Revival

It has been one year, to the day, since I made the decision to suspend this endeavor in favour of completing The Icarus Project.

It was a difficult decision to make.
It was painstaking.
It was an error.

In the past 525,600 minutes, I've had one hell of a ride. A lot of changes have occurred. Some were necessary, some were not.

Some things haven't changed at all; nor, as I've come to accept, should they...

Some things ought not to have changed.

I've come to realize that this is an integral part of who I am. Without it, a piece of me is flapping in the breeze unsecured, and it fucks me up. It cracks my focus.

So much so, that The Icarus Project remains incomplete. I'm not certain if it will ever be finished, but I can't dwell on that and rush it, or it will be an inauthentic tome of dreck.

And I can't have that.

I need to get a few things back. I need to reclaim a few pieces of myself. I need to dust off some things I'd put on a shelf, and tried to forget about.

Writing is part of who I am.
Sarcasm, misanthropy, and acerbic observations are my stock and trade.

...And I now have a surplus.

I'd like to come back, if you'll have me.

Meat

Everything you eat is, was, or is derived from living organisms.

Everything.

Yes, even tofu.

I love my vegan friends, but I can do without the preaching. Humans are animals, and we've evolved to the point where we can utilize other animals to sustain ourselves. We're Apex predators.

Sharks don't leave a fish alone because he might have a family, or feelings (though, if you're a Nirvana fan, you know they don't).

An owl doesn't stop eating mice because they're cute.

An Eagle doesn't turn back mid-swoop because the bunny he's after gave him a sad, wobbly-eyed look.

These creatures are all arguably far more majestic than humans.

I can already feel my vegan and vegetarian friends (yes, they are two completely different species) seething.

So, here's the thing:

Give me your gotchas, questions, and rebuttals, and I'll answer them. For one week only, I'm opening the door and letting you guys pelt me with all the foot-stamping outcries of injustice.

So go ahead.

I will answer them.

In my own special way.

Creationist Silliness: Part Deux

So, I'm tackling Buzzfeed's 22 Questions by Creationists, a list of questions that people actually took the time to write down, and had the audacity to be photographed with, that can be seen here (of you've got the stomach for it).

I've already skipped the first one, because it was pointed directly at Mr. The Science Guy, and answered the second yesterday. Scroll up, or use your supernatural powers of deduction to find yesterday's post.

Today's question comes from a dainty-bearded fellow who looks like he's had one too many paint chips for breakfast:

"Is it completely illogical that the Earth was created mature? I.E. trees created with rings, Adam as an adult..."

Yes.

Oh, you need further clarification?

Okay, fine.

I understand if biology isn't your thing (personally, I only passed with a B-), but some things are very basic.

There are processes of maturation for living things, and the process is different for each type of living thing. Even related members of the same species don't mature at the same rate. Rings in trees are a result of seasonal change, and available nutrients in the soil from one growing season to the next. Physical maturity in human adults is a combination of genetics and environment as well (mental maturity is, too, but it's sometimes noticeably absent, especially in human males).

If your position is that there's a logical possibility for mature creation, you must then explain the logic behind procreation and development. Often, theists purport that a divine creator is a simple, logical explanation for the origin of the universe (citing Occam's razor). However, that argument falls apart like a leper with epilepsy when you are then faced with the task of logically explaining the development of maturity over time.

It makes no sense, nor is it even remotely logical or simple to assert that a long-bearded mystic in the clouds created everything in a mature state, then went back and reverse engineered it all so that beings could create copies of themselves in a lesser state of development. If your God is perfect, why the need for correction and reverse engineering?

A claim that it's logically possible for a sky genie to create everything in a mature state so that all those things could mix and mingle and procreate other things (all to give him glory) is ridiculous. Especially when you consider that logically, having to nurture and care for your young takes oodles of time away from your ability to stroke this needy divine wizard's perfect ego.

Seriously.

Fucking oodles.

In other words...

