The Banal Frontier

If NASA promised these results, they might get more funding.

I'm a big fan of all things science fiction. I love watching TV shows that involve people flying through space blasting away aliens or evil robots bent on galactic conquest. My dream job, were I to have the physical endurance for such things, would be as an astronaut. I'd love to go into space. Hell, if I ever get a bazillion dollars (through inexplicable means), I'll be the first to sign up as a space tourist.

The problem with real space travel is that it's nothing like television. There are no hot alien babes waiting for horny earth men to teach them how to make love. Nor are there alien robots that line up in convenient single-file formation for you to blast at your leisure with your scientifically-improbable laser gun.

Sometime in the late 80's, the general public finally figured this out. In the 60s, everyone was all gung-ho for space, but then when we got out there and found out it was mostly empty space, we got bored. NASA doesn't really help. All of their missions seem to lack a certain flair. The Cassini-Huygens mission to Titan had promise. Scientists claimed that their could be liquid oceans there, which in turn could support life. Then they get there and find nothing. ZZZZZ.

I figure NASA needs a better PR department. Nothing would get the public behind NASA faster than promises of lusty Orion Slave Girls waiting on the outer edges of the Rigellian Cluster. Even better: why not pull some of these cracker jack publicists from Washington to come work for them. Claim that there are weapons of mass destruction in the Proxima Centauri system, and we have to go there to take them out. Those fucking Centaurians are always up to no good. Can't trust those green-heads.

Hell, say that Marvin the Martian is about the blast the Earth with his Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator because it's obstructing his view of Venus. Clearly, we don't really need to see results. Once we get to either location and find nothing, just come on camera and say, "Well, we didn't find any Explosive Space Modulators, but dammit, the solar system is a better place now that we're occupying... I mean, helping.... Mars."

I'm still hoping for alien space babes though.

Country Roads Take Me Home (Or Not)

Sonic has found a better way to navigate the roads in Morgantown

I'm officially afraid to drive in West Virginia.

It wasn't bad enough that the cops seem to have a vendetta against me. It's even not enough that I have to be careful not to run over wild chickens or other random farm animals as I'm driving down country roads. No, the real fun has come in the last month with the onset of winter.

I spent four years going to school in Erie, Pennsylvania. That place is second only to Buffalo in terms of bad winters. Christ, there were times that the roads were so bad I thought I'd have to sell my body to the sasquatch woman down the hall just to get food. Typically I'd simply avoid driving if the weather was bad; living on campus had certain benefits. Every once in awhile, however, I'd be stuck in my car during a snowstorm.

Now I don't think I've discussed my primary mode of transportation on here. My car is a 1999 Ford Escort. I'm not much of a mechanic, but let's just say that it's not exactly the ideal car for snow travel. The thing has about the same weight as frizbee. Hell, when I sit in it, that probably increases its weight by about 50%. My point is that the thing slides around on ice very easily. But in Erie, those fuckers knew how to handle roads (Penn State was another matter, but let's not go there). The people in charge of Erie get those roads cleared after anything short of an iceberg rolling through town. And even if you do run into trouble, worst case scenerio is that you slide into a ditch.

Now let's talk about Morgantown. The roads here were designed by Dr. Seuss on an acid trip. Either that, or the town designers just took the existing paths that were made by mountain goats and paved them. "If it's good enough for Bessie, it's good enough for mah truck!" Professional contortionists can't have sex at the angles that these roads were built at.

And to top it off, at the bottom of most of these hills is some form of peril. In town, several steep side streets drop right into the river!! Seriously! The roads end in boat launches that aren't blocked or anything. On the outskirts of town (where I live), the bottoms of these slopes end in sharp curves with a 300 foot drop waiting for those who can't make it. The only thing standing between your sliding vehicle and a very interesting off-road experience is a government-issue guard rail. Think of Wile E. Coyote's worst nightmare.

The best road I saw had one of these perilous curves, and at the critical point where the road turns to avoid the nasty cliff, the guard rail has been completely knocked out. In its place are two small road cones. ROAD CONES! Thank you Morgantown. If my car is sliding out of control to my doom, I'll make sure the Winter Warlock takes note of your road cones and pilots my car toward a safer locale.

