The Rug, the Robot, and the Slow Death of My Sanity

Let me start by saying I am not anti-technology. I embrace innovation. I believe in progress. I own a Bluetooth meat thermometer, which occasionally reminds me that I have no business cooking poultry. I have a smart lightbulb that only obeys me when it feels like it. I once tried one of those posture-correcting devices that beeps when you slouch, only to chuck it into a drawer within 48 hours because it turns out I slouch constantly and I don’t need a tiny plastic tyrant telling me so.

But no piece of technology has brought me more frustration, more existential despair, more quietly muttered threats, than my robot vacuum. And none of it would be happening if not for the rug.

Now, let’s be clear: I did not choose this rug. The rug was gifted to me by Vince, my dear friend who, for all his redeeming qualities, has the aesthetic sensibilities of a 19th-century mystic experiencing a vision in a candlelit cave. It is an aggressive rug. A violent swirl of rust orange, jaundiced yellow, and whatever color results from trying to mix despair with bad decisions. Vince, naturally, thinks it’s stunning. “This belongs in your home,” he declared upon presenting it to me, which is the kind of thing someone says when they know an item belongs nowhere but can’t bear to admit it.

Now, a stronger person might have said, “No, Vince, take this back to the dimension from which it escaped.” But unfortunately, I am weak. I value friendship. And so, the rug stayed. And with it came the problem.

Every evening, my robot vacuum attempts the same misguided quest. It sets out with optimism, whirring dutifully across my floors, until—like clockwork—it reaches the rug. And then? Tragedy. The fringe wraps around its little brushes like an octopus seizing its prey. The motor groans in distress. It flails, it spins, it beeps. I, like a fool, rush to untangle it, only for it to immediately do the exact same thing again. It is as if it wants to suffer. As if it has decided that its primary function is not vacuuming but instead dramatics.

I have tried everything. I have programmed it to avoid the rug. It ignores me. I have physically blocked the rug with furniture. The vacuum still finds a way, as though drawn to its demise by forces beyond my comprehension. I have considered simply throwing the rug out the window. But then I picture Vince, looking around my apartment with that quiet, smug satisfaction, knowing his gift remains. And so, the rug stays.

And the robot fights.

And I—an intelligent, functioning adult with better things to do—spend my nights rescuing a vacuum from a decorative choice I never even wanted.

Technology is supposed to make life easier. Friendship is supposed to be rewarding. But in the grand battle between a robot that refuses to learn, a rug that refuses to leave, and a man who refuses to set boundaries, there is only one conclusion:

Vince wins.

- Rupert Chang

Kendrick Lamar Had a Message. I Had a Wooden Spoon.

I timed it perfectly—had just set the rosemary to bloom in hot oil when the halftime show began. It’s a bit of a ritual, my Sunday evening culinary experiment, but I made an exception for the Super Bowl because one must engage with the broader culture, lest one become the sort of person who uses the phrase “the broader culture” in everyday conversation. Enter Kendrick Lamar, who took the stage with a theatrical flair that suggested he had either an urgent message for humanity or was about to stage a coup against the referees. The performance was visually striking—something about the interplay of lights, dancers, and live instrumentation made it feel less like a mere show and more like an urgent transmission from the future. But as for what exactly he was saying, well, I must confess that while I caught the general vibe of righteous indignation and historical reckoning, the specifics eluded me. One moment he was delivering bars with the intensity of a man who had cracked the code to the universe, and the next, the camera cut to a backup dancer in what appeared to be a metallic trench coat, marching with the gravitas of an ancient oracle.

Still, one need not grasp every lyrical nuance to appreciate the moment. There was power in the message, even if it was slightly lost on a man tending to a pan sauce. And frankly, I admire the commitment—it’s no small thing to take the most corporate, middle-America spectacle and inject it with a sense of purpose. There’s a dignity in that, like leaving a handwritten note in a library book for some future reader to discover. I imagine many people watching had their own interpretation, and maybe that’s the point—great performances don’t hand you a neatly packaged answer but rather invite you to wrestle with the meaning. In any case, my dish (a citrus and fennel braised chicken, if you’re curious) turned out well, and the halftime show left me entertained and mildly bewildered, which feels about right.