You, sir, are dismissed.

Creationist Silliness, Part 1

A friend of mine asked me very specifically to tackle this issue, and I've no intention of disappointing him.

Also: it's pretty fucking important.

A Buzzfeed writer asked self-identifying creationists to pen questions to Bill Nye following his debate with the bewilderingly daft Ken Hamm, and posted twenty-two of their questions. They can be seen here.

I'll not answer the first one, because it's explicitly aimed at the science guy. I'll start with number two.

This will be a twenty-one part series.

"Are you afraid of a divine creator?"

No.

Notwithstanding the fact that such an archaic magical being doesn't fucking exist, I am not afraid of a divine creator.

Nor should you be.

Why?

Quite simply: a divine creator (let's assume a loving, nurturing father-figure type, like the new testament, not a raging alcoholic who punches sad, wobbly-eyed baby bunnies like in the old testament) would want to see his creations (children) grow and improve. Perhaps even beyond his control. One fundamental guiding principal of procreation is the natural drive for improvement and sustainability, both on a mental and genetic level.

Why should anyone fear their progenitor?

I've learned quite a few things in my years, and one that I've learned very well the hard way is this:

Fear is NOT love.

If our sky-daddy exists, and wants love, then by fearing him, we're insulting him, and not loving him.

You, madam, are dismissed.

Seven Minutes

Hey, ignorant, obnoxious, yelling ape:

I'm not too hopeful that you're reading this. As a matter of fact, I'm not even holding my breath that you're literate. I'll tell you one thing, though. I hope you're traveling one day with an infant in a stroller, and some troglodyte whizzes by and knocks it over. And I hope the kid's okay, but I also hope that fucktard extends you the same courtesy I saw you extend to the lady you did that to this morning.

You're lucky the stroller didn't go the other way and spill that baby onto the track.

You're lucky the kid's mom was able to catch that teetering stroller before any real damage was done.

You'd better watch it, though. Sometimes, there are crazy people in these rickety speeding tin cans, and some of those crazy people are armed.

Barrel into one of those, and your luck just may run out.

What the fuck is wrong with people?

What's the rush?

Why do people feel the need to utterly trounce others just to catch a train?

And this isn't a daily train, or an hourly train, either.

They run every seven minutes.

There's no need to shove old ladies out of your way, not even pausing to watch her hurry-cane clatter to the ground.

Calm the fuck down.

There's another train coming.

It's not necessary to trample the other people around you who are also trying to get to work. Is there some sort of graffiti covered, urine soaked prize you're after? Are you afraid someone will take your favorite seat in a train on which there's standing room only?

Seven. Motherfucking. Minutes.

And to All a Good Night.

As I was waiting for the north bound train this morning, I saw the south bound train stop on the other side of the tracks just like it does several hundred times a day, every day, even if there's someone giving birth or brandishing an AK-47 in one of its cars. It was a train like any other.

Well, not quite...

This one was decorated.

I don't mean just the standard a giant ad wraps for the Eagles, or the latest citywide cleanup campaign.

This fucking thing's halls were decked.

There were jolly Santas in the Windows a la Norman Rockwell.

There were snowflake decals.

There was shiny red and white garland on the support bars inside.

It was tacky, gaudy, and absolutely beautiful.

I haven't felt very festive in many, many years. I've likely been disenfranchised with the whole idea of Xmas since dinner was moved from my grandmother's house (where it will always properly be as far as I'm concerned), but I actually smiled this morning.

And I never smile in the morning (okay, well sometimes I do, but that's none of your business).

I got this strange idea in my head that maybe there's hope after all. It was only one train, and I haven't seen any news stories about a rabble being roused because of the very specifically Xmas decorations.

It's just something nice, and joyful, and more pleasant to look at than graffiti and urine stains.

I'd have the same reaction if there were dreidel (sp?) and menorah decals.

It's not about what you call it.

It's not even about what you celebrate, or how.