I suppose if my car plummets to the depths of a chasm, at least the firey wreckage will keep me warm until my timely demise.

Have You Heard The News That You're Dead?

When Graham Chapman, one of the members of the Monty Python group, died, the remaining members of the group got up at the funeral and sang a rousing rendition of "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." John Cleese said that Graham would have wanted it that way.

There's actually some poor video footage of the eulogy and song

This got me thinking about my own funeral. The funerals I've been to have been boring, sad, and unpleasant affairs. I don't want to be remembered that way. Hell, my life is boring and unpleasant; there's no need for my death to be that way. A funeral is the ultimate egocentric party: everyone is there for you, everyone is looking at you, and at the end of the day, you have a good excuse for not getting laid. Why waste this opportunity? I have some cool new ideas for my funeral.

First off, I want to be creamated. It would prevent people from snickering at the large size of my coffin, and none of my pallbearers would tear a ligament trying to heft my weight. An urn is much tidier, and I can be a conversation starter at parties thrown by my kids:

"What's in the urn?"
"My dad's ashes. He said he'd rather die than come to a party with you."

I figure my kids will have my sense of humor.

Even if my urn isn't buried, I want to have a tombstone somewhere. I also want my tombstone to have something clever on it. "Here lies Justin" YAWN! Fuck that. I want to entertain from beyond the grave. How about something like, "How do you know you're not standing on my nuts?" Sure I'd be in an urn, but the gravediggers and other passersby wouldn't know that. Even something simple like, "Take it from me, it could be worse!" would be enough to elicit a chuckle from some pathetic future douchebag (and believe me, I'm sure there will be pathetic douchebags in the future as well - hell, my offspring will be there).

Also, I hope I die of something memorable. Not painful -- just memorable. A quiet heart attack while I'm on the toilet would do it. I'd love to stand in front of a large group of Mormons and yell, "MAY GOD STRIKE ME DEAD IF MORMONISM ISN'T THE TRUE CHURCH!" and then keel over, but I think I'd regret not seeing the looks on their faces. But I think the perfect way to go would be to die trying. I don't care what I'm trying to do, but I want to say that and have it be the outcome. "I'm going to buy a gold-plated dildo or die trying!!" I'll declare and then keel over on the way to my seedy destination.

Finally I want my funeral to be a celebration. Hell, most people will probably be celebrating anyway. When I'm old, I intend to be that crotchety old man who chases the kids off his lawn with a cane and then hoards their baseballs in his garage. But statistics figure that someone will miss me, so I want my loved ones to throw a big bash. The way I see it, if I make it through several more decades without getting shot or stabbed by some irate student or disgrunted blog reader, then that's cause for celebration!

New Year's Resolutions

David the Gnome is sick of 2006. Bring on 2007!

Well, 2006 was certainly yet another royal clusterfuck wasn't it? So in comes 2007 with its great personality and sexy body, but it will soon dump its emotional baggage and syphillis on you in no time. Regardless, it's time to make some resolutions. So here are some of my New Year's Resolutions in no particular order.

>> Don't lose more than 3 appendages. Beyond that number, WVU won't cover my medical expenses.

>> Eat fewer Cheez-It Crisps. They're more addicting than crack and heroin mixed in coffee.

>> Learn to cook basic meals without blowing up the kitchen.

>> Bury bodies in less conspicuous places. The cops are getting suspicious.

>> Don't assault, maim, or verbally abuse a student.

>> Don't assault, maim, or verbally abuse a professor.

>> DO verbally abuse people online! It makes for quality entertainment.

>> Find superior toilet paper. This 1-ply stuff just isn't up to snuff.

>> Buy new headphones for my iPod. I can't stand those little things that go in your ears. Save those for when I need a hearing aid to hear the nurse telling me that I need a fresh bedpan.

>> Floss.

>> Spend less time wearing women's clothing. It makes me feel pretty, but the chafing is unbearable!

>> Prepare for the blizzards that are likely to occur in the coming months. Karma's just waiting to dump a 3 foot pile of snow on my doorstep.

>> Work to ratify ridiculous traffic laws that require telepathy in order to obey them.

>> Bitch slap people who complain about my infrequent blog updates. Genius can't be rushed.