Enough is Damned Well Enough

I know it's been awhile, but I've been rather busy being extraordinarily happy, and simultaneously shedding unnecessary drama. This is an open letter to someone who desperately needs to grow up, and just for the fuck of it, it can apply to multiple people, so if you're inclined to bombard me with messages asking if it's about you, it just might be.

Dear entirely too over-dramatic person:

You wouldn't be in the situation you're in, dare I say any of the situations you've been in, if you hadn't consistently and thoroughly fucked with the people trying to help you. You're burning bridges, nay... you're packing them out with a magnanimous helping of C-4 and giggling with glee has you push the plunger. You can't staple your god damned hand to your forehead and cry "woe is me" afterward. You can't dance around acting all hard, stubborn, and aggressive, yet simultaneously whinge and moan about how nobody wants to be around you. You can't haul eighty tons of baggage around and expect people to jump at the chance to pull you out from under it and watch you dig back in. It's like telling a child not to touch the stove because it's hot. After the eleventy-billionth time, you realize you're just going to have to let them touch the fucking stove. You can't run off with other people's shit and expect them to be okay with it. You can't rack up bills in other people's name and expect them to just keep tossing cash at the problem. This isn't church, sweety, it's life. It's time to catch up with the rest of us. The attention-seeking behaviour is too much. You can't keep putting yourself in shitty situations and reaching out for help only to kick your rescuers in the taint before scurrying back into the shitty situations.

Well, I suppose you can do all those things...

But if you do, you absolutely cannot claim you're stronger then the people trying to help you.

Until you get your own shit straight, any opinion you offer on others' decisions is tantamount to the melody of a two-year old screaming at the top of his lungs for more food that he won't eat because he doesn't want to go to bed. We all know you're tired. We aren't the problem.

Any argument you offer is invalid.

Take a fucking nap.

You've burned so many people with your bullshit that we could unionize.

That being said, I've extended my hand to you yet again, but with the apprehension of someone who knows he's shaking the hand of a prankster. If you're palming a buzzer...

I.

Will.

Punch you.

Atheism Saved My Life

A few months back, my world collapsed around me. Everything I knew, and major parts of who I was simply disappeared. Hell, even one of my cats ran away.

It was a rather dark time that resulted in my disappearance from cyberspace, and very nearly, life altogether. I sat stunned and numb... completely flummoxed... for awhile.

Then, I realized something:

You really do only get one chance at life.

Despite the fact that life was using my nutsack as a stage for a Lord of the Dance revival, it occurred to me that there are many things, most things, actually, that are well beyond my control.

And that's okay.

What's not okay, is shutting down... not reacting... collecting dust.

What's not okay, is relying on some genie in the sky to put things right, especially when according to that myth, it's the very same wizard who's responsible for the clusterfuck in the first place.

Rather than clasp my hands in supplication and blind devotion to the holy deadbeat dad, I reached down deep inside, to a place I haven't been in years, and found some oak-barrel aged resolve (a very good year). I made the proactive choice to stay positive, and keep trying.

Guess what happened?

Instead of bumping myself off in hopes for a better life somewhere on a cloud, eating ambrosia with saintly, holier than thou douchebags, I still remain.

And I'm doing much better.

I've even landed a full-blown career that I love, and pour my heart into.

I get to play with fucking lasers.

So, yeah, atheism saved my life.

O Captain, My Captain

Someone told me last week that they had made "spare bacon, just in case." Let's get one thing straight right now: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS SPARE BACON!

Bacon exists in two states, and only two states, either it's uncooked, or it's ready to be eaten. There's debate about whether bacon in the process of being eaten is in fact in a third state, but I assert that it's merely in a transitory stage whereby it's becoming non-existent.

In other news about ridiculous assertions regarding food:

Some group of douchebags with nothing better to do have decided they want Cap'n Crunch demoted.

Yeah, seriously. It was on Action News this morning. They claim that he doesn't have enough stripes. His insignia are that of a commander, not a captain.

You know what?

SO THE FUCK WHAT!?

Does the rank of this fictional character have anything to do at all with the fact that that shit will still cut the roof of your mouth like a medieval barber trying to cure depression?

And let's not forget the Soggies.

You think they'd be afraid of a lowly commander?!

Ladies and gents, there are a few immutable laws in this world, here's two for you:

Cap'n Crunch is indeed a captain, regardless of how many stripes he has, and bacon is fucking delicious.

