I know I joke around a lot about some pretty inane shit sometimes, but something has come to my attention that is too serious to take lightly in any way. I was listening to NPR today, and they had an interview with a fellow from IBM who was discussing a recent project the company has been developing: a robot engineered for the sole purpose of competing on Jeopardy!
Now I have no problems with robots that build cars, defuse bombs, play musical instruments, or dance like an eighty year-old in a pool of jello...hell, I'm that that turned off by the whole "rise of the machines" thing that the Terminator and Matrix flicks warn us about, but for the love of all that is holy...not Jeopardy!
This trivia-bot will be programmed with a cubic fuck-ton of information, and then given a search protocol that determines the best answer based on the context. For example, a category in which all answers begin with the letter "I" may not be obvious at first, after a couple of questions, it will figure out the trick and find the answer. In other words, this monstrosity of science will be like those asshole contestants who wait for the cheap answers to be snatched up and then run the rest of the category like a douchebag. Our only hope is that they don't give this thing a movable arm that it can use to write its response for Final Jeopardy.
Apparently Dick-3PO will be ready to square off against a human opponent in a year. Humanity has only one hope to take this metallic beast down. Sit back down, John Conner. Go back to not being relevant or cool anymore, Neo; neither of you punks have the trivia balls to take this thing on. Two words: Ken Jennings. 74 consecutive Jeopardy! victories; $3,022,700 in accumulated prize money. He is our Kasparov, and I'll be goddamned if he is going to let the Trivia-Tron 2000 cornhole him the same way Garry got it from Deep Blue. Besides, he's Mormon, so he's already half-robot to begin with.
The mechanical menace has to be stopped, both for my sake, and for humanity's...but mostly for mine. I'm not about to let some encyclopedic erector set rob me of my chance to make it onto that show. I have tried out three different times for Jeopardy!, and been shot down every time time by the cold bitchslap of chance. I will not not join the ever-growing line of auto-workers, novelty muscians, and bomb-defusing monkeys and sit by while robots take over my niche in society. More importantly, if I never get onto Jeopardy, I'll never get to play "Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots" with Trebek's throat.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
They're So Cute When They're Little
As much as I love maxims, phrases, chestnuts, proverbs, and other random sound bites of wisdom, there is one that has been bothering me lately:
"Don't sweat the small stuff."
I'm cool not letting all of the little piddly crap in your life get you down; it's generally how I manage to stay sane. However, there is an unintended second meaning to this little goody. I'm sure whoever first uttered it was only coming from a kind and compassionate place, but sometimes bored overthinkers like me have to grab onto something, tear into it, and whip it around like a dog with a new squeaky toy. Again, this keeps me sane.
While it's all well and good to not sweat the small stuff, the side effect is that you give the small stuff hardly any attention at all. The big stuff is what counts; the cataclysms that create the most drastic and instant changes life, but that's not all there is. I think more people would benefit from taking time to celebrate and appreciate the little victories in life.
Case and point: today I helped a young lady work to conquer her crippling fear of heights. She was adamant about staying on the ground, but a little encouragement got her forty feet into the air and ended in her jumping off while being held by a group of her friends on a rope. It was a long and delicate process and my hand is still a little sore from her sqeezong it so tightly, but she made it past the tears and fear and did it. That is really friggin' cool and was big deal to her, and it made me feel good to help create that kind of accomplishment.
But you know what made me feel even better about myself? Two days ago I cleaned all the hair and soap scum and other nasty shit out of my shower drain so that it could drain effectively. I had let it get to the point where I would be showing in a few inches of water, and enough was enough. I ran the water and rooted around with a small handheld declogging apparatus. I was exhuming the occasional soapy clump of my man-pelt, but no improvement in drainage resulted from the exercise. Undeterred, I continued until finally I heard the hollow burp of the drain releasing its prey. The water exited as if I had blown a hole in the bottom of the tub with a shotgun. I felt like a god. I couldn't help but chastise the drain out loud for thinking that it could match wits with the like of me. Punk-ass drain!
Now some might argue that I am making mountains out of molehills, and I say, "sure, why not?" While it is certainly acceptable, nay, encouraged to savor the great sources of joy in our lives, it shouldn't be our sole focus. Why not take a measure of exhuberance in the mundane and the everyday. Enjoy the fact that you did the dishes today rather than letting them pile up and making a much bigger job. Call a person who you think you might take for granted and thank them for being a part of your life. The Grand Canyon was made by wind and water, not an earthquake.
"Don't sweat the small stuff."
