It Doesn't Make Cents to Me

Would somebody please explain the economic crisis to me in 500 words or less?

While I don't follow the news, politics, stock tickers, or anything relevant to the world with any regularity, I try to stay relatively informed on a general level. I stop by CNN.com to browse through the big stories, I watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report (because I'd much rather be entertained than knowledgeable), and I'll read a newspaper every once in awhile. The news often baffles me in a "how can people be so stupid?" kind of way, but I can usually grasp the gist of what they're talking about.

Until this stock market collapse hit the news.

I don't understand a word of it. As far as I gather, a bunch of companies who deal in mortgages went tits up because they were promising more than they could deliver. These companies are somehow vital to the American economy, so President Bush proposed to give them 700 billion dollars to bail them out. Congress didn't want the money to be given with no oversight, so they revised the bill. Congress then rejected the bill they wrote themselves and started blaming each other for failing to do anything.

What the fuck is going on???

I never understood economics, and I still don't. Just today I had to go to Wikipedia in order to find out what "finance charges" are and why they're on my credit card bill. Now I'm being told by everyone on TV that I should vote for the presidential candidate with the best economic plan. Far be it from me to disagree with the TV, but I don't know how to pull that off. I may know the syntactic differences between "money," moneys," and "monies," but I don't know how any of them factor into an economic plan. Obama or McCain could pop on TV and say, "My plan is to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow," and I'd be going, "You know what? This guy's using his head!"

Unless you have a degree in Finance (I'm looking at you, Virgil), I don't see how the vast majority of American voters can be expected to understand what's going on. Look, I'm really trying here. I want to understand, but I don't think there's much hope for me.

The economy is just too damn complex. For instance, I was listening to This American Life on the NPR podcast the other day (JP outs himself as a closet hipster), and I learned that apparently you can buy and sell stocks that don't exist, and that's totally legal (short selling). It's only illegal if you fail to deliver your hypothetical stocks to the buyer that you've never met (naked short selling). And that's just one of the bizarre little tidbits of finance that seem batshit insane to me.

As I understand it, economies must expand and contract. They can't just grow and grow forever. I also learned once that there are now safeguards in the stock markets to prevent a catastrophic collapse like the one that happened in 1929. It seems to me that the economy may take a downturn for awhile, but there doesn't seem to be a reason for this particular downturn to be the harbinger of the downfall of Western civilization. I truly don't understand how Merrill Lynch going out of business is going to shatter the economy. Why was our economy being balanced on the whims of a few CEOs in the first place then? Why would giving 700 billion dollars (under any conditions) to companies who fucked their shit up in the first place be a good idea? Isn't that like rewarding lousy work? Isn't that like giving a Masters Degree to someone who didn't do any of the reading for his classes?

Wait... never mind.

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The Stock Market - Much simpler when it was simply the place to buy your soup base.

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.

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Grove City Skydiving Center: No Fatties

Avast Ye Scurvy Readers!

Yo ho and shiver me timbers, ye landlubbers! I'll bet ye didn't even remember that today (September 19th) be International Talk Like a Pirate Day! Ye be treadin' a mighty slim plank if ye don't heed me warnings. Fill yer talkin' with all manner of pirate lingo today, saavy?

Jewish pirates get ye some bonus points! Ahoy vey!

So find ye some worthy grog, batten down the hatches, and marvel at me urchins, me hearties; else ye be seein' the dark side of Davy Jones' Locker!

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Yarrrr!!! Pirates don't waste precious rape and pillage time with italicized conclusions.

Rate My Nostalgia

I saw a commercial today for the new movie Beverly Hills Chihuahua, and I thought to myself, "This must be the most ridiculous live-action movie that anyone has ever made. I can't believe that any actor would agree to be in it." Having nothing better to contemplate, my mind started to question that statement by recalling quite a list of terrible live-action movies that I had seen as a child.