Apparently, the next generation doesn't get this. They're still playing with their god damned food.

Peace of Pie

So I'm going to wind up about five minutes late for work today. Normally, I wouldn't gripe, but I happen to love my new job, so now I'm annoyed.

And why?

Because some asshole at my usual coffee spot couldn't fucking decide which pie he wanted. There I am, patiently grasping a piping hot cup of fuel, and this knucklehead doesn't even have the courtesy to make a fucking decision.

Not normally rant-worthy, I know, but here's the kicker:

He's using an Access card.

Food stamps.

Not for bread, milk, and eggs, either. For a fucking piece of pie.

And that is what annoys me.

He's holding me up from going to work, so I can pay for his food (which in all honesty, I don't mind. It's a great program that feeds a lot of people. I just think it needs some work) for a fucking piece of pie.

And not gramma's pie, but manufactured, blister-packed pie.

You know what that means?

It's all the fucking same flavor, just different colors.

So, please dude, pick your favorite color pie, and move the fuck on. As an alternative, you can also step the fuck aside for the 3.14 seconds it will take me to hand over my buck and a half for the coffee and scat.

Assholes

They're everywhere.

The ex beating your head in while you try to get back on your feet.

The homeless 19 year old "combat veteran" who thinks you're an idiot.

The classy lady spitting on the ground every five minutes, and looking at you like you did something disgusting.

You can't swing a dead asshole these days without hitting a live one.

That being said, let's not lose sight of the fact that NON-assholes are also everywhere. They simply go unnoticed.

Know why?

They aren't assholes.

It's the same concept as word of mouth in the restaurant business:

People might tell their friends about a good experience, but you can bet your battered, chapped ass that they'll tell anyone who'll listen about a bad one.

Negativity gets attention, and a lot of it. Too much, actually.

Perhaps if we focus on the positive, we can leave the assholes behind... where they belong.

Just a thought.

Make the most out of today, folks, because it'll be gone tomorrow.

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Program...

Well, it looks like someone finally used some common sense and approved the morning after pill for women and girls of all ages.

Good.

It's about fucking time this country demonstrated a little progress.

Turns out, it seems, it isn't just women over seventeen that have to worry about unplanned, uninvited, or uniformed pregnancy. Looks like someone finally had the cajones to say, "Hey, MTV and TLC, fuck your ratings."

Don't worry, folks, there will still be plenty of candidates for 16 and Pregnant, Teenage Mom, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, and the newest TLC show, I Just Like Totally Like to Party.

As a matter of fact, this very moment, there's a girl on the train who can't be older than fourteen, and reeks profoundly of diapers and formula.

But at least she's in her school uniform, which means she's trying.

Ladies and gentlemen (because, yes, this is important to everyone), I like to think I have at least a rudimentary understanding of biology. That being said, I'm relatively certain the human uterus doesn't give a half a fuck if the person in which it resides has reached a certain age (or even gotten their driver's license).

You want proof?

Look at an apple tree. All the apples don't fall at exactly the same time. They don't fall because it's six A.M. on Saturday, and that's what they're supposed to do.

They fall when they're ripe.

Period (take that pun and shove it).

Nature cares naught for timing. Ask anyone who's washed their car and parked I it under a tree.

Loyalty

You never see it anymore.

Am I that much of a throwback?

When I was younger, I even refused to go work for a competitor when a dear friend of mine laid me off after five years with a glowing recommendation.

Because of loyalty.

I'm honest with people, even though that honesty could (and has been known to) get me in trouble.

Because of loyalty.

Am I insane, or is it the Asperger's?

I don't tolerate change well, but I do tolerate it, because I'm forced to.

Unfortunately, I expect the same loyalty and honesty from others.

I have to stop that.

People simply aren't loyal or honest anymore.

But who am I kidding?

I won't.

I'm too loyal.

I'm too honest.

So I'll stay me, even as some people twist the knife they've thrust in my heart as others quietly slip another one in my back.

                       •

I've been beaten, stabbed, shot at, and left for dead.
I've been hungry, cold, homeless, and lost my head.
I've been spit on, walked on, stomped on, and I've gone on.
I've sustained, remained, maintained, and I will again.

Resolve

There are things in this world we simply don't understand... Yet.

Why is dark energy pushing the universe with such force that expansion is still accelerating?

How feasible is time travel?

What the hell goes on in the collective hive mind of
women?

