Speaking Of Destruction...

This story isn't capturing many headlines.

Have you heard what North Korea has been up to lately? NK decided to test fire missiles, one ground-to-air and one ground-to-ship. Don't forget that they recently detonated an atomic bomb underground! All of this violates U.N. resolutions against them. Think about it, there are a lot of places that can be destroyed within missile range of their border. The leaders of U.N. countries are meeting, drawing up even more resolutions, and engaging in dramatic rhetoric. We know how our leaders feel about NK's brazen and hostile actions, but more importantly, how do we the people feel?

Look at history: rogue nations always eventually succumb to the containment of the peace seeking world, internal coup, or economic collapse. Regimes bent on world domination and enslavement haven't met much success, and on a less extreme scale, countries governed by insane modern day pirates haven't amounted to much either. Then again, when in history has any of those "axis" nations possessed weapons of mass destruction? You could argue for regimes of yore, but they weren't really of North Korea's ilk.

Kim Jong Il has either an over abundance of testicles or a hyper deficiency of brain cells. His past actions have painted him a psychotic, not a global threat to liberty. What can NK possibly have to gain by waving an atomic middle finger at the world? Perhaps they just want to be a bully, gain some respect out of fear, and force others into doing their bidding? With a nuclear threat looming over us NK may just be hoping that the world sees them as too much of a bother to deal with. "Give me a cookie or I'll shoot!"

I deal with this frequently as a pizza delivery expert. Some customers will try to out hassle me in order to get their way. Maybe they want cheaper food, or don't want to show me the credit card they used over the phone, or don't want to write their driver's license number on a check. They will fight, and sigh, and make a big to do about what I ask of them. It's so hard to write a DL number on a slip of paper. I will calmly inform them that I can wait longer than they can and will not budge, or give them their food, until I have my way, and before long, they cave and give me what I require. Knowing they had no ground to stand on to begin with, they were hoping that I didn't have the stomach to fight them back. They soon discover that I always win.

Think about it. This problem isn't going to just go away. Actions will have to be taken. If nothing is done to stop NK, they WILL have the capabilities to destroy the world in short order. It doesn't take many atomic bombs to bring about our end. It takes even fewer to cause a major hassle.

Scenario one.

NK decides to punish South Korea's attempts at combating the North Korean pirates smuggling weapons in and out of NK. What does the rest of the world do? Invade? We invade, with hopes of dethroning Kim Jong Il, and a hidden A-Bomb detonates below ground, destroying the invasion force, and kills thousands of civilians in close proximity. Radioactive fallout kills crops in China, Japan, North and South Korea, and reaches all the way to Hawaii. Water becomes undrinkable in neighboring countries, and the poisonous aftermath claims even more lives. Now the country that stepped in to stop NK just triggered a chain of events that killed millions. Was it worth it? Mr. Il may have destroyed himself, but he caused a lot of damage on the way out. What a hassle.

Scenario two.

There are people that want to see us dead. Trace it back to Xerxes, the Persian Empire, and beyond. Their mission in life is to see the collapse of western civilization and the enslavement of all who are not them. This war has been fought for over two thousand years, even though most people aren't aware of it. The declaration of war against the west, written by Xerxes' father, Darius The Great, still stands to this day and thousands of soldiers fight his eternal war. Occasionally, they strike a blow against us and remind us that this war is not over. See: 9-11. This war will not end until one side wipes out the other.

We undermine most of their sinister machinations, but on a long enough time line, they do slip one past us and we sustain a bloody nose. Try as we might, we can't stop everything. Compare them to a burglar. Really, home security systems can only prevent so much. If someone is determined enough, they will find away past your security, or just drive a truck into your living room and grab your t.v.. Anyone can kick in your front door at any moment and shoot you. Fact of life. It's not a matter of "if" it's a matter of "when." We will see more attacks. It's inevitable. Do you see where I am going with this?

How easy it would be for an evil cult, organization, or rogue militant group to acquire WMDs from NK. If that happens, then the terrorist is just a border hop away from back-pack nuking a major U.S. city. The technology exists for small portable nukes. It can happen. Considering Murphy's Law, it will happen. 9-11 happened, what's to stop something even worse? The only limit to annihilation is total annihilation. Mr. Il sticking it to us via someone else’s jihad.

Sure, those are extreme situations and a lot of things have to fall into place for any of that to come true, but draw up any other possibility and where does it lead? Peace or war? I think we are about to experience some major hardship and devastation. On the bright side, it was WWII that pulled the U.S.A. out of The Great Depression and ushered in the baby boom. This could be the kind of fright that we need.