The important thing is that you can celebrate anything you want, however you wish, and should never feel pressured to hide or modify it for a bunch of complete strangers all the way across the country, because they might be offended if you use the wrong word.

So...

Merry fucking Xmas.

Happy fucking Hanukkah.

Have a wonderful fucking Saturnalia.

And yes, you obnoxious, politically correct hipsters, happy fucking holidays.

X-mss Post That I'm Too Lazy to Title

Well, it's that time of year again.

Instead of spending time with family, making arrangements to get together, and looking forward to seeing loved ones, people are running around like crazy trying to buy the newest Bluetooth equipped motion sensitive vibrator, arguing about the virtues of a real tree as opposed to a fake one, and engaging in the perennial "Christmas vs holidays" holy war, like so many of their ancestors...

Oh wait...

That didn't happen in the past, did it?

It's like the newest Hatfield / McCoy feud, but now we have social media. Everyone has easier access to the world, and no one in the U.S. seems to understand that there's an entire world out there that isn't us!

Different strokes for different folks. I'm certain most of you reading this have heard that sentiment. It needs to be applied.

I harp on about this every year, and I'm going to keep harping on about it until it fucking clicks. Wherever there's some religious asshole trying to force Christmas down a holiday sayer's throat, I'll be there. Wherever there's an otherwise innocuous holiday sayer trying to feel important by correcting someone who says "merry Christmas" I'll be there. Whenever there's a bigoted Neanderthal carrying dirty looks to someone wishing their Jewish friend a happy Hanukkah, I'll be there. Until this idiotic, family-rending tradition of telling people what they ought to say instead of accepting the well-wishes stops, I'll be there. I'll be the voice of reason, screaming "IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER, SAY "THANK YOU!""

Now stop fussing about who should call it what, and prepare yourselves for the annual food fight at grandma's house with your drunk uncle, your sister who fights ardently for a different social injustice every year, and the brother no one talks about.

Untitled Gripe

It must be winter.

It's cold, everyone's stuffy and miserable, and exactly zero people hustling past other people to get to the train give a fuck about personal space.

One of the many reasons I hate winter. It's too damned cold all around. Give me spring any day, at least there's less snot-imbued bulk to deal with.

Between the spaceman jackets, the overstuffed book bags, and the 300 lb gorillas wearing yoga pants that I can hear screaming for mercy, it's a wonder done people even bother.

"Too many oblivious people" should be a legitimate reason for tardiness and / or absence.

"Sorry, can't come in today. Too many obnoxious twatwaffles about. I'll be in as soon as it clears."

Come on, spring...

At least then I can amuse myself by trying to figure o out some of these fascinating creatures.

Epiphany

Every once in a while, you get to have an epiphany. I'm very lucky in that I get these quite frequently (probably because as I've grown older, I've found that I know far less than I thought I did when I was younger).

Today's epiphany is brought to you by the good people of LaLa land, and the letter F. As in "fuck drama."

It's become blissfully obvious that completely regardless and separate of the doubts I once had, and the insecurities so many worked so hard to bestow upon me, I'm happy. Genuinely happy.

I'm being shown all kinds of things recently, and they're all jerking me bit by bit farther out of my predictable, agitating comfort zone.

And you know what?

I like it.

I'm finding I enjoy things like food, and heat, and the love of an amazing woman, great friends, clothes that actually fit, and shoes without holes in them.

I've discovered recently that it's okay to enjoy these things without an overwhelming feeling of guilt.

That may sound odd to you, but that's the dynamic to which I'd been accustomed.

So here's the epiphany:

I actually deserve it. I deserve to live in reasonable comfort and relative safety. If that means others who aren't in my circle need to wait for something they may want, so be it. I've been through enough. I've earned a full belly and dry feet.

And so do you.

Don't deny yourself the things you require to sustain your hectic life.

Self Examination

The more I look back on my life and compare certain aspects of it with their counterparts now, the more I learn from my mistakes.

