return to space racing?
The Chinese are getting ready to conquer Mars! Of course, after some serious probing. Thereafter, they intend to land a man on the moon and subsequently, I can only suspect, attempt to communize the rest of the solar system.
Despite the current turmoil at NASA and the poo-pooing of spending (wasting to narrow-minded monkeys) resources on space exploration, I remain steadfastly vigilant that a moment in my lifetime will include a teary-eyed scene of us, the human race, colonizing another planet. A moment that will serve as a testament to what we can achieve if we so desire it. Ahh, if we so desire.
I would ask what happened to that spirit of pioneering, of achievement - of doing something so noble such as setting a man on the moon, but the spirit of that race wasn’t all that noble. It was more of a pissing contest. But the fervor, the ingenuity - the sheer brilliance of the effort was something to behold. And the crowning achievement, a lasting inspiration to remind all of us that there is nothing we can not achieve as a collective. However, it could be argued that many, if not all, pioneering or grand achievements in exploration began not with an altruistic intention, but with the simplistic goal of “cashing in” or laying the first claim (with the express intent of making crazy cash down the road). This is probably why NASA and other space (and oceanic and subterranean) exploratory operations are having such a tough time nowadays. Increasingly it’s become an issue of “what have you done for me lately?” that continues to eviscerate operations and shrink funding.
Yes, of course, there are things here on the rock surface that require our attention, but how much effort in the reaching for the stars should be sacrificed? How much of it should be sacrificed in order to continue with malformed agendas? It is extremely feebleminded, if not down right negligent, to consider space exploration of no significance or beneficial. It continues to boggle my mind that people think this, out of all that is the universe or even mulitverse, is the only thing in existence. It could be argued that reality is nothing more than what our minds can comprehend, ergo making earth and all we can see from it the only things that exist, but such thinking is silly… and dangerous. I may be biased due to my geekiness and may have indulged in one too many sci-fi stories, but I intensely believe space exploration should be one of the things at the forefront of our society’s endeavors.
Maybe, once again, the threat of Commies in Space™ (arstechnica) will prompt us to reignite the space program. Since, you know, if it isn’t money that gets us going, it’s beating communists.
cats are evil
indeed.
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Sunday, August 24, 2003
comin at chu like a glock 9. foo.
- ladies and gentlemen the pictures are finally up! all of them! check it.
- WEST WING ON DVD! GET IT NOW!.
- my god. is there anything more sublime than the voice of Eva Cassidy? Indulge. I have all weekend. err, I mean I indulged all weekend, not that I'll wait for you to indulge... all... weekend... shut up
- and the japanese are crazy. see for yourself. >_< whoa! was that James Brown?!?!
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Thursday, August 21, 2003
am I metrosexual?
metrosexual. Not so much the 1st definition, but the second, about being in touch with one’s feminine side and stuff. This may be a long post since it involves some psychological introspection. Of course much of this is moot since I try to avoid categorizing people and believe trying to confine a person to a label is futile and ridiculous, but psychological introspection exercises are always fun and one should at least try to be aware of how society is going to try to brand you. So you may want to grab a cookie or something to tide you over.
I’ve always been haunted by a profoundly psyche-disturbing event in which my 9th grade geometry teacher told me, in front of the entire class no less, that she thought that I was notably androgynous. Shocking, yes I know, however she was referring to my behavior and personality, not my appearance (at least I hope that’s what she was referring too, hrmmm). Of course since teens are hypersensitive to anything that has to do with sexual verbiage or anything that remotely sounds like it (though, honestly I think the word and its meaning flew over some heads, since some either assumed I was gay or was turned on by androids) this statement of course became a part of my aura among my peers throughout junior high. Now, Ms. Marseilles wasn’t being mean or rude, her comment stemmed from a conversation I was having with a friend about the opposite sex. Naturally, since we weren’t working on our hypotenuses and radii and sat at the front of the class (not that we were exceptional students, but because Ms. Marseilles had some lengthy killer gams and we liked to flirt with her) she interjected. I can’t remember what Rick and I were discussing about the opposite sex, but whatever it was; it prompted Ms. Marseilles to note my remarkably androgynous personality. Following my “What!?” and Rick’s “dude, did she just call you gay?” and my quick retort “No! Jerk!” expressions, and the class’s subsequent riotous laughter, she assured us that it was a compliment and that I should be happy that I was neither overtly “macho” or “effeminate” in personality and to revel in my uniqueness not often found in boys my age that, uh, still liked girls. Um, yeah. Being a geometry teacher and I suppose she took some psych classes back in her day, I guess she was all about “balance” or somesuch and had a keen radar for stuff like that. Anyway the point of that whole flashback was that while watching the new show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (what? It’s damn funny and anything that helps my chances of getting hooked up with that cute girl at Borders can’t hurt) I realized that perhaps Ms. Marseilles was a more astute observationalist than I thought. Hrmmm, of course the fact that I watch such a show could be indication as well. So perhaps I am metrosexual? Though certainly not vain by any stretch of the imagination. I do note my appearance (more than just dress) when going out to certain venues, I obsess a bit about color coordination, and I can be dainty when it comes to griminess (seriously, who likes to step in someone else’s piss?). But it’s just not those ostensible things that make me wonder if my geometry teacher (fitting that she specialized in a branch of mathematics concerned with relations and properties of magnitudes, no?) was on point, so to speak. So let’s dig a little deeper.