Have you read or seen "Watchmen?" This is the story it tells. It may be sad, but it is our own fault. Most people assume that the problems of the world are taking place over seas and are there for someone else to deal with. Thanks to technology no where is safe anymore. We are at the mercy of maniacal whims and zealous fanaticism. Being realistic and aware is your best defense. The only way for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.



Love,
Smiley Grimm

:)

I Ruined Someone's Life Once

When it comes down to it, we humans are all pretty much sheep, generally speaking. We all share the same basic needs, and as such, we all live a routine that sees to it that we meet these requirements, or we perish. Sure, we try to distinguish ourselves from the herd with our clothing, hair, and the rest of that which composes our facade, but in the end we are all endlessly grazing sheep, really. Despite our best efforts at individuality, most people still fall into very uniform social groups, and the best that the worst of us can garner (or is it the worst that the best of us can garner?) is little more than fellow sheep glancing at their finely groomed wool.

There are some, though, that have denied conformity's crook and elevated themselves amongst the herd. Whether intentionally, such as braving the edge of the world in sailing unknown seas, or unintentionally, like the discovery of penicillin; great efforts, discoveries, and remarkable accomplishments define those who are a sheering above, or below, the rest of us.

So it was that I achieved something that not many can claim and became: "The Great Ruiner."

Greetings.

I was in ninth grade junior high, trying to sleep through another day of classes, when cosmic forces conspired to wreak havoc on an otherwise peaceful slumber. This was a pivotal time in my life, where I began that journey that would make me who I am today, and this moment is one of many pieces that construct the whole of my array.

You see, one of my least favorite periods of the day was drama class. The teacher was a wretched, crooked, old crone, that we will call Ms. Gnarl, and she liked nothing better than tormenting me with work, assignments, and interrupted sleep. Not only did she carry with her always a cloud of bile stench, she spat venom when she spoke, and sharpened her talons on the fat kids who couldn't act very well. The chubby ones probably sated her voracious appetite better than the puny ones, like me, but she tried to make room for me on plenty of occasions. She also carried with her a gullet full of spite, probably because there were no knights in the kingdom bold enough to tame that wild beast, and showered her pupils with misdirected frustration.

Since Ms. Gnarl was keeping me awake, to critique various acting performances with the rest of the class, I chose to turn my A.D.D. onto something else and doodled away on a sheet of paper. The lighting was low, illumination came only from stage, reflecting off the oily faces of the acne-ridden youths, so my usually shoddy art was even worse than usual. On stage, the lone female thespian wailed over some tragic tale and flopped about like a fish that was both demonically possessed and suffocating on air. Low lights + distracting bad acting = awful drawings. In disgust I decided to abandon my failure of art and throw away my sheet of paper.

In our drama class we had a rule about staying seated during a show. I couldn't get up and toss away my balled up piece of paper. Figuring myself a genius, I decided to take a shot at the trash can from about five desks away, thus adhering to the "stay seated" rule and disposing of my trash at the same time. Brilliant! I wasn't even ten feet from the garbage bin, how could I miss, right? If I did, so what, the balled up paper would be there waiting for me when I was allowed to stand up. Harmless...

With a cock of the wrist, a furrow of the brow, and a quick mental calculation I let fly my ball of paper in a shot that would have made Jordan proud. The trajectory was flawless and I was already smiling to myself. Job well done, chap, you just scored at the buzzer securing the championship. The crowd goes wild! Only, it didn't go quite like that.

I somehow failed to notice a water plug jutting from the ceiling, you know, those water spraying angels that loom overhead in case of a fire; it had another idea in mind. My ball of paper banked off the plug and now committed toward the stage. The girl onstage was standing tall, delivering the performance of the millennium, I'm sure, when a wad of paper struck her atop the cranium, not once, but twice bouncing straight up and down before falling aside like her dreams and aspirations. There the ball of paper lay, at the feet of the thespian, a monument of my doom.

Needless to say, this brought the house down.

The girl ran from the room, crying, and flailed upon the lockers in the school hallway. The lights came on and fingers were pointing here and there, but no one yet knew it was me that launched the paper projectile. No one, save for one person.

"Dude, did you mean to throw that at her?" asked a sympathetic voice from the jock in the adjacent desk.

"No, I was aiming for the trash. It hit the water plug in the ceiling!" I whispered.