They (whomever they are) say hindsight is 20/20. As a consummate nerd, I wear glasses. This means my sight has never been 20/20. At least not without corrective lenses.

Self examination is good for you. It gives you perspective. It warns against potential dangers and missteps. As an added bonus, it can make good things on your life now look like pure fucking awesome with a patina of amazing.

If you have the chance, I highly recommend it.

The Season's Upon Us

Ah, flu season.

That time of year when runny noses and glassy eyes are part of the norm, and absolutely no one can remember to cover their fucking mouths.

What a joyous time.

Just picture it: thanksgiving dinner, everyone's yelling at everyone else. The kids' table is the only one without tension, and that's only because all the parents decided it was okay for their spawn to "go ahead and try a sip (or three)" of wine... and one of them sneezes into the coleslaw.

Next thing you know, Xmas is upon us, and drunk dads everywhere are cursing at tangled lights while moms run around wiping noses and trying earnestly to bake something.

And that perennial debate-cum-facebook war breaks out... you know the one: "Merry Xmas! No! Happy holidays!"

Repost this if you don't give a fuck what people call it, as long as they're kind about it. 97% of you won't, but I know who my real online friends are. Oh yeah, and "money bags" because this only happens once every 512 years.

A Big Pile of "What?"

This morning, on the way to the train, I saw a pregnant black woman smoking a cigarette. She had braided blonde and pink extensions in her hair, green contacts, long press-on nails, lip and nose rings, and a shit ton of eye shadow.

Why would I describe this person?

Because she was wearing a tee shirt that said (mind you, this is a direct quote), "ATTENTION: I'M ALLERGIC TO FAKE PEOPLE!"

Let that sink in. Take all the time you need.

It never ceases to amaze me that people can not simply be okay with hypocrisy, or accepting of it, but actually seem to revel in it.

Okay, I'll grant you, she may have been purposefully wearing said shirt for the LOLZ. That's some shit I would do. I didn't have an opportunity to stop and ask her, because I was already running late.

However, I'd like to present exhibit A: the cigarette dancing between her fingers as she stands there, just... gestating away. This is a minor observation, and I'm not going on a finger-wagging quest, but there is a pretty good amount of research into the whole smoking while pregnant thing. Anyone who's read the side of their cigarette pack knows this.

If humor is a sign of intelligence, and literacy is a sign of intelligence, it then follows that the shirt was not an attempt at humor.

It was simply ironic.

And to an over-analytical, socially inept person like myself, funny as hell.

This is just an observation. A musing. If you have other deductions, feel free to share them in the comments section.

Permission Slip

I've told many people this:

No one's going to give you permission to be happy.

It's true. As much as I'd like to believe that people are generally good and kind, I also admit that that's my shining naivete peeking through. People aren't generally good and kind. People don't generally think.

And generally, people who are themselves in some way discontented, will not give you (being anyone who isn't them) permission to be happy.

More specifically, you have to seek it out for yourself. You have to very explicitly decide to allow yourself to be happy, and when you finally do that, and you find happiness, you have to very specifically clutch that motherfucker like a hungry baby chimp grasping at his mom's teat and hold on for dear life, because a vast majority of people are wind, trees, and other hungry baby chimps. They're going to try to knock you off. This is just natural animal behavior.

Do. Not. Let them.

It helps to have friends and cohorts.

It helps to have people in your corner. There are those rare gems that understand how extraordinarily difficult it is to be truly happy, even as the very minutiae of day to day life seems to want to fuck with it.

I'm telling you, it's doable.

I'm telling you, as surely as the pursuit of happiness is one of our fundamental rights, it's out there.

And I'm telling you that even if no one else does, I give you permission.

Be happy.

Take the Train

Every once in a while, you ought to take the train.

Just to remind yourself how absolutely ridiculous people are.

I'm looking around, and all I see is wave upon wave of knuckle-dragging buffoons crashing into each other like the angry ocean hitting a jetty during a nor'easter'. You know... just because it can.

