I Have No Use for a Protocol Droid

A byproduct (and quite a delightful one) of getting a job is the substantially increased disposable income. Over the years, I've been using the same phone and the same iPod. I've gone without a fun little GPS for my tiny little car. I've had a bulky low-res camera. I never had a video camera of any kind. However, with money in hand, I've moved into the modern age with one fell swoop. Ladies and gentlemen, I purchased the new Droid X. (The "X" makes it sound sexy)

As an avid Star Trek fan, I've longed to have my own tricorder. For the uninitiated, the tricorder is the little handheld device that the characters could use to scan for lifeforms, spaceships, and plot devices masquerading as energy clouds. It also had access to limitless information. On one occasion, Mr. Spock found newspaper articles about one woman in the 1930s... while he was trapped in the 1930s thanks to a friendly sentient time portal. The thing was a miracle device... or so I thought.

Then I got to see the Droid in action. The damn thing puts the tricorder to shame. Kirk could have bested the Gorn in two minutes if he'd had a Droid in his pocket. I haven't yet figured out how to use my Droid to scan for lifeforms, but I'm betting there's an app for that. I already found an app that identifies the constellations in the sky based on how I hold my Droid. For instance, if I point my phone at the ground, the Droid will show me what's in the sky on the other side of the Earth straight at that point. Another app will actually allow me to speak in English and have the phone repeat what I just said in another language. That's right, bitches. It's a universal translator. Eat my shit, Spock! It may not translate Klingon, but it's damn close.

The Droid comes with a flashlight, a GPS, 16GB of storage, an HD camcorder with an HDMI adapter, a camera, Pandora radio, and automatic connections to my GMail and Facebook accounts. There might even be a blowjob app in there somewhere if I poke around a bit.

Lest you think I'm starting to sound like one giant advertisement for the Droid X (though I would be willing to accept a handsome fee from Verizon if they'd like me to do so), there is a problem with my Droid.... I can't see a damn thing on it!!

After the first few hours of orgasmic use, I noticed that my Droid started to flicker on the bottom third of the screen. These fuzzy black bars/lines would distort most of the visible field. It looked exactly like this:
Yeah, not easy to use that way. Now I bet you're wondering, "How did you find a picture of your exact malfunction?" Well, it turns out that I'm not alone. This week, Verizon released the following memo:
"Verizon Wireless and Motorola are aware of a very small number of DROID X units that have experienced a flickering or banding display. Motorola has resolved the issue and is continuing to ship the phones. Any consumer who experiences a flickering or banding display should contact a Motorola customer support center or Verizon Wireless."

Verizon estimates that no more than 1/10 of 1% of the Droid Xs were released with this malfunction. Apparently I just lucked into getting the seizure inducing version of the Droid. Why can't I beat the odds on the lottery?

I took my defective Droid back to the Verizon store, and they were only too happy to replace my flickering Droid with a pristine fully-functional one... except that they were out of stock. So in two days I will have my pristine fully-functional Droid shipped to me. In the meantime, if you try to call me, I may not push the right button to answer because I can't see the right fucking button. I'm glad I have an epic boner for technological gadgets because otherwise this would really sour me on the inevitable development of Skynet.

------------------------------------------
"You, I suppose you’re programmed for etiquette and protocol."
"Protocol? Why, it’s my primary function, sir. I am well-versed in all the customs–"
"I have no need for a protocol droid."
"Of course you haven’t, sir. Not in an environment such as this. That is why I have been programmed in–"
"What I really need is a droid who understands the binary language of moisture vaporators."
"Vaporators? Sir, my first job was programing binary load lifters very similar to your vaporators in most respects.”

Running the Race

I like my readers to be comfortable here on the blog. After all, it's been awhile since I've made a post, and I want everyone to feel warm and fuzzy after such a long hiatus.

So let's talk about racism again.

And as I say whenever I blog on this topic: I'm white, stupid, and I often dream of candy. If I say something ludicrously offensive, please accept my humble apologies ahead of time.

I'm eating lunch in the teachers' lounge today when race enters the discussion. This happens periodically in this school with zero non-white teachers and a 90% white student population. Specifically, two older male teachers are lamenting particular affirmative action policies in businesses. The one math teacher regaled us with the tale of how he developed industrial fasteners for a company that was hoping to make a lucrative business deal with the military to sell said fasteners. Unfortunately, the military refused their contract because they didn't have enough minorities working for the company. According to the math teacher, "We'd tried to hire minorities, but we'd interviewed 900 black applicants, but all of them failed the drug screening."

Now I have some problems with affirmative action policies, not because I don't believe that minorities don't need protection from the racist/sexist/homophobic power structure, but because the ill will seems to create more problems than are solved. Nevertheless, I had some qualms about the facts of the story. First, how did he have that kind of information? Second, I know quite well that companies can refuse to hire someone for the flimsiest of reasons. Who's to say that the official reason wasn't drugs but the "real" reason was that the hiring manager didn't want those brown fellows fiddling with his fasteners? Finally, what are the odds that ALL of those 900 black applicants failed the drug screening?

But hell, let's accept the premise. Let's assume that every single one of those 900 black applicants was actually a full-blown drug addict (ignoring the fact that you can test positive for drugs from, among other things, poppyseed cake). While neither teacher actually came out and started on about "I hate black people" or anything of that nature, the following general statements were agreed upon:
1. Black people are underrepresented in business (and the school) because they're unqualified.
2. Organizations for minorities are the most racist organizations in existence.
3. Poor black kids do not succeed in the school/workforce no matter how much help you give.

To provide another list, here are the reasons why I'm often uncomfortable discussing race and why I never said a word during this entire exchange:
1. I'm a giant white guy with the world experience of the postman from Mayberry.
2. I'm the English teacher and, therefore, filled with pie-in-the-sky impractical ideas.
3. My opinions are often derided as ludicrously naive because I'm young and haven't been properly jaded by enough bad incidents with black people.