The jock rose and pointed at me exclaiming, "It was Smiley, and he meant to do it!"

I was dragged by the scruff of my neck by Ms. Gnarl, probably not dissimilar to the way she ensnares a possible mate, and thrown into the hallway where the thespian still bemoaned her tragic existence.

The thespian cried to Ms. Gnarl about how her life was ruined and she would never be the same ever again. To which I responded with sarcasm and apathy like gasoline to a fire. I never knew my hands were so powerful, and that with the flick of the wrist I could destroy someone's life, forever! Apparently so.

I was called all manner of foulness, written up, sent to the office, and ultimately banned from drama class. I was cast away like Satan, and also like Satan, I would personally see to the corruption of the sheep.

This little incident followed me home, where I was beaten by my loving father, mostly because Ms. Gnarl called me "white trash," and was exiled to endless amounts of after-school detention and punishments. Through all the fallout that ensued, I stood strong and reveled in the fact that I had broken the crook around my neck, or at least came closer to doing so. The world around me was unraveling, a life was ruined, and it all stemmed from a quirk of geometry and a ball of paper. Did they not realize this too? Somehow they made a ball of paper into an atom bomb. Despite the abuse and retaliations, I laughed at the sheep. So much chaos, so much fun!

There is a person walking the earth these days whose life I ruined. No one else can ruin that life, I did it. I distinguished myself against the herd and they were sent reeling. Or did I?

Perhaps it wasn't me, but rather, the snowball effect of witch hunts and prejudice? It wasn't really my fault that the thespian got hit with a ball of paper, but no one believed me or would even consider the possibility of accident, I just had to be made example of.

“A ball of paper you say!? By God, man, that is evil incarnate!”

My attitude towards those who already had it out for me didn't help any, I had one foot in the grave to begin with, but it was amusing how everyone let so small a thing blow up and send the herd scattering.

Maybe the herd just needed an excuse to run around and act all panicky? In which case, I am happy to have helped. We all need exercise and release. How is the wool these days?

Love,

Smiley Grimm

Lady Jane Grey

After two or three exceedingly long posts, I feel I owe you one that can be easily consumed like a bite sized candy bar. While you are at it, consider opposable thumbs.





You're welcome.

SG

Can I Get A Mulligan? Pt. 1

Whoever says that they have lived a life of no regrets is a bloody liar. Surely, we all have some instance of idiocy or debauch that we wish we could undo. Sadly, life is not a dry-erase board. We lack the ability, thus far, to time travel or slip into alternate dimensions. As of the time of this writing, we have to live with the choices we make and the feelings of guilt that pervade our labored existence. I would argue that it is healthy to look in the mirror and mull over our past mistakes, question our questionable choices, debate our debatable decisions, and face up to our face losing fallacies. So begins this installment of Can I Get A Mulligan?

What A Bunch Of Garbage!

I was fourteen. It was a warmer season of '95. I stood in line at a music retailer for an autograph session of the thrash metal band Anthrax. This meet and greet was a big deal for my friends and I. In fact, my super awesome mom pulled me out of school a couple hours early in order for me to meet the band. I managed to kidnap a buddy out of drama class (which was another adventure, for a later day...) and drag him with me to meet our metal heroes. Little did we know at the time that this day would be referred to as one of the greatest days of our lives.

This music store, that the signing session was being held in, was a nation wide chain that no longer exists. You may remember the dearly departed Blockbuster Music. It was a pretty sweet store for its day. In the center of the large CD complex was a listening station, formed of two concentric circles of counters and displays, where a fellow could sample any album in the store before buying. It ruled. As a method of advertising, Blockbuster would pre-load albums, spinning at each listening station, to help promote the hot artists of the day. The line to meet Anthrax snaked its way around this circular listening station, conveniently exposing impressionable young minds with money, such as I, to the succor of CD sampling and inevitable impulse buying.

Though, I wasn't allured by the first few CDs I saw displayed in the listening stations, I was reminded by the new releases that Motorhead had just dropped a new album. I managed to snag their new album (Sacrifice) on my way out. Man, now that was a killer record!

As our sampler train neared its Anthrax destination and rounded the last bend, my friend and I happened upon a display for an up and coming band named Garbage. We laughed heartily at the band name, and let forth countless jokes and puns that, in hindsight, were probably so obvious and contrived that the other people waiting in line wanted to strangle us. But who cares about them. Coincidentally, the word "Garbage" was a utility word at the time for my peers and I, similar to how people these days pepper each sentence with "like," "ya know," and "that's gay," which added to the fun and my strange attraction to the glowing pink cover of that fateful disc.