No regard for its surroundings.

No acknowledgment that there might be something else in existence.

No apologies.

The funny thing is, these people's lives only suck as much as mine in some aspects... probably less, actually. I just complain less about trivial shit.

There's a woman in a burqa with forlorn eyes. They give the impression that she's struggling. This is counterintuitive when you see that she's got an iPhone tucked into the side of her head, and she's wearing a slinky black dress with a slit up the side (kinda wish I was making that up). Next to her is a rotund, disheveled pile of cat lady wearing the standard fleece sweater with the psuedo-navajo design. I'll bet you she's got her best "three cats showing their assholes" t-shirt on underneath. She's chewing on something, wishing she was home with Mr. Wigglesworth instead of on her way to Wal-Mart.

It all serves as a great reminder of what not to become. Complacent. Indifferent. Just a meat machine chugging through life. Doing what you're told. Stopping every now and again to refuel.

It serves as a great reminder that difficult though things may be, some shit is fucking spectacular right now. The coffee in my hand won't stay in the cup as this surfing tin can lurches and stutters, but so what? I'm on my way to work a job I love. My jeans are dirty as hell, and my legs hurt, but there's light at the end of the tunnel. My future's so bright, I wear my sunglasses at night.

Take the train some time.

Unexplainable Moment Nº 161

I'm on the train, contemplating.

You see, I've just done something a bit out of character.

As I was shuffling, bleary-eyed toward the turnstile, I noticed a woman on crutches wearing a leg brace that looked like it weighed more than her, and I thought, "that must have been hell to get up the steps with," but stayed on autopilot. People irritate me at this time of day.

As I descended the steps, I heard an odd noise. A sort of dragging, mechanical staccato of thuds. The only thing missing was the occasional but metered hiss of a pressure valve. Being the incurable nerd I am, I simply had to turn around to see what that was.

It was crutch lady.

Trying to negotiate a twenty foot staircase.

Wielding a leg brace much like a knotted sock wields the dog that's found it.

I couldn't help myself.

The terminal smartass in me offered a piggyback ride.

As you'd expect in the city, so was I that she'd maybe grin, and pleasantly decline, having at least that modicum of amusement to brighten her day a bit.

But that isn't what happened.

She looked at me with these big, brown, somewhat sad eyes and nearly whispered a plaintive "please?"

... yeah.

So I just carried a woman whose leg brace was trying to eat her, crutches and all, down the steps.

And she was nice enough to hold my coffee for me while I did it.

Why?

No idea.

But isn't that ultimately the point?

Bulletin

I know I haven't posted for a while, but you faithful readers know that happens sometimes. I've been doing a whole lot of introspection.

Oh, and working.

I've been trying to find my own happiness, and reconcile the conflict I sometimes have with the happiness of others. I still haven't entirely found the solution, but I'm certain I'm onto something.

Perhaps the answer was discovered by Nike years ago. Perhaps it lies in the will to "just do it."

Or perhaps it's near the bottom of an ice cold pint.

Don't misunderstand me, minions, I'm not depressed. Not by a long shot. I'm merely basking in consideration.

Laying on the shore of my mind, allowing the waves of thought to gently creep farther and farther up my legs.

Hoping they don't suddenly turn cold as they reach my nuts.

I find myself waxing Socratic.

Wondering.

Questioning.

Analyzing.

You may find some exceedingly short stories here in coming days. Something has tapped my creative side recently, and I haven't been watching enough news to find myself shrouded in anger.

Don't fret. There's still plenty out there that pokes my ire like a nymphomaniac set loose in a brothel on freebie Sunday.

But you may find a fair bit of fiction.

Just a warning.

A bulletin, if you will.

Stay tuned, my loves.

Glimmer

Just in case you didn't know, there are some amazing humans out there.

Let me regale you with the story of just one.