Well, whatever. If I waited to talk about stuff until I thought I was fully qualified to do so, I'd never speak up unless someone had a bug up their ass regarding a comparative analysis of Captain Ahab's whaling ship and the hyperdrive of the Millennium Falcon. So here it goes. Here's why the lunchroom conversation pissed me off.

The two teachers seemed to be conflating cause and effect. The black people can't pass the drug tests; therefore, we're better than black people. Let's completely ignore the slew of economic conditions and media glamorization that leads young black kids to turn to drugs. Women and blacks have created their own organizations that discriminate against white men. Let's gloss over the fact that EVERY OTHER organization is pretty well dominated by white men.

It's all in how you look at it. I spent two weeks as a day-to-day substitute at the inner city high school closest to my apartment. In that school, the black students were clearly the most disruptive, the most unruly, and the most antagonistic. They seemed to have the worst grades, and they accounted for most of the security issues. That's not in dispute. It's not like there's a competing crowd saying, "Nuh uh!! It's the white kids doing all that." I don't think it's inherently racist to point out a particular racial trend. If the black kids are the ones being disruptive, that's the way it is. But a lot of people seem to put the cart before the horse here. The argument I've heard amounts to "Well, if the black kids wouldn't be so disruptive and cavalier toward their schooling, they wouldn't endure poverty, bad family lives, and drug addiction." The implication here is that black students are inherently inclined to bad behavior. But I think that this argument has it backwards. Here's how I would play it, "If we could pull the black kids out of poverty, their bad family lives, and the drug addictions, they wouldn't be so disruptive and cavalier toward their schooling."

It all comes back to economics (DISCLAIMER FROM JP: I can barely balance a checkbook so take this for what you will). Bad behavior, poor work ethic, and broken family lives are so often prevalent in households well below the poverty line. It just so happens that most poor families are black. Why are black families poor? Is it because black people inherently can't get their shit together? No, it's because white people had black people by the metaphorical balls (though sometimes the literal ones too, I'm sure) for hundreds of years. It's hard to work your way out of that. Maybe, just maybe, some of those allegations of "reverse racism" actually go a long way toward mending the inequalities that are inherent in our society and economic system.

Do minorities have to take responsibility for their own destinies? Of course. But we lovable pale males can't just sit back and pretend that black people are where they are because of their own stupid mistakes.

This lunchroom conversation weighed heavily on my mind all day, and that's always a sign that I need to write some of it down to work it out in my mind. It's incomplete, and a lot of people will probably annihilate my argument, but that's okay. This post was meant for me. It expresses my thought process about this issue at this particular time. I'm not trying to tell you how to think. I'm trying to explain how I think.

When I tell you how to think, the message will be loud and clear:
READ BLOG AND SEND JP FREE MONEY!!!

----------------------------------------------
"You see, Albert's got the right idea. He doesn't write about Negroes or Whites. He writes about robots."
"That's because he is a robot."

10 Resolutions for 2010

WE WISHEN YE UN HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM VALHALLA!

In the next year, I'd like the make the following changes to my life:

1. Learn to Dance - I'd like to take a legitimate dance class wherein I learn to cut a rug and trip the light fantastic. I'm not talking about the casual club dancing either. I want to learn something classy. My brother once learned swing dancing, and I've had the opportunity to take a class in it on more than one occasion, but I always declined. Now I think it would be fun and worthwhile.

2. Blog Consistently - I don't blog near as often as I should, and the subjects range from bizarre to downright self-indulgent. I need a focus and a commitment to content. I find it fun on my own (it's writing with no pressure), but if people are going to read this thing, there needs to be a bigger spark.

3. Find a Job - I will NOT be unemployed during 2010. Once I'm done with this certification program at the end of April, I'll have two months (May and June) to substitute teach. As long as I can find some temporary work in July and August, I can start applying to full time teaching positions in September. I'll move wherever I have to in order to find a job. I'm sick and tired of mooching off of my parents and government loans. I want to be able to take some pride in my work and have my own life. Such things require steady and earned income.

4. Get a New Haircut - I'd like to try some new style. I've had the same hairstyle forever, mostly because my frustratingly straight and fine hair doesn't do much on its own. But maybe I can try something new and exciting that will make me look suave and epic. This one, admittedly, sounds stupid given how sexy I currently am. :)

5. Lose Weight - I'm 22 lbs. away from my ideal weight (210 lbs). I'd like to get there to see what I look like.

6. Travel - I need to go SOMEWHERE this year. I've never traveled on an airplane, and I've never been out of this time zone. I've been trying to work toward a trip to India, and I just might have to push that through this summer. If I wait for the financial situation to be perfect, I'll never go anywhere.

7. Learn Spanish - This one is a long shot, mostly because everyone says they want to learn a new language, and no one ever does. So I won't be terribly disappointed if this one doesn't happen. But I have a lot of Spanish vocabulary floating through my brain from five and a half years of classes, but I've forgotten a TON of the usage rules. I'd like to start refreshing this stuff so that I could get something out of it.

8. Be More Social - I'm kind of a loner when left to my own devices, and while I like my solitude quite a bit, sometimes the loneliness can destroy a man. I'd like to make a greater attempt to do things with other people on the weekends and in the evenings. It's very easy to become acclimated to a hermitic lifestyle.

9. Find a Relationship - I'm not looking for my one true love here, but I'd like to have some sort of relationship with a member of the opposite sex that lasts longer than 2 months. It's been six years since I've been able to pull that off.

10. Write Every Week - I really would like to devote some serious time to my writing. I say this all the time, but I have some great ideas swimming around in my head, and I should make a scheduled commitment to typing them into story form. I actually have some new approaches to this that I plan to blog about soon.