Observe.
When fawning over a girl I find attractive and wish to talk to, other than becoming mindless and incapable of even uttering syllables, I often take the stance of waiting for the girl to approach me, even though we’ve made eye contact and she has smiled several times. Or, when playing sports, though I can get competitive I never attain that feverish, rabid testosterone-induced need to win. For me the thrill of playing a good game is usually more paramount than actually wining. After all, it’s just a game and in the end it doesn’t really matter… unless the bonus or contract pay is determined by my winning, then you bet your ass I’m all about doling out the beat down. I choose to examine these two specific moments since, as dictated by American societal mores, these are situations that can be broken into more easily identifiable gender actions and reactions. And since I know of no other way to determine what is supposed to be the “normal” or “specific” behavior of a boy or a girl, I shall use said mores and events to baseline my little introspective deliberation.
The gender roles in the “eye flirting” case which would lead to a conversation and perhaps the ignition of a new romance has been “typically” that the man, once assured of some interest by the woman (though not always the case or necessary), will attempt to approach the woman, to make the first move. While the woman waits for this advance and begins planning a life with this potential love. Uh huh. In my case, this could just be attributed to my being shy (and I am painfully shy when it comes to the opposite sex), but when it is obvious to old guy sitting over at the next table that the girl I’m playing eye tag with is digging my chili, then something is amiss and I should walk my “pansy” ass over there and at least say “hi” and introduce myself. So where or when did my default reaction to this event take the more feminine stance? Was this learned or inherent? Well it couldn’t have been learned unless I identified more with a woman when watching this situation play out over many years in movies, television shows and literature. In which case it would be inherent by association? However, I’m pretty certain that I’ve never confused myself with being a woman, so why the behavior? Although another possible rationale for this conduct is that I’m also extremely sensitive to other’s feelings and that I don’t want to bother this nice woman who probably gets hit on all the time while she’s a) shopping for groceries b) enjoying her latté while browsing through magazines c) busy finishing up a project for the boss; not to mention the time of actually going out with friends to a bar or the movies. Okay, on to Exhibit 2 then.
The competition in sports thing. I’m discounting competition in other circumstances since winning or losing could be more detrimental then an athletic endeavor not related to one’s actual profession. The attitude “usually” exhibited by men when sporting it up is all about winning and dominating the opposition. Not necessarily playing a good game. It’s all about winning. Period. Yet the female attitude is more geared toward making sure everyone had a good time and that winning or losing doesn’t matter because it’s just a game. It’s just for fun. So, again I wonder from whence did this feministic disposition come?
Sure there are girls who are insanely competitive when it comes to sports and there are guys that prefer the girl to make the first move, but I posit that most would then consider the girl to be more masculine and the guy to be “girly” or a “pansy” which could be construed as being more feminine, as defined by societal mores. Thus returning to my original supposition that my behavior demonstrated in these two situations would indicate that I am indeed more in touch with my feminine side (or just girly) on deeper level than being able to match accessories with an outfit or choosing correct paint schemes for the purpose and mood of a room. Metrosexual. And when balancing my “masculinity” and “femininity” you get… androgynous. Note, I didn’t offer any examples of my “masculine” ways since I think having a Y chromosome and being turned on only by girls pretty much speaks for itself.