You know you want it.

This Garbage album just so happened to be their self-titled debut which, you should remember, went on to sell over two million copies worldwide. It was a smash hit featuring cuts that are still heard on pop stations to this day, fourteen years later. I remember holding the CD case, reading the back of the package, listening to a brief sample of a song, and setting it back in its display utterly dismissing it with cocksure elitism.

Mulligan!

You see, I would be lying if I told you that I wasn't a little entranced by the melodious sounds issuing forth from the headphone speakers. Shirley Manson's voice was that of a siren, and my heart and will was hopelessly wrecked upon the reef of some forlorn Island of Fools. The cover art of that debut album depicted a bed of bright pink feathers and my soul was resting woefully upon it. But no, a metal head can't like pop music! For shame! I became a prudish Quaker and turned away from my first glimpse of an exposed ankle because I liked it too much. I tried, in vain, to expel this experience from my brain and carried on with an absolutely fabulous day.

Later that evening, after securing our Anthrax autographs and fresh new Motorhead, we partied like people who had no concept of what partying is, unsupervised and uninhibited, and lived a tale for another time. Know this, though, Garbage stalked me for the remainder of that day. I would see a car on the street and think Garbage; a computer and think Garbage; television and Garbage; a plate of bacon, Garbage; an overflowing trash can and think....you guessed it...drinking Pepsi!

Time has a way of healing wounds, and I eventually got to the point where I could look at a pile of soda cans without weeping, but like the appalling results of the trifecta of too many jalapenos, onions, and confectionary, something disturbing and wholly unpleasant festered within my bowels: regret.

Years later, while a student under the tutelage of a tremendous bass guitar teacher, I was once again introduced to Garbage. My bass teacher had just acquired their second album, Version 2.0, and was very excited about it. He was a huge fan and had followed the career of the band and its members since a time before the band even existed. In fact, he had met the band members on several occasions, and even hung out with the lead singer in a social capacity. Oh yes, he regaled me with backstage stories, samples of their new album, and photos of his adventures with the band. Like, whoa! 2.0 went on to sell even more copies than their self titled debut. Garbage was everywhere now, infecting my being like a happy cold bug that keeps you out of school.

Just give in.

I managed to suppress my desires for a bunch of years. A decade lulled on, my parents got divorced, I was expelled twice from school before graduating, and life sort of chewed me up and threw me into a pile of...trash. Then Rock Band came out for the Xbox 360. Rock Band is a music game, just like Guitar Hero, that features the music of famous bands for you to sing and fake-play along with. Now, in order to play the game, unlock achievements, and entertain a group of people that didn't like me yet were hanging out at my apartment anyway, I had to listen to a whole Garbage song, and not only that, I had to sing it. This was the telephone pole that broke the camel's back.

After singing along to "I Think I'm Paranoid," as well as playing along on a plastic guitar controller, I was undeniably smitten. Now, though, I could finally admit it. In short order, that Garbage song became my favorite to play, much to the chagrin of those in earshot, and I knew it was time to buy their albums. It only took twelve years for me to reach this conclusion. Better late than never. So, I did. I jammed those discs out, driving everyone insane, and loved every minute of it.

Regret still pains me, even more so now, because I realized how foolish I was to deny something I so craved. I could have seen them perform live so many times. I could have been there to buy their albums on the day of each release. Now, at this late stage of their career, they may never tour again. The band has been on hiatus since their last album, "Bleed Like Me," and it has been said by the band themselves that they may never release another album or tour. I am a freaking idiot.

Just a few days ago I bought the last piece of the Garbage collection that I needed. The last thing they released was a DVD featuring almost all of their music videos, as well as an in depth behind the scenes documentary. I abstained from buying this because it felt good knowing there was some Garbage out there that I had yet to taste. Now that I have it, and have plucked it clean of all its tasty morsels, there is no more. Why didn't I enjoy them when I had the chance? Screw me sideways ten times!

Has this long winded introspection garbage actually been therapeutic? Nah. Self help is so, like, ya know, gay.

Love,

Smiley Grimm

:)

Fun With Real History, Pt. 1

My mother probably wishes she had more opportunity to embarrass me in front of people with old photos and stories of my childhood. It's too bad that there aren't many pictures of me and even fewer stories that she is even aware of. Also, there is no one to share any of that with. I can count my friends with three fingers and none of them have met my mother. No problem. I can embarrass me for you!