Of course, if I can even do ONE of these things, I'd be ecstatic. The way I see it, having ten goals and knowing full well that I can't accomplish them all takes some of the pressure off. Having this out in the open on my blog keeps me honest. I can't just change my mind or pretend that I never had the idea. Here's hoping I can create a JP that is more to my liking.

-----------------------------------
"WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF TOMORROW!!"

Wanted for B&E: Kris Kringle

He came into your house... through the chimney. He ate your cookies and left you with toys made through slave labor with materials not approved by the Consumer Product Safety Commission. I hear the bastard even uses lead paint to cut costs. He left hoof prints on your roof, too.

But go ahead. Let's all thank Santa Claus for his generosity.

Merry Christmas
from The Undesirable Element

----------------------------------
"You better watch out,
You better run fast,
You better duck down,
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus is gunning you down."

The House That JP Built

Virgil's recent stories of moving into her new home got me thinking about my own dreams of being an esteemed property owner and having my own house. Of course, such speculations are completely baseless at the moment, given that I can barely afford to pay rent even with a roommate. Still, a gentleman with too much time on his hands can dream... even if those dreams can't be fulfilled for another decade.

Location is always an important component, and I don't think I'd really like to live out in the middle of nowhere. Having spent the first ten years of my life in town where the houses are about a foot apart and then living the next fifteen years on a solitary hillside, I've experienced both extremes. I think I lean towards preferring the former arrangement with enough space added to keep me from knowing my neighbors far too intimately. Living in an apartment has its perks, but I'd like to have a decent yard with some room for nude sunbathing. However, I also don't want to have to hike a half a mile to see my nearest neighbor. There's a big difference between solitude and loneliness, and if I spent my life in some desolate rural field, I think I'd become quite the Lonely Larry. People may baffle me, but I like being around them.

But enough about the property. Let's talk about the actual structure. First, I want a big ass porch. I want to be able to go chillax on the front porch with a cold beer while hollering at the little kids to stay off my lawn. There's something chillingly uninviting about a house that has no porch. As proof, imagine any house where there's a front door with no porch and then a side door with an alluring deck or patio. I guarantee that everyone uses that side door. Porches are where you distribute candy on halloween. It's where you can play cards on a rainy night. It's a sleeping space for the cat during warm months. You can even let homeless people sleep there for a small fee. What's not to love?

Another absolute must have: BIG ceilings. My current apartment has surprisingly high ceilings for a Pittsburgh apartment, and that's an excellent trend that I plan to continue for my future dwellings. There's nothing more uncomfortable and rather claustrophobic than for me to be in a space where I have an inch or less clearance above my head. I feel like Gulliver in the land of Lilliput. Equally irritating are low-hanging chandaliers and other lighting fixtures of that nature. Mrs. Former-Employer had very high ceilings in her castle-home, but right in the center of her library/office was a bulky chandalier hanging 6'4" off the ground. I'm 6'5". I think I've lost the brain cells necessary to calculate how many times I've whanged my head off of that thing.

This is a guilty Englishy pleasure, but I'd also love to have a library in my house. One of the few tangible symbols of my education (because a salary sure isn't one of them) is my vast collection of books. I already have three stuffed bookcases, and I'm sure I'll acquire even more in no time flat. Nothing screams high-class muckity-muck like having a library. It'll adjoin my parlor and sitting room, and then my guests and I will retire to the study.

These are all legitimate desires on my part, but then my geeky side kicks in with its own ridiculous wishes that add a whole new meaning to the concept of "dream home." I'd be happy with a completely normal library, but imagine how much more epic it would be if I could pull out one book and have one of the cases slide away to reveal a secret passageway!? And what if my swanky and spacious porch also contained a trap door just in front of the entrance so that unwanted visitors could be dropped into an underground pool of maneating alligators? And despite the architectural nightmare and safety concerns, a long curved staircase with a slick bannister that I could slide down would put an extra spring in my step every morning.

I actually have an unhealthy infatuation with the houses in the Regent Square neighborhood of Pittsburgh. Not only do they all have extremely large and ornate front porches, but they're large, close but with enough space for comfort, and old enough that they probably already have secret passageways and Victorian staircases. And they're solid structures too. I don't think there's anything more tacky than these houses in planned communities where the front has this elaborate facade of brick and windows while the other three sides have nothing but plain siding and a shabby deck. The houses in Regent Square are solid brick (or sometimes stone) all around, and they seem to look good from any angle. They don't make houses together like that with such care anymore.

On the other hand, those houses probably require the GDP of a small country to heat during the winter, but dammit, I still think they look awesome. And Regent Square has so much cool stuff along Braddock Avenue that I could die a happy man living there. It's called "Regent Square" for crying out loud. It couldn't sound more regal if it were called "Platinum Viceroy's Royal Palace."

-------------------------
"Our street is us and we are it. Our street is where we like to be, and it looks like all our dreams."

JP 2.0

One of the side effects of being a writer (I'm not sure when I decided that I deserved that title, but it sure makes me feel important) is that you inevitably compare the stuff you write with your current life. Also inevitably, the real world falls hugely short of the fascinating fiction that you've created. Such is the case with me, so I want to start making my own personal narrative much more interesting. Batmite once joked that he'd like to ret-con his life, and I think I'd like to do the same. If you don't know what "ret-con" means, then pat yourself on the back, for you are getting sex regularly.

First, I need a better origin story. "Young boy plays school with neighbor girl and eventually becomes a teacher himself" lacks the panache and swashbuckling adventure that my life deserves. Perhaps I was once sucked into a parallel universe in which the narratives of every book ever written existed for real, and then Long John Silver and Holden Caulfield help me battle Moby Dick, Count Dracula, and the personification of post-modern existentialism... played in that universe by Brian Dennehy. Once returning from my dimension-spanning adventure (which is totally not ripped off from the movie The Pagemaster), I'd become so enamored with literature that I'd HAVE to become a high school English teacher.

