*…and you can't keep dragging that dead weight around

I was not drunk at all, and I don’t recall any part of it, save Scarlett Johansson vanquishing an entire army of security agents with her thighs and hips. Oh, and I’ve had an increased thirst for Dr. Pepper, which I hate. My absolute favorite product tie-in to this movie, however, has to be for (I sh*t you not) Land O’Frost lunch meats…

Okay. To be fair, it wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity of Transformers 2. It’s biggest problem was that it just wasn’t in the vicinity of the first Iron Man. Still: ’splosions, a$$ kicking, one-liners, Scarlett Johansson and her thigh-fu, which I didn’t even know existed as a martial art form, popcorn, soda, and an unrelenting sense of “it feels like midnight” after leaving the theatre at about 9 p.m…

There you have it…

A few years back, in my Blue Period, I took odd consolation in a book by Cambridge astrophysicist/cosmologist Martin Rees called [deep breath]: Our Final Hour: A Scientist’s Warning: How Terror, Error, and Environmental Disaster Threaten Humankind’s Future In This Century—On Earth and Beyond. It is, quite simply, a book about all of the most probable ways in which our civilization might come to an end by next century. In fact, Rees gives us a 50/50 chance of being wiped out by 2100 due to forces created by us, whether they be accidental or on purpose. Could be intentional act of bioterrorism; could be accidental by-product of creating/releasing bioagents by dropping a beaker onto the floor. Could be the creation of nanobots that ravage the Earth. Could be the creation of a particle collider so powerful that it creates a black hole. In theory, any/all of these are possible, and exist on a precariously thin wire. In the “proper” (i.e. responsible, dutiful, moral, what-have-you) hands, this technology can be, to the extent that it can be controlled, okay-ish. However, Rees’ main premise of his 50/50 bet is that the availability of advanced technology is eclipsing our own ability to “control it” (he offers the story of a New Zealand man who built a cruise missile in his garage for a few thousand dollars with junk parts and plans that he downloaded from the Almighty Internet). Think of it this way: the handbook of many terrorist organizations is available and codified and passed on not on paper, but by .pdf.

There are other, far more harrowing examples of exactly how we might shoot our civilization squarely in the ol’ collective foot, but I’ll save those for you to discover on your own when you’re feeling strong enough to read such things. Anyhoo, I haven’t been able to shake my recollection of that book for the last 40 days/nights of the BP oil debacle. As Z and I are about to vacation down the Gulf of Mexico way, I can’t help but wonder if next year’s vacation could take on a radically different odor. What’s worse are all of the scenarios tossed about by the dentists of the scientific community–meteorologists. They are claiming that a Katrina-grade (or even slightly lesser, but headed in that general direction) could churn the oily seas and bring an oily rain well up into Tennessee–like Nashville needs another AOG headache.

Nevermind the fact that the well still spews, and the Minds are utterly stumped to the point of guessing that this will likely go on well through the end of summer. Whatever happened to the summer of shark attacks? Or the summer of extreme urban heat? Or the summer of $5.00/gal gas prices–well, that’s probably going to happen, too.

I just can’t get over the cosmic joke of it all–we used technology to puncture a hole in the Earth’s core itself, never considering that its contents need to go someplace.

But why the Gulf? Why not the Jersey shore???

Things that I’ve been doing lately instead of maintaining the blog:

Hand-crafting metallic flowers with my lobster claw

Reading stuff

Writing stuff, old-school, with my new writin’ pen–have exhausted 1.5 ink cartridges and 1 full notebook’s worth of material

Listening to stuff

Watching stuff–couldn’t turn away while watching this last night. Oliver Stone’s version is so embarrassing now that you look back on it, isn’t it?

Avoiding stuff

Attempting to fix stuff (and failing, I might add–anyone know basic html stuff?)

Sipping stuff

And there’s probably more, but you get the idea…

I… Cant… Get… This… Song… Out… Of… My… Head… (featuring the marching band of the University of Notre Dame)

OK Go – This Too Shall Pass from OK Go on Vimeo.