I honestly think that any of these movies could give Beverly Hills Chihuahua a run for its money. And I only considered live-action movies because actors actually have to risk ruining their reputations by appearing onscreen. Nobody gives a shit if Dom DeLuise voiced the fat orange cat in Fievel Goes West, but I guarantee that Sarah Jessica Parker gets grief for starring as the "sexy witch" in Hocus Pocus. I'd like to know how you'd all rate these movies... from best to worst. Is there a worse one that isn't on the list? Is there a personal gem on this list that's not getting the respect that it deserves?

I have provided the primary actors for each one because I think it adds a little something. Some of them dropped completely off the Hollywood radar and see their movie as a pinnacle of achievement while others used these masterpieces as a springboard to stardom.

THE WORST LIVE-ACTION MOVIES THAT I SAW AS A CHILD:

Dunston Checks In (Jason Alexander and Faye Dunaway)
Operation Dumbo Drop (Danny Glover, Ray Liota, Denis Leary, and Doug E. Doug)
Angels in the Outfield (Danny Glover, Tony Danza, and Christopher Lloyd)
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III (the one where they go back in time) (Elias Koteas)
Blank Check (Brian Bonsall and Miguel Ferrer)
That Darn Cat (Christina Ricci and Doug E. Doug)
Casper (Christina Ricci and Bill Pullman)
Flubber (Robin Williams)
Air Bud (Kevin Zegers and Buddy the Dog)
Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey (Voices of Don Ameche, Sally Field, and Michael J. Fox)
Flight of the Navigator (Joey Cramer, Sarah Jessica Parker, and the voice of Paul Ruebens)
Ernest Goes to Jail (the only one of the series that I've seen) (Jim Varney)
Hocus Pocus (Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Kathy Najimy)
3 Ninjas (Michael Treanor, Max Elliott Slade, Chad Power, and Victor Wong)
The Mighty Ducks (Emilio Estevez.... 'nuff said)

I have to feel bad for Sarah Jessica Parker, Doug E. Doug, Christina Ricci, and Danny Glover. They actually have the distinction of being in more than one of these cinematic abortions.

I await your rankings.

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3 out of 4 readers feel that JP just raped their childhoods. The last reader would simply classify it as "inappropriate touching."

The Morgantown Shuffle

What most of my vacations look like.

This weekend I went to Morgantown for a few days to visit friends and, to some extent, for something different to do. Carousing around Kittanning every day can become somewhat monotonous after awhile. Also, with limited funds and rules against my jumping out of airplanes, I figured that this would be considered something of a vacation... from my job of mowing lawns that I've had for two weeks and my extremely unsuccessful job search.

The only problem with visiting my friends in Morgantown is that they're not all necessarily friends with each other. Batmite came into Morgantown too (which is part of my reason for going when I did), and the two of us are friends with almost 15 people there, and while they're all in the English department and are vaguely aware of each other, they don't hang out in their free time. Most of them are just too damn busy. Batmite and I may have BSed our way through countless books and seminar papers, but many of our friends did things the hard way (i.e. the honorable and honest way), so they tend to have less time for mingling with the entire department.

I've always found this dynamic curious because my friends in Kittanning are all essentially part of a massive supergroup that functions just as well with two or ten people. This is part of the curse and charm of the small town I suppose.

Batmite and I were fairly lackadaisical in planning our rounds to the Morgantown friend circle, and so some people got short shrift (Virgil and A.J. come to mind). With any luck I can make it up to them in future visits or in the form of a boisenberry pie in the mail. We did manage to meet up with quite a few people, and while we didn't do anything astonishingly exciting, it was nice to simply chit-chat and catch up with everyone. I'd also be lying if I said that there wasn't some part of me that was both smug and envious about all of them still going to or teaching at WVU. I'm glad I don't have to take grad classes anymore, but I do miss having that kind of constant interaction in the academic process.

One of the nice things about hanging out with a whole slew of English majors is that it forces me to raise the bar of my verbal sparring. In Kittanning, I like to think that I'm the cleverest sumbitch in the county (though I'm sure my closest friends - who are certainly damned clever in their own ways - will be happy to prove me wrong), but English majors are used to witty banter and sarcastic humor. I enjoy being the big fish in the small verbiage pond of Kittanning, but it's nice to have people to keep you honest. My friends have razor sharp wit that puts mine to shame and aren't afraid to direct it at your well-deserving author. Of course, like the asshole that I am, I take my newfound zingers to the Kittanning bars and lord them over my friends like the pretentious douchebag that I am.