Second, my life requires a villain, a worthy foe, some adversary whose machinations must be countered by my every life move. I'd imagine a Professor Moriarty type played by Alan Rickman who speaks in a menacing British accent and is obsessed with ruining my reputation... or perhaps stealing a magical jewel or gem that I have in my possession. In fact, I like that second option. In the rebooted version of my life, I use a crystal made of Imaginatium that maintains the balance between fantasy and reality. Of course, this battle between me and my nemesis takes place in my off hours. During the day, my foe works as a rival English teacher who teaches only EVIL literature (like "The Scarlet Letter" and anything written in the Victorian Era).

Third, I need a sidekick... and Batmite would serve this function adequately. He would be the Robin to my Batman... only, you know, without the homoerotic overtones. In the new JP-Prime universe, Batmite's parents were killed during an elephant stampede, so he inherits their fortune, which he uses to assist in my various quests and adventures.

Fourth, lots of chicks! We're talking like James Bond-esque weekly beddings of comely lasses with a penchant for swooning. Of course, these minor sexual conquests will merely mask my unrequited love for some long-term romantic interest who is my intellectual and witty equal with whom I often flirt but never develop a serious relationship with due to various plot machinations that keep us apart. But every few years or so, my long-term love interest and I will get together seriously before she develops amnesia or is manipulated by my archnemesis into betraying me. Then we'll do the whole dance all over again.

I suppose Batmite-Prime can get some secondary chicks. His relationships, while more comical in tone, will likely prove heartwarming... or his women will end up dead as I must assume the role of makeshift legal aide in order to defend Batmite against murder charges.

Finally, in this new rebooted version of my life, I need theme music. I'm torn in this regard. I'm not sure if I want a really hardass rocking song with electric guitars and drums or a sultry, pimp-tastic jazzy number heavy on the saxophones and Barry White vocals. I'm really leaning toward the latter. I have no idea where this music would come from. Maybe set my alarm clock to begin every morning by playing it. Or hell, as long as we're talking parallel universes, let's say it constantly emanates from the aforementioned magical Imaginatium gem.

Oh yeah, and I constantly wear tuxedos, drink scotch on the rocks, speak with a sexy French/Spanish accent, and I have a wicked-awesome beard. Fucking right!

And maybe my Physicist brother in the alternate universe would have already built a time machine and magic wand so that this shit could become reality... unlike the slackass version in THIS universe who hasn't invented diddly-squat (insult will be retracted if he actually builds his solar death ray).

--------------------------------
"I get it now. He bad mouths you, and you make him delicious, sugary energy shakes. And I open my mouth, in a helpful way, and I get slapped. Must be in topsy-turvy world!"

From C to Shining C-

I maintained in an earlier post that the citizenry is not to be trusted because they're mostly ignorant boobs. Bill Maher agrees with me (and incidentally enjoys the same punny titles that I do... so I stole one from him). I've listed some of the statistics given in the video above, though I'd heard some of these before.

-----------------------------------

On the eve of the Iraq War, 70% of Americans thought that Saddam Hussein was personally involved in 9/11

Six years later, 34% still do.

At a recent town hall meeting in South Carolina, a man stood up and told his congressman, “Keep your government hands off my Medicare!”

A majority of Americans cannot name a single branch of government or explain what the Bill of Rights is.

24% could not name the country that America fought in the Revolutionary War.

More than 2/3 of Americans don’t know what’s in Roe v. Wade

2/3 don’t know what the Food and Drug Administration does.

Nearly half of Americans don’t know that states have two senators.

More than half can’t name their congressman.

The average voter thinks that foreign aid consumes 24% of our federal budget. It’s actually less than 1%.

A third of Republicans believe that Obama is not a citizen.

A third of Democrats believe that George Bush had prior knowledge of the 9/11 attacks, which is an absurd sentence because it contains the words “Bush” and “knowledge.”

18% of us think that the sun revolves around the Earth.

Only about half of Americans are aware that Judaism is an older religion than Christianity.

-----------------------------------------
"Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity." - Hanlon's Razor

Cooking with JP

You know me as the charming, witty, super-sexy blogger who amuses you while you're procrastinating at work or recovering after an intense hour at porn sites. But today I added a new skill to my repertoire: I can prepare an edible meal that other people actually like!

My parents were both out of town yesterday and part of today, leaving me to handle dinner for my two younger brothers and me. Typically, I go straight for the easiest dinner possible and make a beeline for the pizza delivery menu on the refrigerator. But I've gotten pretty tired of fast food dinners of late, so I decided to actually prepare something on my own. My two youngest brothers were perfect for my experiment because they're far more likely to eat whatever glop I'd prepare than to go to the trouble of getting anything else.

The first night was pretty tame. I just made some generic macaroni and cheese, which was actually a minor accomplishment for me because usually when I make macaroni and cheese, it's often a watery, soggy mess. I've since learned to drain properly, so that's less of an issue now.

But this evening I was feeling particularly ambitious. Earlier today, Mrs. Employer recruited me to help her make a pierogi casserole for some sort of church function. The damn thing looked delicious by the time we were done (and was filled with enough cheese to choke a Packers fan), so after that, a Big Bacon Classic just wasn't going to cut it. With no easy-fix meals in the pantry, I scoured our house for whatever might be edible. I found some chicken breasts, white rice, and frozen french-cut green beans. As you might imagine, I made some chicken breasts with white rice and french-cut green beans. Emeril would hardly be impressed, but I'd rather woo Rachael Ray anyway. The process was even easier than I'd anticipated because the chicken that my parents had purchased was already pre-breaded and ready to go. I had the materials and wherewithal to bread the chicken myself, so I want brownie points for having the skill set (though a pan of brownies would be nice too). I jazzed the chicken up a bit with some basil and shredded cheese on top, and voila! Instant deliciousness!