The Virtual Nakedness

Remember when Virtual Reality (VR) was a big deal in the mid 90's? Being a twelve year old video game junky at the time when it became accessible to the masses, I certainly remember it quite well. My Pops dug it too, and one day he decided to take me and one of my former friends to a giant technology retail outlet to play VR games. I had played VR before and had shared stories of my virtual triumphs to all my chums, and now it was time for one such friend to join me in digital heroics.

Before we arrived at the store my buddy posited an unusual idea in my ignorant brain. He wanted to know what virtual nakedness looked like. Frankly, now that he mentioned it, I did too. How did it all work anyhow?

Let me explain.

VR was new, we were young, and I have never claimed to be a genie, er genius. The VR we played required the player to don a simple suit of wires and sensors, a helmet that obscured the real world with a bright internal video display, and hold a toy gun with buttons on it. The player then stood upon, and played within, a big dais with railings to keep them from falling out and looking even more ridiculous. We didn't know how it worked at all. We just knew it rocked!

This was my bud's plan: at some point during our match he would open his pants and behold his (thankfully) low resolution male anatomy...in front of the throngs of people watching us play. Yeah, we specialized in flawed logic.

So, we two wronged our way right into those VR suits and got ready to play.

The game was called "H.E.R.O." The two competing players, my friend and I, had to scour through four small virtual universes (levels) and find the four hidden letters that spell "hero." One letter per level and the first to find them all wins. There was a ten minute time limit and whoever had the most when time ran out won if the game hadn't finished yet. We had guns and could shoot each other if we came across one another during the course of the game.


Virtual Reality: where man becomes rodent.

Hundreds looked on as we stepped blindly into the great virtual unknown. What they saw before them were two frothing youths eager to kill, win, and discover what a virtual "pee-pee" looks like. My dad watched from the crowd.

When the game began, I found myself standing alone on a cross shaped platform floating in space. At the end of each arm of the cross was a numbered wooden door. I chose door one and charged full speed through it, determined to win the game and attain virtual godhood. On the other side of the door was a vast jungle, replete with shiny golden sunlight, monkeys in trees, and a meandering river. Noticing several wooden rafts flowing down the river I ran towards it.

The river ran over a cliff, which I peered over. I noticed that the raft acted as a physics defying elevator which lead to a valley in which I could see a sparkling letter "H" nestled in a tree among the bananas and monkeys. In a crowd pleasing display of virtual prowess I leapt from the cliff to a raft, plummeting hundreds of feet down to the valley below. I climbed from the river bank and snagged the "H" to a chorus of real world applause.

Suddenly, with a George Lucas transitional wipe, I was back in space staring at the three remaining doors. I plowed through the second door into a world of pastel blues and yellows. Before I could gather myself a giant shoe nearly crushed me. The shoe was attached to a giant human and the world I was in was that of a giant kitchen. Across the room I could see, in a mouse trap large enough to kill me, a golden "E."

I was a mouse. Not just any mouse. I was ninja mouse.

I bobbed. I weaved. I dodged giant feet, giant brooms, and finally the giant guillotine like swing of the mouse trap to attain my gilded prize.



Back in space two doors remained and the crowd was on fire. I knew my time for greatness was nigh upon us.

Into world three I trod. A world so grand and breathtaking, so sublime and utterly mind-blowing, I can't for the life of me recall what it was like. It’s not important. Know this: I emerged once again, amid the cheers of the people watching, an unstoppable demon with another letter on my belt.

One letter remained, and "O" what a letter it was. Time was ticking away so with alacrity I charged on!

I crashed through the final door into a catacomb. Deep dark tunnels stretched out before me and my VR handler person yelled to me that no one had managed to assemble all the letters before and no one had made it through world number four. I ran. Spikes, saws, snakes, and pits tried to stop me. Traps sprung under feet, above my head, and all around me. I avoided them all. I was going to do this. I would be the hero no matter what.

To my surprise the ground, without warning, gave way beneath me and I fell into a hallway below. The crowd held their breath, fearing that I was done for. My quick reflexes and determination saved my life and I avoided the dangers below me, finding safe footing. Even better, gleaming on a pedestal, not but twenty feet before me, sat the "O." This was it.

The crowd cheered me on. The VR handler person cheered me on. The people had elected me as their champion, nay, as their anointed king, and I would lead them into a future brighter than any Arthur could have possibly dreamed of!