There's a certain idyllic calmness that comes with approaching a problem with a solution for what is directly presented to you, rather than approaching it with a litany of questions.

It's much the same way doctors treat the common cold. There is no cure. There are preventive measures to lessen your chances of getting it, and even with all of those in place, it's very likely, if not certain, that you will get sick.

So what do you do?

You treat the immediate problem; the symptoms.

We concern ourselves with getting better, and getting our head straight, so that we're able to think clearly.

You're not going to cure the congestion by sitting around pondering the nature of the sniffles.

You drink some orange juice, get some rest, and take some medicine. Then, if you want to become a doctor and find the cure, or study the nature of the thing to learn its source, you're healthy enough to do so.

Prayer doesn't help.

Sharing or liking a Facebook status a million times doesn't help.

Retweeting doesn't help.

Doctors can't even help unless you actually go to them.

Ultimately, the most important factor in solving your problems, is you. Just remember that the most important factor in creating your problems, is also you.

Control

It's an illusion.

While it may appear that there are at least some things you can control, the fact is that there isn't.

There are, however, definite things everyone knows are beyond their control.

The weather.

Time.

How you feel about someone.

How someone else feels about you.
(I'm not talking about knee jerk reactions, I mean the deeply rooted bond some people that have known each other half their lives develop.)

The fact is, there is one thing, and only one thing you can control:

Your actions.

This is why thinking is so vital and essential. Every action causes and equal and opposite reaction. This is a fundamental law of physics. It's one of those immutable laws of the universe.

It is, therefore, not only wise, but imperative that people think before they act. I'm often teased because of my slow cadence, but people don't realize that I'm doing something most people don't.

I'm deliberately thinking about what I want to say and do.

Perhaps if more people did the same, there'd be less pain and senseless death in the world.

I'm not saying it would go away, but it would be markedly reduced.

Just a thought, folks.

Brittle

I was standing at the train platform, leaning up against the pillar as I usually do, when it occurred to me how easily one could step forward at just the right moment, into the face of a giant, speeding tin can.

Without even thinking about it, out of instinct, I took several steps backward.

Life is so fragile, people. It's something that needs to be guarded and enjoyed; nearly everything out there can and is trying to end it. Don't let it.

You only get one.

There are no mulligans.

No do-overs.

As long as I live, (which I intend be a very long time) I will never understand the choice some people make to purposefully shuffle off this mortal coil.

Life is for now. It's temporary. On a cosmic scale, it's a fucking nanosecond. A Planck time.

Life is a blip.

When you're dead, your going to be dead for at least as long as you weren't alive to begin with. And there are no parties to attend. No musings to ponder with those who went before you.

That being said, you, out there, if you're reading this (and I sincerely hope you are), know that I love you with all my heart, and I will for the rest of my blip.

People

Oh, goody.

Rumors already abound on the subway this morning, as highschool kids talk out their asses about the events surrounding the capture of the boston bombers.

They're even talking about how they'd have gone down fighting, too, and trying to one-up each other with other tales about what they would've done.

...and now we've moved on to talking about how they were all, apparently, going to run the marathon this year. One of them was going to run last year, but he didn't. His friend, coincidentally, did run the marathon last year, but not this year.

Right.

The fat, pimply kid gnawing on a chicken wing ON THE FUCKING SUBWAY AT 7:40am ran the Boston marathon last year, but not this year...because he's over it.

Bullshit.

Speaking of bullshit, did you hear the latest in frivolous lawsuits?

A Korean lady in New Jersey, Hyun Lee, (you'll see why it's imperative to use her actual full name in a moment) is suing CVS, because one of the pharmacy workers "changed her name to Ching Chong on the receipt." She decided that that was a racial slur, and is now suing CVS for a cool million for emotional distress.

Here's the thing:

It didn't occur to her that she might have gotten the wrong prescription. She went right for racism. As unlikely as it sounds, there may in fact be a "Ching Chong" who uses that pharmacy. I've known two Chings in my life, and everyone knows Chong is an actual, rather common last name (See Tommy, Rae Dawn, et al).

So who's the racist?

Well there is one saving grace. The science festival kicked off last night, so over the weekend, I hope to take a refreshing dip in the gene pool.

Branches

You know, back when I was in school, and we were learning about the political system in social studies (do they even bother now?), it only mildly interested me. I wasn't too keen on all the stuffy president-name-and-order-memorization thing, but the actual logistics intrigued me. As I understand it, there's a checks and balances system made up of three branches, so that no one supercedes the other, and the people are equally represented.