I really do enjoy cooking stuff. Granted, the day to day business of preparing meals would get tedious, but every once in awhile, I think it's fun to try to make a delicious dish. When I lived by myself, I could make a pretty respectable batch of chili, a mean pasta primavera, and a truly excellent tortellini salad that I bastardized from a friend (LD) into a much more unhealthy concoction featuring a ton of salami and feta cheese. And, of course, let's not forget the baked chicken.

One of the hindrances to cooking on my own is that it's often a big pain in the ass to cook for just one person (or even two when I was with Batmite). Another problem is that I don't really understand what the spices do. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between cilantro, basil, and dill weed if Paula Dean were holding a machete to my throat and demanding that I do a blind taste test. Furthermore, I always get the timing all wrong. I guarantee that any side dishes I'm making will be done ten minutes before the main course. This is why anything I could make in a crock pot was golden to me!

I could be cooking at home, but an audience makes the whole thing even worse. If I screw something up on my own, I'm the only one who has to choke the food down. If I screw up at home, five people miss out on dinner. And in my family, you don't want to be responsible for that mistake! And once again, the spices screw me over because I've noticed that half of my family likes spicy and sour things like I do, but the other half doesn't. Cooking for other people is hard! Why can't everyone enjoy a tasty cucumber salad with vinegar, parmesean cheese, and a boatload of pepper and a batch of hot buffalo chicken wings with bleu cheese on the side? Although I probably shouldn't eat that meal if I have to be around other people the same day.

I may have to start playing around in the kitchen more often though. I really need to start compiling some recipes that are tasty but that also don't take half a day to prepare. I should probably start with casseroles and work my way down. One of these days I'll get my dad to show me how to make kugelis and some of the other bacon-filled Lithuanian dishes that he knows. That way I can make myself look even thinner by packing my dinner guests with tasty and mouth-watering cholesterol!

Oh who am I kidding? I could eat a whole pan of that stuff myself!

-----------------------
This post in no way serves as a contractual obligation for JP or any other persons associated with The Undesirable Element to prepare dinner at home on a daily basis. Bribery must be utilized for such an arrangement.

Rule Britannia!

I was watching The Daily Show last night, and as anyone might expect, they took great pleasure in mocking the slipshod "Tea Parties" that cropped up around the country on April 15 to protest taxes. Admittedly, referring to these wingdings as "teabaggers" was a joke so obvious that I think every eighth grader in the country could have thought it up. Nevertheless, there was one brilliant segment where John Oliver, The Daily Show's lanky and snarky British correspondent, went to one of the Tea Parties to essentially berate them for failing to understand just how truly awesome the British were at oppression. He chided them for comparing their perceived injustices to those of the colonists under British rule, and he was offended as an Englishman that they think present-day America even comes close.

Instead of pondering the historical and social implications of English and American tax systems, my infantile and wayward mind starting thinking about other things that the British have that Americans don't that we really should (because the king of England really needs to start housing troops in my lodgings). Here's the list I came up with:

Fish and Chips: I really don't much like seafood, but the British cook it just the way I like it - batter-dipped and deep fried until the only thing you can taste is sweet delicious cholesterol! It's the one British foodstuff that I heartily support.

Cutesy Swear Words: In England, calling some random stranger a "bloody wanker" is way worse than referring to your dear old granny as a "fucking cunt." Lines like "Don't get your knickers in a twist" sound a lot more civilized than "Don't lose your shit, dude!" And there's nothing better than British people always referring to their ass as their bum. A very proper English gentleman could be walking down the street earning all sorts of respect, but then he falls on the ground and declares, "Blimey, I fell on me bum!" Suddenly he's got all the class of a four year old.

Welsh Jokes: The Welsh are like the English hillbillies. They're the butt of the joke that always works.
"I say my good fellow, what do you call a bloke who rapes his mum, falls on his bum, and is always a dum dum?"
"I haven't the slightest, sir!"
"A Welshman! Har har har!"
As a man who's part Welsh, I find such jokes to be crass and tasteless... which is why we need to bring them to America!

Royal Titles: This is the famous thing where the king or queen puts the sword on your shoulder and lets you put "Sir" or "Dame" before your name. It's a great concept, but let's take that tired old idea and do it America-style! We could have a reality show called "Who Wants to be in the Order of Chivalry?" It could be hosted by Sir Mix-a-Lot (he's not doing much these days) and feature all sorts of random trials like eating a goat's placenta and running through a tepid pool of vomit. We're going to bring some class to that old tradition.

Parliament: They get to wear wigs, and most of the time the House of Lords and the House of Commons just stand there literally screaming and shouting at each other for no good reason. Essentially, they're just like Congress only a lot more entertaining.

Villainous but Sophisticated Accents: Do you need to sound incredibly evil while still giving off an aura of intelligence and wit? Then you need a proper British accent. Your average cockney accent is nice if your goal in life is to be an award-winning soccer hooligan, but if you watch Die Hard and fantasize about one day being Alan Rickman or you wonder why every Imperial officer in Star Wars sounds inherently vile but cunningly calculating, then start doing your best Patrick Stewart imitation this instant. You could have the IQ of a cantaloupe, but with your sporty new British accent, you'll be a Mensa member in no time.

Bathroom Language: Which sounds better: "I'm in line for the shitter," or "I'm in the queue for the loo"? I thought so!

-----------------------------------
Mind your bloody manners in the comments section you silly sots, or the constabulary and fire brigade will spank you in the bum with their torches.

JP: Master Criminal

The face of a career felon.

A byproduct of watching so many criminal procedurals on TV is that I begin to think about how I would have committed the crime in question to avoid prosecution. Contrary to what many television cops (and especially David Caruso) would like you to believe, the police are not demi-gods who solve every crime that crosses their desks; furthermore, they don't begin every investigation by turning to their colleague and saying, "And this time... it's personal!!" In short, confounding the cops, while not a cake walk, isn't exactly rocket science.