I’m always happy when this day is over because Z has a seemingly endless reserve of April fools jokes that she uses to carpet bomb the day into oblivion. It gets ridiculous to the point where you have to assume that whatever she’s saying is going to follow with “April fools!” after. It’s little things–like, “Daddy, I see a squirrel outside.” “Really?” “April fools!” Or, “Daddy, I can’t get the toothpaste cap off.” [I come into the bathroom.] “April fools!” And so on. All day long. I got her once, by letting her know that tomorrow before we roadtrip to Indy we have to see her doctor for a bunch of shots. And when I said, “April fools!” she frowned and shook her head disapprovingly…

Otherwise, it was a great day–beautiful weather, so we went to the park; ended the day at Cold Stone Creamery, which, since Ben & Jerry’s right around the corner closed, we thought we’d give it a shot. Good enough. Then she suckered me into 3 books before bed (instead of 2) by taking 2 out of 3 in Rock, Paper, Scissors…

I’m currently reading Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower, at the damn-near insistence of the NY Times Book Review. I’m not enjoying these stories nearly as much as I did Ben Fountain’s collection, which thoroughly rocks. In fact, and I don’t really think this is literary snobbery here, I’m surprised this collection received the raves that it has. Too many instances of details that you can just see the writer putting in there–not because they fit the narrative/story, but because perhaps he thought of them or noticed them in real life, wrote them down and was hell-bent on inserting them into a story. Anyway, not like I’ve published anything; but I’m just sayin’–if the Times is going to hold someone up as the second coming of DFW or Cheever or Carver or whatnot, can’t be shootin’ blanks…

So true…

I spent some of today wondering why the tip of my right thumb felt vaguely like it had been burned. I considered the usual suspects: thumb-tip cancer, MRSA, and possible early warning sign of Alzheimer’s. Then it dawned on me that Z and I had the Wii with us this weekend, and spent way too much of it doing battle on Mario Kart. So much so that on Friday night when I finally went to bed, I closed my eyes and saw the entire Moo Moo Meadows track flashing against my eyelids…

When I took Z to swim class at the Y this weekend, I noticed a makeshift memorial in the hallway near the locker rooms. It was for one of the teen swim instructors–this kid who helped out a couple times w/Z’s class. I asked the lady at the desk what happened, and she kind of brushed off the question. I went to my Super Phone, and found this article. Just heartbreaking, all around…

Finally, there is this: A brief history of the “ctrl + alt + delete” button, and a zzzzzzing at Bill Gates at the very end. It’s worth the minute:

The day my 4-week-old car got rear-ended (Tuesday) effectively ended my quest for 365 posts in 365 days. In fact, I haven’t even looked that the ol’ girl in as many days. So, here’s the deal: I’ve broken my commitment, and I was honestly getting tired of posting each day–especially those days where I had nothing of even remote worth to offer. So… Maybe there’s a happy medium–not soooo much Josh that it hurts, and not so little claptrap…* that it’s hardly worth tuning in…

I suppose the good news is that in less than one week, I got into a car accident and got said accident resolved by way of “their” insurance. Now, I’m a pro at that, not that I ever wanted to be. Step one: Call the cops, no matter how much the other guy pleads for you not to. Step two: Call your insurance agent and file a claim, no matter who is at fault. Step three: Test the waters of their insurance company to see exactly how willing to work with you they are. Step four: Get the estimate, send it to Them, and then wait for the call where they say, “Yeah, you’ll get the check in a couple of days.” Excellent. The system working as it should, I guess…

The number 97 isn’t a bad number to have broken the streak on anyway. I have rather fond memories of 1997. Some day, I’m going to get that speech on DVD, and maybe it’ll be posted on YouTube or something…

Well, there you have it. I thank everyone for your comments, and your concern. I now present to you claptrap…* the sometimes daily when it really seems necessary…

The following is a list of words I do not like:
1. Poot
2. Ointment
3. Moist
4. Nipple
5. Hubby
6. Lube
7. Brah
8. Pimple
9. Pus
10. Actionable
11. Pump
12. Fester

Goodnight.

#97…

I know that I committed to one post each day. Today is #96, and I’m getting so sick of me and my silly sh*t. And this stuff goes right to my Facebook page, too. So I have to see it there as well. My god, I’ve got like absolutely nothing of interest to say anymore. How the hell am I supposed to eke out 365 of these? This is ridiculous. Unfortunately, I have the kind of light disorder that will not allow me to NOT do this each day, now that I’ve started. In fact, if you want to tune in to the ultimate post, catch this if I actually do miss a day. Then, you’ll have reason to visit. Suffice it to say that by now, should I accidentally miss a day, the repercussions would be devastating personally. I’d have to up my medication, and there may be a few days that are touch and go, as it were. It’s not like I’m even doing anything consistent here. Chr*st, I could’ve been posting chapters of my novel or something worthwhile. But what’s the thread, here? What? These little “categories”? Faineant? Yeah, it’s French for “distraction”. How clever. The rest could mean anything. Maybe I need to choose an “angle.” Maybe I should create a mission statement. Yes. I need a mission statement. Something that crystallizes and clarifies what this is all about. A credo that helps to articulate some kind of “organizing principle” or “theme”…

I’ve got it!

EVERYONE THINKS THEIR MONKEY IS CUTE…

Welcome to my blog…

#96