Lest you think Morgantown is some sort of intellectual mecca (though if you've read this blog at all, I don't see how you could come to such a conclusion), I must admit that a healthy chunk of my Friday afternoon was spent at the Morgantown DMV. Batmite needed a valid driver's license, and since West Virginia was his only permanent residence, he had to get it there. I came along as his "ride" because the DMV tends to frown on people *driving* there to take a driving test. Looking at the parade of genetic misfortunes in that building drove home (pardon the pun) just how alike Kittanning and Morgantown really are. I then realized that as a 6'5" 285 lb. man hanging out at the DMV with his short brown hetero-man-friend discussing the intricacies of comic book continuity, I was hardly in a position to judge these people as looking unusual. Except for this toothless old fat woman in tight magenta spandex... I can say with certainty that I'm better than her.

Side Note: Batmite failed his driving test because he can't parallel park (HAR HAR!). I'll let him tell that story on his own blog.

Another fun thing that I learned is that adults love Spongebob Squarepants more than children do. In one of the places I stayed, my friends have a year-old baby, and so the parents watch a lot of children's TV. We all agree that Spongebob is too damned clever for its audience. In fact, there were times when the baby wasn't even in the room that we were still watching the damn show. This didn't come as much of a surprise for me. Batmite and I would watch Spongebob for embarassingly long periods of time in our own apartment. I was just amazed to see how widespread the phenomenon is.

Maybe we English majors aren't as classy as we think. :)

I'll definitely be going back to Morgantown soon, though I'm not sure exactly when. I lead a busy life with my important career, ridiculously hot and rich wife, and mammoth house. But I'm sure I can find some time to scamper down there for a visit.

I'm a man torn between two towns.

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Vacations - Surprisingly more enjoyable (and cheap) when you're going somewhere familiar. The surroundings may not be exciting, but you don't have to spend hours figuring out where to go and what to do.

Into Fat Air

I was presented with an interesting opportunity over the weekend. I was asked if I wanted to jump out of an airplane in three weeks.

A friend of mine from Morgantown wanted Batmite and me to go parachuting with her and her friends in Grove City. Apparently, this is something that she's always wanted to do, and she figured she had no real reason to put it off any longer. I have to admit, I never really gave the concept much consideration for two reasons: 1) I'm terrified of heights. 2) I don't want to die.

My initial reaction, as you might imagine, was something along the lines of, "I'm not jumping out of a fucking airplane with just a piece of nylon keeping me from plummeting to the ground like the lumpy mass that I am." I don't remember much from high school physics, but I remember that gravity is the mother of all forces, and I can barely handle a kitchen magnet, which is like the retarded second-cousin of all forces. As longtime readers may know, my flight experience is extremely limited, and I always assumed that my first real ride in airplane would involve me landing with it - not bailing halfway through with a cocky 20-something professional skydiver strapped to my back.

But after talking it over with Batmite and thinking it over for awhile, I started to reconsider. My life as I know it can be painfully dull most of the time, and exciting events aren't littering my memory. The opportunity to leap out of a flying craft seemed like something that I wouldn't seek out on my own. Worst of all, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if everyone else went and had a blast while I stayed at home playing Scrabble. And I figured that with a professional skydiver strapped to me, I'd have nothing to worry about. I'd probably scream like a little girl, but I'd be safe.

So I got all pumped up about it. I was really keyed up to go. In my excitement, I decided to check out more about this skydiving place on the internet - see some pictures and learn about what they do. After browsing through a few pages, I discovered the following fact: I'm too fat to skydive.