While watching TV, I've come up with some advice for how to commit the following crimes:

Murder: This is, naturally, something that's probably crossed everyone's mind at least once. The easiest way to avoid detection is to select some random idiot out of a phone book and blow the guy away - no motive and no ties to the deceased (and you get to make a nice homage to the movie The Jerk.) But if killing random innocents isn't your style, there are always ways to get away with killing those who deserve it. Let's say your neighbor is pissing you off... maybe he's shitting on your lawn every morning. First, don't lose your cool about it. That way, other neighbors won't be able to tell the cops that you've been screaming vulgarities and shouting, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!!" to the recently-deceased. Second, don't use an unusual object to kill him. Chances are slim that anyone else in the neighborhood has an authentic pewter-molded Highlander sword with bloodstains on it. Use a screwdriver to stab the guy in the eye - everyone has a screwdriver. Third, try to get everyone else in the neighborhood mad at the guy so that you're not the only one with a motive. Go take dumps in their yards and frame your soon-to-be late neighbor. Finally, dispose of the body in some dinky town with a really shitty police force. A go-getter New York City detective might go the extra mile to solve your crime, but Sherriff Billy-Bob from the Ozarks will chalk it up to witchcraft.

Theft: I've never considered the old B&E (breaking and entering). I'm much too easy to describe to the constabulary. Shoplifting is where you can have the most fun. Common sense would tell you that you should try to be discreet and low-key when trying to shoplift. That may be okay if you want to pocket a pack of gum or other small tidbits, but if you really want to do things right and make off with some serious loot, you have to go the other direction. Waltz into Wal-Mart wearing an employee vest (they can't be that hard to find), grab a crate of iPods, and then stroll right out the front door like you own the place. If the buzzer goes off, explain to the dottering old woman at the front that you're just doing some routine inventory. The store may not be fooled indefinitely, but by the time they catch on, you'll be long gone. You can also come into the store like a regular customer. Put something extremely expensive but relatively small (like a laptop for instance) in the bottom of your cart. Then pile a bunch of bulky but cheap shit (like paper towels) on top. Make a HUGE scene at the cash register over... anything. Make extremely inappropriate comments about the cashier's breasts. Insist on paying in pennies... from Zimbabwe. Make a completely baseless but insistent argument about your receipt being wrong. By the time you decide to leave, they'll be so happy to see you go that they'll probably forget that you didn't put your laptop through the scanner.

Car Theft: This one gets its own mention because it would seem to go against all reason. Pick the car that has the car alarm. NOBODY takes a car alarm seriously... even if it's YOUR car. If people see you surreptitiously fiddling around with a desolate car at night, they may alert the authorities. But if you set off the car alarm of a vehicle in a store parking lot in broad daylight, you can violently smash the windows and just assure other passersby, "I locked by goddamn keys inside and this motherfucking car alarm won't shut off." They'll probably just nod their heads in understanding and walk away. Some good samaritan might even HELP you steal the car. You know what they call a guy like that... a patsy!

Commit Perjury: You know, when you say that you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help you God, that doesn't really mean anything if you don't believe in God. As long as you're sure that the police can't find fault with your testamony, choosing atheism for all of your courtroom needs is an effective and easy way to bypass any etherial retribution.

Libel / Slander: If you have any desire to completely sully the name and reputation of celebrities, take some advice from the master. Start a blog and use a convenient pseudonym. Using your actual initials and plastering your picture all over the blog might be something to avoid; however, if you ensure that your blog never makes any money, you won't have to worry about getting sued.

----------------------------------------------------------
9 out of 10 readers know that Pat Sajak is a convicted pederast!

Ten New Year's Resolutions

Because I'm too awesome to have just one.

Can I be as jubilant as this man??

My New Years' Resolutions for 2009:

10. Watch The Lord of the Rings trilogy. I haven't seen it yet, and my geeky troika is not complete having only seen every Star Wars and Star Trek movie. I'd have zero street cred at the Comic Con.

9. Lose 44 pounds... not for reasons of health or vanity, but so that I will be light enough to safely skydive out of an airplane. I'll show those aerodynamic motherfuckers who's a flight risk.

8. Become a space pirate, or failing that, a cocky omnipotent energy being who trifles with Earth starships while dressed as a 19th century fop.

7. Stop making obscure Star Trek references on my blog. The majority of people don't understand them, and the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few... or the one.

6. Find Jesus. He's always in the last place you look.

5. Find a way to spin the wheel on the Wheel of Fortune set. I've been dreaming about that since I was three years old.

4. Buy personalized license plate: "JP 4 PREZ", "HOT 4 JP", and "JP 8 PIE" are all acceptable.

3. Start smoking and then quit. It'll make me seem dedicated and responsible.

2. Help the local community by ensuring that Batmite is registered as a sex offender.

1. Create illegal counterfeiting operation should the job search not pan out.

--------------------------------

<-- Not hard to copy with the proper paper and printer... and folks in Kittanning are mighty stupid.

Man of the Quarter-Century

Today was my birthday. I turned 25. I can now legally rent a car on my own.

Having a birthday so close to Christmas is not as big a deal as some people think. Since the Christmas season is already in full swing, relatives and friends are often in a very giving mood. My birthday is also a good trial run for any sub-par gifts that may have been purchased. Was my reaction to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sweater-vest less enthusiastic than you expected (though I don't know why it would be)? Well then, Christmas is only ten days away, and you can make up for it then. (Hint: earmuffs shaped like Spock ears)

This is actually the first year that I really got to celebrate my birthday on the actual day. For as long as I can remember, December 15th was the nexus for school-related obligations. In high school, the Christmas band concert fell on December 15th every year. In college, I always seemed to have a final either on my birthday or early the next day. College professors are notoriously hostile towards "I didn't want to because I was too busy eating cake" as an excuse for not showing up to a final.