But like I mentioned at the start, this all doesn’t really matter since I don’t like to subscribe to labels and categorization (I’m sure a subject I’ll broach in the future). In the end I’m just me. A guy who enjoys gay make over shows, home interior designing shows, cares about dressing properly for the occasion, enjoys a good game of football or softball who wants nothing more than to curl up with the cute girl at Borders, but probably won’t because he’s too shy to talk to her.
JAHOYFT!
what ever happened to Dana Patrick?
Who? The model in that Meatloaf video.
She was hot. Maybe it was a confluence of Meatloaf and Mrs. Loud belting out the ballad, the cinematic stylings of Michael Bay, and Ms. Patrick’s knee-buckling flowing white lingerie outfit. Whatever it was, she was hot. Dana if you’re out there, give me a call sometime.
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Wednesday, August 20, 2003
say it isn't so
I happened to catch wind that Michael Crichton’s Timeline has been made into a movie. I’m probably a little late to the party, but so what, I know now.
All I can say is that not a single one of Crichton’s books turned motion picture has impressed me at all (especially when compared to the books themselves). You can go here to see the list (under books and movies), and tell me if you liked any of them after reading the novels. Jurassic Park was okay, but most, such as, Disclosure, Rising Sun, The Lost World, and the utterly deplorable Congo and Sphere were not very good. At all. Yes, I was biased but the back breaker was Sphere since that is one of my favorite Crichton novels (Airframe and Timeline also top out if we base it on how many times I’ve re-read them). It seems ironic that I poo-poo movies based on Crichton’s work because as I read them, they play out very cinematically. Though, I’m not sure if that’s a product of my imagination heavily tainted by growing up in the TV and movies era or the skill and style of the author. Often while reading I’m thinking I would love to see this on the big screen. It would be awesome! But then I quickly correct that notion after reminding myself of the previously mentioned horror. Great books. Bad movies. It’s a shame really. But the medium of film is vastly different from that of literature, and when it comes to story telling, literature beats down on film several ways from Sunday. Attempting to adapt the full impact of literary work in a two hour block of time meant to capture minds geared toward 30 second advertising and 30 minute life stories just can not be done… well. I’ll save the argument of whether a movie based on novel should stand on it’s own versus being compared to its genesis for another time. And even though I enthusiastically applaud the admirable efforts of Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh & Philippa Boyens and Robert Zemeckis, James V. Hart & Michael Goldenberg, even they could not fully capture what was written and conveyed by Tolkien and Sagan.
After seeing the preview for Timeline, things do not bode well. Though, I am always fascinated watching Neal McDonough act. If you have not read the book, the movie might be a good jaunt, but considering this year’s films-of-shite festival, I doubt it. Spare yourselves the anguish and wasted monies. If the premise of Timeline intrigues you, start with the book and leave it at that.
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Tuesday, August 19, 2003
lightning - cool to look at, not to cool to get struck by.
It’s has been storming on and off here for about, oh.. Almost all summer. I can’t even remember the last time it didn’t rain at some point during the day. I suppose it’s the normal routine for Florida. It’s bright and sunshiny for 70% of the day then, BANG! Lightning, thunder and all kinds of rain. But only in 30 minute increments. Nothing too bad, but extremely annoying if you have outdoor plans mid-afternoon or after work. Or if you hate mowing, since the everyday rain makes grass come back with a vengeance. But last night I got another fine treat from the former lightning capital of the world. Now, I’ve lived in the heart of tornado alley and have witnessed the awesome power of nature, though nothing quite like the finger of God (was hiding in a basement at school), but never have I seen anything like what goes on here in the sunshine state. You know the saying, something along the lines of "you’d have a better chance of getting struck by lightning than…"? Well I’d imagine that’s not so much the case here. One would think that with people getting struck by lightning with frightening regularity here, they’d get their asses inside at even the slightest flicker. I know I flinch when there’s flash photography now. Why? I’ve never been closer to lightning strikes than I have been since living in Florida. Last night, THREE strikes were within 100 ft of my meager human form. Maybe not close enough to singe hairs, but close enough to render me deaf and blind for a few seconds. And I was inside. Just the other week, a lightning bolt blew up a tree in the middle of a field in my apartment complex. That was kinda cool though. I don’t know what Ben was thinking, but humans != conductors of ten billion joules of electricity.