I'm moving in a week, and a few days ago, I calculated my budget, and obligations, and discovered I was going to come up short on my deposit. Now, this already happened once, and delayed my move by two weeks. That led to more stress, more discomfort... more of everything but the peace I so desperately seek. So, I put a plea for help out, because a dear friend of mine had just recently convinced me that there are still people out there who help for the same reason I do: sometimes, it just feels like the right thing to do.

I wasn't entirely convinced it would work, but I'm a tadge indomitable, so I wasn't going to let a little thing like experience and utter panic get in the way.

I posted on Facebook, essentially an ad. I offered a variety of services for a portion of the funding I required.

Repeatedly.

For days.

Yesterday, I got a message from PayPal.

The entire deficit had been covered.

And out of all the services I offered, there was one that I didn't, that perhaps I should have. It was noted in the memo field, and repeated to me by the hominid responsible: "Pay it forward."

Well, I intend to. As a matter of fact, starting in January (because my OCD prevents me from starting a year-long venture any other time), I intend to help one person a day in some way that measures out to at least a buck.

That's 366 people that your kindness just helped, you beautiful biped.

Not with faith. Not with prayer. Not out of some indentured obligation to a magical sky wizard.

Just out of kindness.

I suppose it's true that an Atheist can have faith.

In humanity.

In humans.

There is hope.

Crowning

I'm sorry, I know I'm supposed to bow my head in reverent awe for the new royal Christ-child, but with all due respect, fuck you.

Well, I did say with all due respect.

What you people are too busy being enthralled and googly-eyed to be bothered to remember is that more of my ancestors died in the securing and subsequent protection of this INDEPENDENT FUCKING REPUBLIC than have ever ruled that island.

Don't get me wrong, I like the U.K., and let's face it, a vast majority of British women my age are drop dead gorgeous. I will NOT, however, cow-tow to someone simply because they've been born. It takes fuck all effort to be born.

Maybe you (and I mean all of you) ought to stop and think a moment about the principles upon which this country was founded, and the fact that there hasn't been a British empire legitimately ruled by a monarchy in quite some time before you saturate the news with more than a passing mention of this birth.

I'm glad the princess had a healthy baby, just as much as I'm glad anyone at the end of their gestational period has a healthy baby, but I will not tolerate the fawning, open-mawwed devotion that American news seems to think is justified by the birth of a child simply because it squirmed its way out of the royal vagina.

Even the Brits have evolved past this. You know how important the monarchy is in the day to day life of most British citizens?

It hasn't been much more than a tourism gimmick for years.

They've hefted it from their shoulders, and jettisoned this antiquated ruling method into the pages of history.

For fuck's sake, acknowledge that effort and do likewise.

One Day at a Time

Today is a good day.

I know, you're thinking "how could you possibly know that? It only just started."

Precisely.

Nothing's gone awry yet. Ergo, today is a good day.

I'm learning.

I'm evolving.

I can feel my tail disappearing, and my back straightening as I learn to accept without judgement... to be, without expectation.

It's liberating.

And frightening.

And exhilarating.

It is scary, but we humans seem to have a passion for scaring ourselves. As a matter of fact, we're the only animal on the planet that finds joy in frightening ourselves, and scaring the blue fuck out of others.

So pass the canned unicorn meat, and dig in.

Today is a good day, like any other.

Brace Yourselves

Strangers of the world, take heed.

I am making it as point to interact with at least one complete stranger per day.

Whether it's a wave, a smile, or even a hello, I'm coming for you.

The degree to which this interaction is pleasant will remain entirely up to you. If you meet my kindness with sarcasm, expect sarcasm in return. If you counter my civility with rudeness, expect rudeness in return. I will mirror you. If, however, my vulnerable gesture is met with pleasantry, you can expect reciprocation for that as well.

If I'm going to engage in this I insane social experiment, the least you fuckers can do is help

Let your guard down a touch. I'm awesome. I'm a card-carrying, registered BaMF, and you never know, "hello" might just lead to the time of your life.