an act that generally pushes people over the edge from agitation to outright rage - and just stop.
He's not really menacing. Just standing next to the wall having a conversation. With it. After it became clear that no blood was going to be shed, most people wandered back to their desks. I stuck around and stood halfway between the two conversations taking place, the guy talking to the wall, and his councillor talking to her boss.
Upon further observation, it became clear that the guy was actually involved in two conversations. The one with the wall was pretty calm. It consisted mostly of, "No, take another hit... shit smoke all you want, I don't care... yeah, I used to have to smoke a lot to get off, but now I can get high just by thinking of it... no man, hit it again, I'm cool... yeah, don't it feel great... I feel like I could take on the world... I mean, nothing matters at all... yeah... yeah... no, hit it one more time, I'm just floating away here...."
If it were taking place with an actual human being back in my pothead days, he would be pretty cool. I sincerely doubt he was talking about the reefer, though... The second conversation, which was interspersed with that one, was where the aggression was coming out. "Motherfuckers think they can thrown me out...." "what the fuck am I to you, huh?" "you cant try and tell me how to fucking act, I live my own god damn life, motherfucker.... don't you look at me... don't you look at me." This conversation was taking place in a manner that in saner people would be described as "talking to yourself" He, on the other hand, seemed to be addressing the space two feet in front of him. He went back and forth, turning to the wall all chill, and going back to threaten the air in front of him. The conversation between the Councilor and her boss was even more entertaining. Apparently being batshit crazy isn't reason enough to throw him out of the program, and we need to terminate him in a way that doesn't leave us open for a lawsuit. The prospect of him standing in front of a judge testifying seemed pretty amusing at the time, but what do I know. I'm the guy who laughs at all the inappropriate parts of movies... while everyone else is getting around to empathy and human emotions...
Somewhere while they were having the conversation, we lost track of the guy. He stepped into the elevator and wandered off into the world.... "Where did he go?" "Well," I suggested "if he got off in one of the other floors and starts to do his act we'll hear the screams soon enough, and if not he's not really our problem anymore... is he?" With a certain class of people my goal is to get them out of the office without incident. Beyond that, I don't really care. I have no power to save them from themselves or anybody else. All I can accomplish is to convert them into somebody else's problem, and hope that I'm not around to clean up the messes they leave behind.
The temptation with the first post on a blog is to give some sort of general introduction, an outline of where you plan on going with things. As I hope that a review of the above Youtube clibs makes perfectly clear, I aim at nothing short of Ultimate Truth. Not the Ultimate Truth that they promised you in Sunday School, or that Donald Rumsfeld promised to dispense from his podium. Rather, at Splatter Zone we approach ultimate truth through the medium of Japanese girl bands wearing vinal jumpsuits and meat strapped to their heads being attacked by a giant lizard, priests killing armies of zombies with lawn mowers, William S. Burrough's heroin fueled meditations on the Myan mythology of death, Judo masters attacking girls wearing short skirts, and Robert Anton Wilson's discourses on reprogramming your mind.
Will we finally arrive at the Ultimate Truth, of which all of these is merely a pale reflection?
I cannot say. But to not set out on that journey towards the Ultimate is to relegate yourself to defeat from the beginning. And we can't have that, now, can we?
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