The present I got this year was a nice new coat. It's black wool coat that actually makes me look like an adult. Fashionable folks may call it a pea-coat and label me a pretentious douchebag for having it. But I look fucking good in it, and I was sensible enough to avoid asking for a scarf or emo-glasses to complete the ensemble. The coat is from London Fog, and it's warm, comfortable, and stylish. The simple elegance of its sleek design belies the cozy warmth that only a genuine London Fog garment can provide.

[London Fog representatives can make their checks payable to "JP" for this endorsement.]

Part of the fun of celebrating a full quarter-century of living is taking stock of one's life. I can recall some major milestones:
1983: JP is born. Sales of joke books in Pittsburgh skyrocket as doctors hurry to find witty comments to make at the expense of the giant baby in the maternity ward.
1986: JP gets a Teddy Ruxpin for Christmas. The chilling voice of that cursed bear still haunts my dreams.
1988: JP goes to Kindergarten. Blames friend for breaking computer even though he was the one who put the disk in backwards - first sign of his complete lack of scruples.
1990: JP enters the new decade completely unaware that he wouldn't discover the awesomeness of 80s music for another decade.
1992: JP moves from Ford City to Kittanning. New town has same smell of failure as old town.
1996: JP enters puberty. Kleenex sales skyrocket.
1998: JP goes to high school. JP begins publishing his own "newspaper" to amuse his friends with such riveting stories as "Joe is Gay!" and "School Cafeteria Puts Poop in Chili." Maturity level has not improved in ten years.
2001: JP takes over band website. JP starts internet jijad with Ford City by making inappropriate comments about their band members and insinuating that their performances were subpar. I was a fucking rebel!!
2002: JP graduates high school -ranked tenth in high school class. Currently, JP is the only one in his high school top ten to be unemployed!
2002: JP goes to Penn State Erie for college. Decides to try to be an engineer. Realizes that being an engineer requires giving a shit about engineering. Drops out of program.
2003: JP choose "English" as his undergraduate major. In an attempt to prevent the horrible events that this choice will create, Future JP goes back in time and changes the Major Declaration form to read "Super-Lucrative Business," but a clerical error keeps the plan from working.
2004: JP kills God.
2006: JP creates THE UNDESIRABLE ELEMENT. The blogosphere trembles!
2007: JP is accosted by a hobo on the Rail Trail, foiled by the Morgantown traffic court, hit on by a gay man, and he discovers that the turducken exists.
2008: The year that THE UNDESIRABLE ELEMENT will start making millions of dollars in revenue!

That's a pretty sweet life. You don't need do-overs when you once owned a Teddy Ruxpin!

So while I hope that the next 25 years promises money-dollars, a few good jobs, and perhaps something resembling a wife (inflatable and/or Russian mail-order will suffice), I certainly won't knock the life I've already had.

But who knows? Maybe in the next 25 years, I'll lose enough weight to be able to safely jump out of an airplane. A man can dream!

-------------------------------
Brought to you by Spock-themed Ear Muffs - keep your ears warm while still saying to the ladies, "Hey, I don't need you when I can channel my inner Vulcan while I pretend to explore the ice planet Hoth!"

It Suits Me

Last night I went to see the River City Brass Band at Heinz Hall. Despite the aura of cultured sophistication that I exude, this is the first time that I'd ever gone to Heinz Hall, and it gave me a great excuse to dress up for the occasion.

I don't understand why so many men have an aversion to wearing a nice shirt and tie. Personally, I like the way I look in dress clothes and especially in a suit. It's one of the things I'm most looking forward to when I eventually find gainful employment. I can look good every day. I need a dress code because I have never had any sense of fashion; most of my clothes run the gamut from plaid to also-plaid. But formal clothes for men are simple, and I always look good in them. Last night, I wore a pair of black dress pants, a nice long-sleeved gray dress shirt, a blue tie. I even gelled my hair. It's not that Heinz Hall has a strict dress code, but in my day-to-day life as a lawn mower / church secretary / unemployed bum, I seldom have an excuse to pretend to be a cultured individual.

Truth be told, I find dress clothes to be exceptionally comfortable. Unless you shop at "CORDUROY AND POLYESTER UNLIMITED," most dress clothes are made of material that feels good against the skin. While I'm sure other people at the concert were uncomfortable with me rubbing my body while quietly moaning, "Ohhh, that feels nice," I thought it was a testament to the fine craftsmanship of my clothes.

The only thing I don't like about dressing up is the shoes. I can go to any shoe store in the country, and if I want some athletic shoes, the advertisements assure me that shoe scientists have made stunning breakthroughs in the cushioning and support of feet. My toes are always roomy and have plenty of wiggle-room. Dress shoes, however, are the shoe equivalent of a hard dining room chair. Sure it serves its function, but would a cushion and a proper shape have been too much to ask for? My black dress shoes squash my toes together in a very uncomfortable manner, and if I plan to walk for more than half a mile, I better be prepared to deal with blisters and callouses the next day.

Granted, that's probably what I get for buying a pair of $10 dress shoes, but even poor people want decent arch support, god dammit!!

My friend is getting married at the end of the month, and I'm actually IN the wedding, so I get the chance to wear the ultimate in men's formal wear: the tuxedo. Not only will I look good, I can bear a striking resemblance to the largest penguin in the Antarctic! And if I get shoes that are anything like the ones I have now, I'm sure I'll waddle around like one, too.

---------------------------------
Brought to you by CORDUROY AND POLYESTER UNLIMITED: When you absolutely want to feel like you're wearing an old carpet and a shower curtain while still maintaining that sleek '70s look that never gets old.

Grounded

This image representing aerial fun and awesomeness was taken from the less interesting ground.