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Friday, August 15, 2003
the american dream pt. II
After revisiting the issue of purchasing a home and retracting my frustration over the process, I am now back on the path to owning my own castle. However, I’ve been cautioned that I should expect more bumps along the way. So in order to spare innocent bystanders from any more of my acrimonious raging, I’m journaling my first home buying process off the front page. To the left of this page under what I’m “contemplating” you’ll find a link to my first home journal. Along with my thoughts, apprehension and excitement, the journal will feature pictorial updates as the house is constructed. So I implore you join in the fun and any feedback, comments or advice you can provide would be greatly appreciated. Send an email or visit the contact page.
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Monday, August 11, 2003
welcome back my friend, welcome back.
Thank all that is good and merciful, The West Wing is back on the air. For some inexplicable reason, NBC deemed it necessary to fill its summer re-run time slot with Law and Order. WTF? Really, about 1% of television is honest-to-goodness great entertainment that can simultaneously entertain, stimulate emotion and provoke thought. But I’m going to rant about that another time. I think I’ve done enough for the time being. Too much and my left eye starts this weird twitching thing. Damn NBC monkeys.
Yet, thanks to NBC’s bastard red-headed stepchild, Bravo TV (seriously, what is up with that guy on Inside the Actors Studio?), I can get my West Wing fix. Bravo will began airing episodes of The West Wing tonight, sequentially, starting with the pilot. If you’ve passed on this show, you’re doing yourself a great injustice if you clamor for good television™. Now, it will only be a matter of time till the show is available on DVD. Of course for the blokes across the pond, they’re enjoying the goodness that is The West Wing on DVD already. Lucky bastages. Oh well, all in good time.
then there was HDTV. And it is good.
The novelty of HDTV has yet to wear off. Every time I get the opportunity to watch a show broadcast in high definition, I do a little happy dance. It usually looks like this. HD Television shows and movies better than DVD quality are great, no doubt about it, but what about live-action sports? Oh. My. ESPN HD just became available to my grubby mitts a week ago. After catching a couple of baseball games and preseason football games, well it’s starting to get annoying having to wipe the drool every few minutes. Sometimes I even forget to breathe. ESPN Sunday night games, ABC Monday Night Football, and CBS college football all in HDTV. Yum. Spend whatever you have to in order to get you some HDTV loving. It’s just that good. Do it. Do it now.
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Saturday, August 09, 2003
to feel one's pain
I have had some time to cool off since my last post. While my momentary uncouth and unfettered outburst provided a quick release to my roiling anger it was no panacea. Violence and ill will never is. But, thanks to the soothing voices of Eva Cassidy and Patricia Kaas all is becoming well once again. And plus I went and bought stuff, cause you know that helps too. And ice cream always makes things better.
I don’t really hate the people in the real estate business. I can’t fault anybody who wants to make as much money as they can. While I utterly despise avarice and hubris, I don’t really detest those in the business personally. I can’t because I don’t know any of them personally. I spoke out of malice because I was hurt, greatly disappointed and ultimately told “no, you can’t, because I said so” (I really hate that). Add to the mix my dangerous habit of taking things too personally and the results are impetuous. Like a child who had his favorite Christmas present wrenched away and told he can’t have it after tearing off the shiny wrapper, I threw a fit. But alas, I understand there will be other Christmases down the road. Unfortunately, if I want to go down the path of building my first home in a sellers’ market, this is just the way it is. The builder calls the shots. And honestly, once I step out of my shoes and into theirs, I would have scoffed at the offer to only put up 1/3 of the required earnest money deposit. I was naïve to think that they would bend the rules to accommodate me. Like I said, I have issues with “take it or leave it” ultimatums and being told no “just because I said so”. But such is life. In fact, now that I’ve considerably calmed down and looked at the issue again, I can’t walk away from this opportunity. I think the location, selling price, current rates, and appreciation factors are just too hard to ignore. So basically, yes, I’m going kowtow and become the builder’s bitch if that’s what it takes to get this house. I’ll just have to ask the parental units (who are the greatest ever) to float me the $6k.