Apparently, you have to be under 230 pounds to go parachuting, and I am.... considerably more than that. Presumably, fat objects may not slow down too well with their equipment at 3500 ft. I must admit that I was annoyed to say the least. Of all the things to keep me from jumping out of an airplane, it had to be that I was too fat. And it's not like I can reasonably achieve that goal either. Right now I weigh 285 lbs (give or take an exaggeration). At 6'5", I would have to be in INCREDIBLE shape to weigh 230 pounds - we're talking sleek and cut here. I'll be lucky if I can achieve my goal weight of 250 lbs within the next year let alone trying to trim down to 230. I guess skydiving is not something I can expect to do anytime soon.

And I have to admit that I'm surprised. The military drops mammoth crates of food with parachutes to all of those third-world countries on a daily basis. NASA brings men back from the moon by letting a massive capsule parachute into the ocean. And what about that movie Operation: Dumbo Drop? If a goddamn elephant can fall from the sky and land unharmed, I want the same opportunity. If Hollywood is lying to me when they claimed that an elephant could go skydiving, then I don't want to know the truth!

It seems my dreams of plummeting from the sky will have to wait for another day. The drudgery of ground life will have to suffice for now.

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When life gives you lemons... throw them at the Grove City Skydiving Center.

Proper Mow-tivation

Due to circumstances well within my control, I have yet to find a full-time job. The monotony of doing random chores at home while procrastinating my job search certainly had its moments; however, I soon came to realize that I'd have to bite the bullet and find some sort of temporary employment in order to get some money. Not working has a way of making one's checking account rather barren. My dad had been giving me some odd jobs here and there, but my skills aren't particularly diverse in the contracting field. So I have made a graceful (or perhaps "grass-ful" if you'll accept a pun that's even worse than the title) return to the job that I did during the summers in college: mowing my neighbor's lawn.

Mowing a single lawn doesn't seem like it would warrant a full time job, but you haven't seen this place. This mammoth house sits on a hilltop that overlooks most of Kittanning, and my employers own this entire hill. We're talking about a huge plot of land here. Furthermore, these two have a considerable amount of money, and they've spent a nice portion of it landscaping their property. There is a lot of stuff to maintain, and I'm their go-to guy. I didn't work for them last summer because I was taking classes, but for the three summers prior to that, you could find me on a tractor or behind a weedeater making short work of undesirable herbage.

I swore I'd never work for them again. Mowing an entire hill isn't exactly easy, and I'm usually content with my slothfully sedentary lifestyle. Also, Mr. Employer would often ride my ass about every little detail of the job. "Oh JP, those cannas look like they were planted a little off-center. It would be lovely if they could all be lined up." "Oh JP, I'd really appreciate if that mammoth stack of wood that you just piled up could be seven boards across instead of eight." And he'd always use this damned soothing voice, too, so you'd feel like a dick arguing with him. I later discovered that he did this intentionally because that's exactly the effect he wanted. I imagine he was quite the shrewd businessman back in the day.

But I had to admit, Mr. and Mrs. Employer had always been really nice to me, their pay was fair (*cough* untaxed *cough*), and the hours were always flexible. So I figured working for them for a little while to earn some extra cash couldn't hurt. It's actually quite nice now. When I stopped working for them two years ago, they replaced me with my younger brother and some high school kid. My brother did a good job, but this other kid became a huge pain in the ass and fucked up everything on a daily basis. He reportedly broke every piece of equipment at least once and would regularly ignore directions. This, incidentally, made me look awesome by comparison. When my brother left for college last week, they were more than happy to have me back. And since I now seem to have expert-status, Mr. Employer simply leaves me to my work. It's still hotter than hell riding on that tractor in the middle of the day, but my pasty skin could use the sun... or at the very least, the radiation therapy for my skin cancer could cause me to lose weight in the most excruciating manner imaginable.

I'm working slightly above part-time because I still want to devote enough time to my job applications (in theory, anyway), but it's nice to have some legitimate currency coming my way without it being a handout from the government or from a mysterious mustachioed man in a top hat who kept calling it a "bank error in my favor."

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The Undesirable Element would like to welcome its new readers from the Wilkes-Barre retirement home for the terminally ill. Loyal fans like you are a dying breed.