George’s Blog

This post brought to you be www.blogactionday.org

Mmmm. Environmentalism. Tastes good. Especially with some Favabeans and a nice Chianti.

I am a consumer. I eat. I wipe my ass. I use enough electricity feeding my music, House, and Warcraft habit to power a small planet.

I’m not concerned about the planet.

I’m concerned about me.

That second statement necessitates the first.

All the talk about saving the planet is a bunch of touchy feely political bullshit. The planet has been through meteor strikes, ice ages, tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanoes, floods, you name it. We don’t measure ‘natural disasters’ in damage to Earth. We measure it in human lives.

Because no matter what we do, Earth will still be here. Something will survive and flourish.

Climate change? Bah. It’s us or the cockroaches and moss.

Do we need to change our ways? Only if we want to survive and give our kids something to inherit. “Natural disasters” come in two forms. Their either Earths way of saying “wake up,” or they’re earths way of balancing the equation. Either way, we’re screwed.

We can’t do anything about the equation. Plates will shift, stuff will break or be consumed in fire and ash. That is not our fault. But if we can eliminate the “wake up” part, though, we stand a much better chance of surviving.

If we can reduce our collective belching into the atmosphere, we can at least avoid a few. With less warming, we’ll have fewer hurricanes, tornadoes, and other atmospheric weather phenomena. These are Earth’s way of taking a cold shower. They dissipate atmospheric energy in an efficient (for Earth) and deadly (for us) manner.

Another much trumpeted effect of reducing the human industrial flatulence problem is that our ice can stay ice, and thus our coastal cities can avoid becoming a human Seaworld.

So for fucks sake, let’s get our collective act together. Not for the planet, but to save our own sorry asses.

Thanks to “Mind of a Mad Woman” for making me aware of Blog Action Day.

I’ve got flat feet. I’ve always known this. What I didn’t realize, until my podiatrist appointment the other day, was just how flat they are.

Any time a doctor uses the words “severely” and “only” in the same visit, it’s bad.

“You have severely flat feet.”

“The only thing that will help are some ortho-somethings for your shoes.”

No magic pills, no admonition to lose weight. Because anything I do won’t help. Even if I slim down, my feet, and thus the alignment of my body, will still be jacked up.

What’s worse is that my insurance won’t cover the $600 for the inserts.

And the pills I got subscribed are $94 for a months’ supply.

I want a second opinion, but even so, it looks like upgrading the aging innards of my computer will have to wait.

I generally try, really, to avoid posting on current events in the world, and especially the media. Sometimes, though, I can’t help it.

My kids love to make believe.

They play house, firefighter, Star Wars, ballerinas, rock stars…

But the ridiculousness of Hollywood makes me want to recant my pledge to support them in any career they choose.

And it damn well means I’m looking at every child modeling/acting opportunity as more dangerous than walking to school alone (which they don’t).

First of all, Whoopie Goldberg. Shame on her. With regards to the Roman Polanski statutory rape fiasco, she diminished it by questioning if it was “rape rape.”

This is disgusting.

Nobody asks if it was “murder murder” or “theft theft.”

Rape is sex without consent.

In the US, the age of consent is 18.

Thus, sex between an adult and child is rape. No matter how you slice it legally.

Beyond legally, how many teenagers make wonderful choices with regards to sex? Now drug them and answer again. I didn’t make the best choices. I know that much.

Once again, disgusting.

Then there’s the cadre of Hollywood personalities actually defending him. Makes me really wonder how many of them really think it’s ok.

The only person with a right to make this go away is the victim/survivor. In this case they want just that. That is their choice, and theirs alone.

I can’t think of anything tasteful to say now, so I’ll end it here.

This post was prompted by a story on the blog “My Bottle’s Up,” written by the wonderful Nic.

My WoW toon, Keiki

It hits me without warning.

I can barely see straight. I can’t think straight.

I can’t think of anything. About anything.

It’s a maddening emptiness. A lack of feeling that only leaves rage in it’s aftermath.

Hours, weeks, days, months of emptiness, save only the wrath. To quote Danny Evans, the “Rage Against the Meshugenah.” The rage against the crazy.

The feeling of being trapped inside my own misery. My jaw clenches. I do my best to swallow the saliva building up as if I’m a rabid dog.

I’m screaming in my own mind. I can’t explain why this is happening to me.

I hate enigmas.

My commute, one of the most relaxing times of my day, is also the worst.

It’s the only time I have completely to myself and my own thoughts, where nobody has anything for me to do or expectations of me.

The frustration hits as I leave work. With nothing to occupy my mind; no kids, no work, no Warcraft.

So I embrace the rage. The only feeling I have.

I feed it. I nurture it. I let it flow through me, just to feel something.

But only for a moment, because screaming like a madman on the streets is frowned upon, even in  New York City.

Left with no alternative, I put my ear buds in and turn on my iPod, skipping any song that isn’t in a minor key. I crank it up, drowning out my own inward screaming, knowing that I’m probably going to damage my hearing.

It’s a battle for my mind. My hearing may be a casualty.

It works. As I wait for the bus, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall. I let the dark music be my feeling. I let it course through me.

I pray that the battery in my iPod, the only weapon I have in this battle, lasts my commute.

This is my war.

My struggle.

My depression.

Ok, well, I didn’t get 5 comments. Kinda sad really.

But who cares! It’s my blog and I can break my own rules if I want to!

So here it is, as promised:

Jonathan Coulton’s “RE: Your Brains”

As sung by ME!

In Rock Band 2

P.S. That was “Expert” mode and I scored 97%. If you were wondering.