I'm cool not letting all of the little piddly crap in your life get you down; it's generally how I manage to stay sane. However, there is an unintended second meaning to this little goody. I'm sure whoever first uttered it was only coming from a kind and compassionate place, but sometimes bored overthinkers like me have to grab onto something, tear into it, and whip it around like a dog with a new squeaky toy. Again, this keeps me sane.
While it's all well and good to not sweat the small stuff, the side effect is that you give the small stuff hardly any attention at all. The big stuff is what counts; the cataclysms that create the most drastic and instant changes life, but that's not all there is. I think more people would benefit from taking time to celebrate and appreciate the little victories in life.
Case and point: today I helped a young lady work to conquer her crippling fear of heights. She was adamant about staying on the ground, but a little encouragement got her forty feet into the air and ended in her jumping off while being held by a group of her friends on a rope. It was a long and delicate process and my hand is still a little sore from her sqeezong it so tightly, but she made it past the tears and fear and did it. That is really friggin' cool and was big deal to her, and it made me feel good to help create that kind of accomplishment.
But you know what made me feel even better about myself? Two days ago I cleaned all the hair and soap scum and other nasty shit out of my shower drain so that it could drain effectively. I had let it get to the point where I would be showing in a few inches of water, and enough was enough. I ran the water and rooted around with a small handheld declogging apparatus. I was exhuming the occasional soapy clump of my man-pelt, but no improvement in drainage resulted from the exercise. Undeterred, I continued until finally I heard the hollow burp of the drain releasing its prey. The water exited as if I had blown a hole in the bottom of the tub with a shotgun. I felt like a god. I couldn't help but chastise the drain out loud for thinking that it could match wits with the like of me. Punk-ass drain!
Now some might argue that I am making mountains out of molehills, and I say, "sure, why not?" While it is certainly acceptable, nay, encouraged to savor the great sources of joy in our lives, it shouldn't be our sole focus. Why not take a measure of exhuberance in the mundane and the everyday. Enjoy the fact that you did the dishes today rather than letting them pile up and making a much bigger job. Call a person who you think you might take for granted and thank them for being a part of your life. The Grand Canyon was made by wind and water, not an earthquake.
Friday, April 17, 2009
The Most Unfunny Post Ever
There is a feeling deep within my heart that I have lived with for a long time. It used to be more of a secret, but it has become so strong that there has been the occasional slip to my family or even a friend or two. It is really hard for me to express this into words, especially since it could very well impact some of the most important relationships in my life. I cannot let that possibility deter me though; it is more healthy to just say everything and have it out in the open rather than keep it pent up inside. *sigh* Here it goes...
Charlie the Unicorn is one of the stupidest things I have ever seen in my life.
There, I said it and there's no taking it back. I mean, seriously...have you watched this crap? If not, save yourself the hassle and just live your life knowing that you don't have to endure it. Normally I am a fan of experienceing things for the sake of knowledge, but in this case I'm willing to make an exception. Recently I accidentally stumbled upon the third installment of this inane series. Of course, "Charlie" is one of those rediculous instances in which the thought sequence follows thusly: "Oh, enough people liked the first one, so I'll keep making more by using the exact same formula without any improvement." I call it the Superman Effect because this was the reasoning behind the "Superman" film series, and we all know how that turned out.
And now is the part where I get lambasted for attacking something simply because I don't think it's funny. I can only respond with the fact that it is funny. The thing is, when I watch Charlie the Unicorn, I want to laugh, but I cannot in good taste allow myself to do so. It is simply too stupid to justify its existence with laughter. It is the lowest common denominator of comedy; the Big Mac of humor. It's a cheap way to make someone chuckle. Shouldn't we be better than this? Am I saying don't laugh at it? No, no one can control what others find funny; it's part of the nature of humor. I do however request that nobody say that Charlie the Unicorn is, "the funniest thing ever," because it's not. It's like saying Burger King is the greatest food ever, and anyone who says that is in desperate need of some horizon expanding, but this should probably be done after Mommy gets you to use the grown-up potty successfully.
Charlie the Unicorn is one of the stupidest things I have ever seen in my life.
There, I said it and there's no taking it back. I mean, seriously...have you watched this crap? If not, save yourself the hassle and just live your life knowing that you don't have to endure it. Normally I am a fan of experienceing things for the sake of knowledge, but in this case I'm willing to make an exception. Recently I accidentally stumbled upon the third installment of this inane series. Of course, "Charlie" is one of those rediculous instances in which the thought sequence follows thusly: "Oh, enough people liked the first one, so I'll keep making more by using the exact same formula without any improvement." I call it the Superman Effect because this was the reasoning behind the "Superman" film series, and we all know how that turned out.