Fascinating ideal.

However, we only seem to be hearing from two of the three branches: executive and legislative, and they seem to have both forgotten whom they represent.

Do you remember?

This government is supposed to be of the people, for the people, and by the people.

So where the fuck are all the people?

I only see suits bursting at the seams with cash.

This isn't even about a new gun bill, fuck that. More laws aren't going to make criminals suddenly stop and think "hmmm... Nah, that breaks 13 laws now instead of 12, and that's unlucky. Time to retire from my life of crime."

It's about representation.

It's about the political system I learned about in school, where there were three branches of government, and they were all comprised of representatives of their constituents, and they knew it. Some of them were even members of one or more of the communities they represented.

...and they spoke on behalf of their people.

...and when they spoke, they did so with the voice of their people.

...and they got shit done.

Where's that America; the one I learned about in school? I want to live there.

The only legislation our representatives seem to be able pass anymore is the semi-annual "everybody gets a raise" bill.

These fat cats keep lining their pockets with our money, and using it to take vacations from not working.

Money doesn't grow on trees; branches do.

Scatter

I'm staring at a blank screen, not entirely sure what to write. I do know that I'm decidedly tired of all this speculation with regard to the marathon bombing. I understand the FBI doesn't have clear answers (hence, the plea to the public), but that means neither does anyone else, and that means shut the fuck up with the conspiracy theories.

I've seen a few bits in the news that just irritate the hell out of me:

"It was Al Qaeda. They showed members how to make pressure cooker bombs in Yemen once."

No, it wasn't. Stop stirring the shit. Neither Al Qaeda, nor any other known foreign terrorist group has yet claimed responsibility for the incident. While that in and of itself does not conclusively eliminate that possibility, it does make it extremely unlikely. As far as the training involved in making a pressure cooker bomb; there is none. Anyone with an Anarchist's Cookbook, and a rudimentary understanding of physics can make one. Until there's more information about how it was constructed, there's no way to know how it was constructed. See how that shit works?

"Panic! You could be next!"

Not likely. Again, there is very little known about the details and logistics of this incident.

Here's what we conclusively know as of this moment:

1) An asshole, possibly with the assistance of other assholes, blew up the finish line of the Boston marathon.

2) Multiple devices were found, and they were housed in pressure cookers.

That's it.

End of fucking list.

We don't know who, we don't know why, and we're not even entirely sure how. Which means it's just as legitimate at this point to claim that an angry, escaped lab chimp who dreamed of running the marathon did it out of spite, because the doctor in charge of the lab went nuts and ate his legs.

Speculation does not help. Stop panicking.

"Gawd let it happen, because fag marriage!"

You know what? Shut the fuck up.  Just die slowly in a fire. That is all. You know who you are.

Senseless

Anyone who knows me knows I don't run. I don't even condone running, although in certain circumstances, I can understand why people do it (being chased by a knife-wielding maniac up at Crystal Lake, for example).

However, there are people that enjoy it, and they ought to be allowed to do so without being afraid that some dickhead has a bomb planted at the finish line.

In the interest of full disclosure, I love explosions, but not when loss of life or limb is involved. I'm a huge fan of structural explosions. The physics fascinate me. Big booms that tear through people are not my favorite by any means.

That being said, imagine you've trained all year for this huge international event, the Boston marathon, you've got new shoes just for the occasion, and you'll finally be able to cross "run 26 miles, buy stock in Desitin" off your bucket list. All of a sudden, at the finish line, just as you feel that tickle of joy that comes with finally accomplishing something... BOOM!

Now, imagine that after 4 hours of running - after TWENTY-SIX grueling miles, you're lying in a hospital bed surrounded by nurses with bolts of gauze, your new shoes conspicuously absent. Your friends, neighbors, and family occupy adjacent rooms. Some occupy the morgue.

You're a mess. Confused, trying to make sense of it all, you stop and think, so you can cope with the reality of the situation.

"Okay, I'm in a hospital, good. Doctors and nurses, excellent. They seem properly equipped, great."

Then, some asshole offers "thoughts and prayers" as he walks by shoving a burger in his mouth.

Thoughts and prayers don't do shit. If they did, at least a few of those 145 would be walking out on their own two feet, saying "thanks doc, but I prayed the leg back."