Emerging from a doorway halfway between me and my prize stood my antithesis. My buddy stood before me, eyeing the "O" same as me, but he had a different goal in mind. I don't know why but I crouched down, perhaps recoiling from danger, and sure enough, my instincts were correct.

I was staring at his low-res, blocky back side from around ten feet away. He stood there with his head looking down, seemingly unaware that I was behind him. I saw his hands reach for his hips and then he too knelt. The crowd went silent. The only noises in the entire building were the seldom heard expletives coming from the mouth of my father. Then an electric chorus of laughter, jeering, and shock gripped the crowd.

I seized the moment, raised my gun, and shot my poor buddy in his back. His pixel bits splashed upon the walls of the virtual dungeon and I grabbed the "O" with not but three seconds remaining. I did it! I won!

Giant jumbotrons displayed my accomplishments, I was god sized and beaming before the masses of people who cheered me on. Their attention, I quickly realized, was transfixed on my friend who was being dragged away, half dressed. Silent and alone I made my way back into the crowd and left the building without any fanfare or accolades. Bummer, dude.

Yes, I shot my friend while he was trying to see his virtual "self." He never forgave me for that.

Doesn't matter. I know I am a H.E.R.O.

Love,

SG

:)

Oscillating Obstreperousness

There are no problems in life, only varying degrees of challenges. Always keep in mind that after you jump one hurdle there are more to follow. Learn to enjoy the sport and you will never succumb to the trials before you.

I am pretty fortunate to live a simple mostly carefree life. Though, like anyone, I wish the die would roll more in my favor from time to time. My computer died again despite the heroic efforts of my technologically inclined friend. He has valiantly, yet futilely, toiled away on that beast like a Hollywood cosmetic surgeon trying to keep a forgotten, pilled up, prehistoric actress from showing too many wrinkles and saggy extra chins. Like those fallen starlets we should be cognizant of when its time to put our relics out to pasture. I will remedy my computer troubles by buying a new laptop. I have started saving and am over halfway there, sweet!

I wrote a few blogs back about getting robbed while on the job. Good times. Well, I got robbed again. Unfortunately, this time I don't have the satisfaction of having hit my assailant or almost killing him with a knife. That evil puke was smart enough to bring his gun and shove it in the faces of my co-workers and myself. All I could do was helplessly watch as he ran away with all the cash my store had generated that day. I haven't been that pissed in a long time.

Having survived a less than perfect childhood, as well as many other high adrenaline moments throughout my life, has given me nerves of steel and I was fully in control of my faculties while having a gun pointed at me. Doesn't everyone wonder from time to time what they would do and how they would react in extreme situations? My list of extreme situations is getting shorter every day. That is twice now in five months that I have been robbed. Time for a new job? Nay, I say! I found where all the action is!

My band has seen better days, arguably. Our drummer quit on us. He cites the physical demands of playing heavy metal and the repetitive nature of his role as a drummer being the primary reasons for his departure. Apparently practicing two days a week and playing a live show every other week was too hard on him and got in the way of his potato chip eating habits. He tried to blame the rest of my band mates, none more so than me, for holding him back and limiting his creative freedom, but, I busted his arguments almost as badly as he busts his pants with his ever growing waistline. He had to admit that he was just too lazy to carry on. Being cognizant, we loosed our cow into the pasture to cud until his brethren come home. Bitter much? Nah.

2009 has been mildly daunting thus far but there has been plenty of good to balance with the bad. For example: I finally bought my new 50 inch 1080p plasma HDTV! Awesome Zen! Now I can play my video games in their full resolution and colorful beauty. People like to argue HDTV specs, such as LCD vs. Plasma and screen size (yawn), but I am content with my purchase and confident I found the right HD for me. Suck it!

I have my looks (ha!), my health (rock!), and my blog (eh!?) so all is swell. I haven't raced far enough yet to reach the finish line, but the fact that I am still here leaping higher and farther over each daily hurdle is a triumph in my eyes and I can't wait for more.

Bring it.

SG

:)

I Think I am The Dumbest Person On Earth

I was going to write a Blog today (as its been like, forever), but I decided that I would rather go buy some used books. So I will keep this brief.

Do you ever find yourself wondering if you are the only smart person on the planet, or at the very least you are the least dumb? Have you considered that maybe everyone else is smart and you are dumb and you are just too dumb to realize this? It's all relativity.