While reflecting upon my first home buying episode, the consequent disenchantment and subsequent tongue lashing, I began to ponder why one feels the need to lash out when injured or wronged or even when perceived to be wronged? Why does such misery require an audience? Surely we can’t expect to internalize the strong emotions elicited by injustices, but why is the first instinct or natural response to hurt or damage others? Is it to make others feel our pain so that we don’t suffer alone? Or, perhaps could it be to demonstrate that we really were hurt and require genuine consolation? I suppose it would depend on one’s disposition. Yet, I wonder what primitive condition from our ancient past required such a response mechanism.
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Thursday, August 07, 2003
DENIED
I was denied a chance to buy my first home over a matter of $4000. No, not because I didn’t have it to pay, not because I had bad credit, not because I was haggling the home price but because I wouldn’t put it down as earnest money. There is no recourse for my resentment except to cuss a lot and break shit. Be warned the vitriol about to be spewed may be offensive, so if you take offense to “vulgar” words (this ordeal I had to go through was vulgar) and unbridled rage (as much as one can rage in a blog) I suggest you look away and just skip over this entire post. This is the only cathartic release that I have.
I can hardly contain my incensed condition. The anger torching my guts and searing my flesh as I think of this entire matter is almost unbearable. The acuity is greatly magnified simply because I can’t do a damn thing about it. The american dream can kiss my ass. I don’t mind people wanting to make a buck to give you what you want, but when absolutely denied the ability to obtain what you desire due to simple greed, well I guess that’s capitalism and I’d better get used to it. Fairness has no place here. This whole fucking affair has left me sick. I understand it’s a business and that the real estate business, especially in the market of high flying home prices, is to make as much money as it can (witness title insurance, PMI and points). I suppose in this case I wouldn’t pay and I’m sure they probably found someone else who was willing and/or able to pay. I just can’t believe I was denied because I wouldn’t pay them that sum of money seven months in advance. It’s for fucking good faith, proof that I’m serious about purchasing the house. I ask you, is there a difference of “good faith” if I give you $2000 vs. $6000? And they required that I NOT escrow this money. Yeah. But I guess it still boils down to the simple fact that $6000 was the price and I couldn’t pay it. It’s still fucking bullshit.
This was my first home buying experience. Perhaps I entered the process a bit too idealistic, thinking that people would actually work with me to give me the opportunity to buy my first home instead of seeing how many ways the could fuck me over to get as much money as they could. Well the scars from this mess have changed me for good. I have no respect for anything anymore. Disillusioned and jaded, I hate them all. I fucking hate them.
I won’t be looking to buy a house any time soon, if ever again.
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Tuesday, August 05, 2003
the ring
Often times in my haste to get to the refreshing goodness of milk or orange juice I leave the little plastic ring that is supposed to guard said beverages from unscrupulous hands lying on the counter. I don’t know why I can’t make the .05 sec journey to toss the buggers in the trash. Some times they just sit there for days; limp, lifeless and I think most of the time up to no good. I remember my old college roommate hated when I left those things lying around. And I admit now that it is pretty damn annoying. But not as annoying as having used scrunched up napkins lying around supposedly for future use (you know who you are).
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Sunday, August 03, 2003
the american dream
Apologies to my loyal readers (all three of you). I have been lax in my updates, however this is not without explanation. Outside of my increased work schedule, my time for the past week had been monopolized by my effort to procure a piece of the american dream. Motivated by what were once low interest rates, an opportunity to buy a brand spanking new home and the incessant pimpage of home ownership by friends, family and co-workers, I set out to seize my very own castle (without the raping, pillaging and plundering of course, um at least on my side). I began looking for a humble domain sometime in June and intensified my search the past week once I found a pristine opportunity.
Because of the aforementioned opportunity, this weekend I experienced my first ever negotiation process for the purchase of a new home sans real estate agent and lawyer. Yes folks, it was all me, by my lonely self, sent in to negotiate the spending of a sum of money that, to be quite blunt, scares the living piss out of me. Suffice it to say, I’m absolutely wrecked at the moment and I’m having a terrible time just trying to focus on anything without inexplicably breaking out in a cold sweat.
Once I decompress and get my blood pressure to a normal level, I’ll gladly return to pontificate on the whole ordeal, but as of this moment my contract is sitting and waiting for approval and I feel I’m perched precariously on a needle with a steel trap on one side and a descent into the abyss on the other. Remind me to tell you of that ulcer-inducing affair later. So again I apologize for not having the photo galleries in completion as promised by now, but I’ll be sure to get to that when I find out how things go with the house.
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