On Sunday, Batmite and Kim went skydiving. As you well know, your chubby author was not allowed to go skydiving due to him being a hefty aerial hazard; nevertheless, I went along to watch (and to take a series of pictures).

Click on any image to enlarge:

When we arrived at the Skydiving Center in Grove City, PA, I was a bit hesitant about hanging around on the ground all day. I figured everyone would assume that I was a coward or that I'd have to explain that I was too fat for a parachute to successfully prevent my untimely terrestrial splatter. Much to my surprise and relief, the place was pretty crowded, so I didn't attract much attention (or at least no more so than usual).

I got to tag along with Batmite and Kim during their training stuff, and fortunately boredom was never an issue. I got a big kick out of the form that they had to sign that essentially protected the company against any legal action resulting from injury, death, whiplash, or rape (more on that last one later). This five-page document had a bright orange cover with the word "WARNING!!" in huge letters at the top. You know, in case you didn't realize that jumping out of an airplane at 13,500 ft. carried some risk with it.

JP is highly annoyed at the blurriness of this picture.

After signing their lives away, one of the people there had them watch a training video. He told them to pay particular attention to the form of the skydivers as they jumped out of the plane. "Burn that image into your memory!" he told them. His pleadings might have been heeded if not for the expert on the training video who was explaining the safety tips. My biggest regret from the whole day is that I didn't take a picture of the guy, but he looked a lot like Rasputin.

Russian revolutionary, mystic, and closet parachute enthusiast

Seriously, the dude had a beard down to his knees! We couldn't stop laughing. As you might imagine, we missed a lot of what the guy said (including a long section about our legal rights), and that didn't bother me a whole lot, but Batmite and Kim seemed a bit uneasy about it after the video ended.

The video was straightforward and rather dry (aside from Rasputin), and I was hoping for something a bit more colorful. As we were waiting, I noticed a whole stack of skydiving-themed videos strewn about on the counter. One particular DVD cover caught my attention.
It was called Fixed 2 (I couldn't believe there was an original). Click on that image and read the list of extremely dangerous things that are featured on this movie. I'm most curious about "a collision with an antenna," "naked jumps," "over 35 painful malfunctions, landings, collisions, and bloopers," and the seemingly baffling hyperbole of "more insanity." How can something be more insane than this:

JP almost blocked out the R-rated material, but he figured that the air-inverted breasts had to be seen to be believed.
My apologies to anyone who's reading this at work and is now explaining this image to the boss.

Batmite and Kim, not willing to risk flapping jiggly bits and excrutiating whiplash by jumping out au natural, suited up. Kim got to wear a totally boss flight suit that looked like something out of Top Gun. Meanwhile, Batmite had to wear what looked like a plumber's onesie:

The Mushroom Kingdom has finally outsourced Mario's job.

It got even worse after they got their harnesses, caps, and goggles on:

As we were waiting for their turn in the sky, we were wandering around the building looking at the pictures and various skydiving paraphenalia. One particular shelf was filled with a huge assortment of trophies, and I was rather impressed.... until Batmite pointed out the object that was clearly out of place:
Why is there an URN on this shelf??? As a first time jumper, it did not put Batmite's mind at ease to see human remains displayed alongside their prestigious awards.

While watching so many people have fun, I was growing increasingly annoyed with my inability to jump. At one point, I declared to Batmite, "You know, I'm going to make it a personal goal to find someplace that caters to the Big and Tall skydiver." A guy who worked there overheard my declaration, and he came over to us, "Hey, let me give you guys a bit of advice. If someplace says that they specialize in jumps for bigger guys, you look them right in the eye and say, 'Thanks but no thanks,' and you walk away." He went on to explain that the reason for the weight limit is that all primary chutes can handle just about anything, but the reserve chutes are the ones that aren't rated for the husky gentleman. He said, "If I was ABSOLUTELY certain that the primary chute would open, I'd take you up myself, but it's not worth the risk." I wholeheartedly agreed, though I did wonder why he'd be more or less sure about the safety of any particular parachute. Does he go up in the plane and say, "Okay, you take this one, it's a guaranteed winner. This other one is either filled with a parachute or a set of silverware."

Another helpful informant told me that most harnesses wouldn't fit me because of my "large frame." I know they were trying to be polite, but that sounds so much worse. Body fat can be lost, but I can't exactly alter my bone structure without some serious disfigurement.

Finally, Batmite and Kim took to the skies in what appeared to be the plane from Fantasy Island.
While Mr. Roarke took them up in his sweet sky ride, I waited on the ground with the other commoners. They told me later that the plane was REALLY cramped, with nine people wedged into a space designed for maybe four. Batmite and Kim were both doing a tandem jump, which means that they were strapped to the front of experienced skydivers who would ensure their safety. Batmite was stoked that his guy allowed him to do a wicked Superman pose and a Hulk-like thunder clap.

Kim described her guy (named Dave) as being nice but a little creepy. I have to admit, Dave sounded a bit like a rapist. She said that Dave insisted that she sit on his lap in the plane, and he kept checking the clasps on the front of her harness (incidently placed right at breast level). He told her to keep her head tilted back to look at him during the jump (Batmite received no such caveat), and Dave apparently insisted that he be paired with Kim. On the way down, he complained that the harness was agitating his "area." If he was a rapist, it's a pretty convenient career option and situation. After all, who's going to start agitating the rapist skydiving expert right before you're going to drop out of an airplane with him?

"Dave may have gotten to first base, but I'm the one who raped the sky."

Both Batmite and Kim survived their escapade, and they both loved the experience (borderline molestation notwithstanding). I'm glad they had fun, but part of me was hoping that they'd land and say, "Meh... pie is more fun." (Har! Pie in the sky! I kill me!) I'm jealous of their whole experience.

Hopefully I can get in on the next adventure. Of course, fat guys are probably function as a sentient anchor during white-water rafting.

--------------------------------
Grove City Skydiving Center: No Fatties