Don't insult these people by telling them you're thinking about them before you boop their nose.

Offer blood and money if you can.

While thoughts, prayers, condolences, and wearing a special color are all nice things, they don't help. They're as senseless as the bombing itself.

Monkey

They (being the people responsible for the discovery, whose exact profession I can't remember at the moment) have found a two-million year old (that's 2-fucking-,000,000) hominid that shares a mix of ape traits, including human.

Do you realize what this means?

That's right, it means creationists around the world are hard at work inventing conspiracy theories, and trying their damndest to prove it's a hoax. What the evolution deniers don't seem to understand, however, is that Australopithicus Sediba (that's what they're calling it; please forgive the possible spelling error) was unearthed a few years ago. That means that once again, scientists have taken deliberate, and fastidious care in analyzing and researching the remains, before making this momentous announcement.

A momentous discovery, that to my knowledge, had not been covered on television news.

Seriously?

I mean, I expect Faux Noise to bury the story under editorials about how the gays are going to turn all our marriages upside down, and bedazzle our guns before giving them away to murderous, abortion-having, scary vagina people, but not one single broadcast anywhere about fucking conclusive, tangible proof of evolution!?

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!?

I could understand taking a couple days to fact-check, vet sources, and verify information (remember when news used to do that), but for something so important to increasing our knowledge to not be featured at all is unfathomable to me.

Maybe they're afraid.

They're afraid to say, "Here's one thing that debunks the young Earth theory, while providing evidence of evolution."

Instead, they say, "Hey, sheep! Look what Bieber said!"

Who's the monkey in charge of flinging this shit?

Celebricentric

What's it going to take to get some actual news from around the world in this country (or at the very least, in my town)?

Is it a wonder that Americans are so egocentric and xenophobic, when a vast majority of us simply don't know what's going on in the world? How many do you suppose are even unaware that there is an entire globe out there, and it isn't all red, white, and blue?

When that whole Kony 2012 thing was going around last year, there was a companion meme. I assume it was meant to point out the inherent hypocrisy of getting the word out about Kony while not being able to spot his country on a map. I was one of about three people who could, and to be perfectly honest, I was only able to do it by process of elimination (recognizing surrounding nations, and knowing they weren't it). The point, though, is that I was able to at least use my mediocre deduction skills and do it, instead of looking at the map the way a dog looks at a crying baby, and thinking "what parta merica's that?"

We've got threats in North Korea, tension abound with Iran (whom we really hope to invade soon, if we could just find a good reason), Syria is in disarray, kids are taking aim at each other and killing anything they can't impregnate, and what's on the news?

Some baseball player broke his collarbone in a fight with another baseball player, endangering his 147 MILLION dollar contract (that, sadly, is not a typo. This dude makes 147 million dollars for tossing a ball around).

Some dickhead that fell off a golf cart is suing the Dallas Cowboys for a million dollars to cover damages from his embarrassment, because the video went viral (let's just suspend logic entirely, and not think about how it's about to go viral again).

Let's not forget why we tune into the news, folks. We desperately need to know that Jay-Z and Beyonce celebrated their anniversary in Havana.

At this point, we're about a month away from the top news story being about a dog playing piano, and it'll be delivered to us by a dancing cartoon hamster.

It's no wonder you all act like sheep, you're being fleeced.

Peacock

Well, well, well, just call me Nostra-fucking-damus.

I've been rambling on for months about North Korea... maybe even years. There was a time when even I thought I was being as little too much of a conspiracy theorist. Then, that spoiled cabbage patch doll decided to openly and explicitly threaten to attack the U.S...

With nuclear (sound it out, it's not "nuculer") fucking weapons...

Repeatedly.

So what's NoKo up to today?

Oh, nothing, just PLAYING MUSICAL FUCKING MISSILE SILOS!

Will they strike against the United States?

Doubtful.

Will they strike against a living target?

Mmmm...not likely.

Will they launch a missile of any kind, probably in open water, just to do some posturing?

Yeah... Yeah, they will.

Does it matter?

You bet your fucking ass, it matters.

I'm not saying panic, or even worry, that would be asinine, and counterintuitive. I AM saying be aware, maybe even concerned, but at the very least, aware.

In the event that NoKo decides to plop a missile into the western Pacific like a giant rusty turd, there's little harm done. Some fish might get pissed off, but other than that, it's little more than a dick move by an egomaniacal child.