And now is the part where I get lambasted for attacking something simply because I don't think it's funny. I can only respond with the fact that it is funny. The thing is, when I watch Charlie the Unicorn, I want to laugh, but I cannot in good taste allow myself to do so. It is simply too stupid to justify its existence with laughter. It is the lowest common denominator of comedy; the Big Mac of humor. It's a cheap way to make someone chuckle. Shouldn't we be better than this? Am I saying don't laugh at it? No, no one can control what others find funny; it's part of the nature of humor. I do however request that nobody say that Charlie the Unicorn is, "the funniest thing ever," because it's not. It's like saying Burger King is the greatest food ever, and anyone who says that is in desperate need of some horizon expanding, but this should probably be done after Mommy gets you to use the grown-up potty successfully.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Cat's Out of the Vag
So I went on and on about the penis in my last post, and just when you thought you couldn't get any more uncomfortable, it's time to talk about the female equivalent. What started me thinking about vaginas (more than usual that is) was a news story I read about the state of New Jersey banning full brazilian waxes from all spas. For those of you who are not initiate on the ways of professional hair care, let me explain what a brazilian wax is. Think of every hair that exists between your beltline and your thigh; now imagine each one of those hairs being ripped out with wax by a tiny, but surprisingly strong Vietnamese woman. I know it sounds more like a P.O.W. flashback than a beauty procedure, but apparently many women undergo this procedure every time swimsuit season rolls around. I'm not here to debate the virtues of waxing. I personally do not care how much hair you ladies have on your cooter as long as you feel sexy. This is within reason of course; I need to be able to find my way around without needing a machete and Satipo to guide me.
You may have found the Raiders metaphor to be a tad exotic, but the truth is that for some reason, most guys regard the vagina as some mysterious location that is impossible to fully understand or experience. Some of this may spring from maternal issues. After all, this orifice was also the way by which we entered the world, but the female reproductive system isn't the same thing as Stargate SG-1. I refuse to believe that the twat is that mysterious. Make no mistake, male and female genitals aren't simply a case of inny versus outy; there are significant physiological differences between the two, like apples and oranges (or probably bananas and passion fruits).
This train of thought of course inevitabley leads to the golden idol at the center of the temple: the female orgasm. Some people sound like it's easier to dismantle an atomic warhead with your feet than to satify a woman. Seriously? A little logic and the ability to listen are really all it takes to figure it out. There are two major things to leep in mind, fellas.
1. I won't go far as to say that one thing will work on every chick, but here's a novel thought, why not try finding out what your lady likes? You're not psychic, and a healthy relationship is based on communication, both verbal and nonverbal (if you know what I mean). If you do something right, she'll let you know.
2. Foreplay. I'll leave it at that. If you don't know what it is, just go ahead and turn in your gun and badge now and save women the hassle of having to explain it.
My goal in these last two posts is to try and bring the two sexes together, or at least bring their genitals together...then apart...then back together...then apart...then back together...then...oh, god!...*snore*
You may have found the Raiders metaphor to be a tad exotic, but the truth is that for some reason, most guys regard the vagina as some mysterious location that is impossible to fully understand or experience. Some of this may spring from maternal issues. After all, this orifice was also the way by which we entered the world, but the female reproductive system isn't the same thing as Stargate SG-1. I refuse to believe that the twat is that mysterious. Make no mistake, male and female genitals aren't simply a case of inny versus outy; there are significant physiological differences between the two, like apples and oranges (or probably bananas and passion fruits).
This train of thought of course inevitabley leads to the golden idol at the center of the temple: the female orgasm. Some people sound like it's easier to dismantle an atomic warhead with your feet than to satify a woman. Seriously? A little logic and the ability to listen are really all it takes to figure it out. There are two major things to leep in mind, fellas.
1. I won't go far as to say that one thing will work on every chick, but here's a novel thought, why not try finding out what your lady likes? You're not psychic, and a healthy relationship is based on communication, both verbal and nonverbal (if you know what I mean). If you do something right, she'll let you know.
2. Foreplay. I'll leave it at that. If you don't know what it is, just go ahead and turn in your gun and badge now and save women the hassle of having to explain it.
My goal in these last two posts is to try and bring the two sexes together, or at least bring their genitals together...then apart...then back together...then apart...then back together...then...oh, god!...*snore*
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