If, however, that giant rusty turd is armed with the slightest hint of atomic weaponry, there's going to be a problem. We've already done the research; ask Japan about it.

What I think the most likely scenario actually is, is that Kim Jong Un (always remember your enemies' names, kids) is going to launch a big, gaudy bottle rocket into the ocean, and have his state run media spin it in some way that pins blame for their failure on us.

This does two things:

It bolsters the image he's trying to portray to his people that he does, in, fact, have military balls.

It also is just ever so slightly less than what would be necessary to start a major war that he simply can't handle yet.

Know your Vizzini, folks, classic military blunder number 1 is:  "Never get involved in a land war in Asia."

Advice

I woke up at four this morning. No reason, it's just what's been happening lately. So, as not to wake my wife, I went downstairs and played Risk on the PS3, because world domination takes practice.

I watched the cats stakeout one of the bookshelves. Apparently, there's a baby mouse huddled in the corner behind it. Adorable, but too close to my books for this bibliophile (BTW, Mr. Comfort, that's a lover of books). I continued to take over the world, three dice at a time, and watched the sunrise wake the city and its birds.

It was beautiful.

The early morning peace was greatly needed and appreciated.

When my wife woke and came downstairs, she grunted an acknowledgment of my presence, and got her coffee, then we made some small talk, instead of arguing about about how I don't wipe things in the correct direction, or put dishes in the sink in the right order, or fold my dirty laundry before depositing it in the hamper (She doesn't have OCD, I just never do anything "the right way").

It, too, was beautiful in its simple pleasantry.

Unfortunately, however, it's not conducive for the purposes of writing this particular blog.

I'm not too worried about it, there will be plenty of days not like this one.

That minor point aside, it's starting out as a beautiful day. Don't take it for granted.

Stop and listen to the birds.

Watch the cats stakeout a bookshelf.

Take over the world, three dice at a time.

Enjoy life; you only get one.

Questions

Alright, damn it, enough.

It seems the creationist argument that "something must come from somewhere for some reason, therefore, GAWD!"  Has pounded a Monster™, and come back round again with a vengeance.

It's getting silly.

Seriously, if you demand proof against the existence of deities based on this hokey idea that "a creation must have a creator," than the very least you could do is hold yourself to the same standard.

I'm sorry, does that make your brain hurt?

Let me put it another way:

Where did your god come from?

If you insist that existing is proof of creation, you must not only prove that that your sky genie exists, you must acknowledge that he was created, and if you do that, you're going to need to find the answer to the question: "Who created him?"

Or, at the very least; "How was he created?"

See, you can't hurl questions at us as proof. Questions only prove that you have questions. Just as our existence isn't proof of a magic dust sculptor; it's simply proof that we exist (and even that's been debated).

This one of the myriad reasons I'm an Atheist.

You, as the positive claimant, need to provide evidence that your cloud wizard is the right one (as opposed to the thousands of others). However, before you can do that, you have to prove that one could exist at all.

You can't do that with questions. Those questions you're using as proof aren't there, in your mind, for you to lob at us when you need to feel smug.

You know what those questions are for?

Answering.

You know why they're in your mind?

Because somewhere deep inside, you know shit isn't adding up.

Go.

Seek truth.

Get the questions answered.

Natural

Ahhhhhh, springtime in Philly.

I love this town.

I really do.

Despite the fact that the warm weather brings with it the clear and present danger of being jostled around at 7:30 in the morning by an incredibly loud, barely post-pubescent, yet ginormous mother with no control over her six even louder hellspawn, I love this town, especially in spring.

Even though I still have to shuffle off to work after having been stuffed in a sardine can that smells like fresh wounds and stale urine for an hour, I love this town.

Today is one of those days where I'm itching to get home before I've even gotten to work. Not because I hate my job or my coworkers (I'm actually uncharacteristically fond of both), but because I work in a warehouse, and outside, it's springtime in Philly... and it's gorgeous.

This city starts waking up in the spring (not that it sleeps in winter, so much as ambles around in a daze). The Italian market bustles with hustlers, and center city stretches, yawns, scratches its ass, and shakes the wintry cobwebs out of its head just in time for the Science Festival. You heard me.

Science festival.

Not a "fair" where they do some wibbly-wobbly, sciency-wiency stuff.

An entire ten-day festival of science of all kinds.

All disciplines, from genetics to robotics, are about to descend on Philly.

I fucking love this town.