Exploring the AM dial

Countless rumors are flung around my corner of the web, many of which feature the theory that over-the-air radio broadcasting is a dying platform. This would include the reliable AM radio band.

Many of you are asking yourself: "Is this madman unaware of the FM dial?" It's true, I haven't yet felt compelled to toggle my modularity spectrum machine in a non-AM position. Why bother, with so many pleasant options to be had?

I keep a weekly notebook log of AM stations that are listenable from my living room.  (I've decided "listenable" includes non-pristine clarity -- I can withstand some crackling or hissing, assuming the station content meets my standard)

Sixteen AM stations are available in my area, which earns each a well-deserved spot in my notebook. Here is a quick summary of some of my favorites:

 

The Oldies station

 

I wasn't born in the 1940s, but that doesn't mean I'm ineligible to whistle alongside such hits as "Fools Rush In" (Ricky Nelson) or "Point of no Return" (Gene McDaniels). Local DJ's like Ranger Rick and Steven Trinkleton are local celebrities. I'll occasionally run into Rick at the local cheese board, and we swap water filtering tips.

The Spanish Tropical station

 

Yes, I had to scour Wikipedia, but what a fun rabbit hole that led me into. Thirty minutes later, I found myself overflowing with radio industry news, mostly from radioink.com. Who knew!

But what is Spanish Tropical? It's difficult to pin down with words. Incidentally, I enjoy literally not knowing the words to the songs, and instead prefer to focus on the rich, vibrant melodies. Excuse me, I think I hear it in the background now, and my mind can't help but transport itself away to an oceanside hut on a forgotten inlet, where fish are plentiful and the squawking birds fly overhead as a reminder that they are the true chief executives of this planet.

The Classic Rock station

 

This is my go-to when I'm performing acts of manual labor. I'm not sure if I love America, but I sure do love what music it creates. Classic Rock is America and I'm all ears.

Quick Note: I have a game I just invented, and just tweeted about it. It's about Classic Rock.

The News/Talk station

 

Disclosure: There are many of these stations, and I can't name a personal favorite. Mostly, I'm seeking the sheer presence of another human voice in my eardrums. I also have money that I need to spend, and the friendly show hosts are bursting at the seams with products and services that I know I need.

Why margaraine is troubling

A recent debate centers around the use of margarine in one’s daily cuisine.  As a regular consumer of expensive butter, I am appalled at this and decided to pen this post. 

Margarine is unholy, unnatural, and disruptive to the inner digestive tract.  Those who know me know that I value being regular above all else, making my commode visits on a regular schedule that does not vary more by more than five minutes as a rule.  The introduction of margarine by my otherwise saintly wife laid waste to my digestive tract and sent me in a rut that took me a fortnight to recover from.  I wish I could say that I have forgiven Carol, but that would be a lie.

Margarine is made of vegetable oil – if I wanted to eat solid oil I would frequent a local fried food eatery, like a common glutton or somebody from Alabama.  No, no, no.  Give me solid butter, preferably from a cow which was fed gently culled grass.  There is nothing better than a slice of toasted sourdough bread with a slab of butter, and I will stake my name on that.

Please consult your local grocer to inquire how to obtain fresh butter, they will be delighted to assist you.

Beginner's falconry

I was sitting in my veranda contemplating the flight patterns of the American Kestral when my tea kettle shrieked at me, its high pitched tone causing me to startle and giggle at the same time. When was the last time you had a proper cup of tea? Please think about this for the next 15 minutes and then return. 

Thank you. 

Continuing with the American Kestral, I am always surprised when I mention this prodigious raptor that it is not well known in the lower 48 states. Indeed, I would doubt if one person in 100 would recognize the blue grey plumage of a virile male, nor the sonorous “Klee” it makes as it as it excitedly spots its quarry - grasshoppers, lizards, the occasional vole are its favorites as a rule. 

In short, I recommend you immediately grab your best pair of binoculars and head out to your nearest forested area or aviary to gaze at this delightful member of the animal kingdom. If you are lucky enough to capture one using your own wit and dexterity, you will be rewarded with a beautiful yet furtive bird of prey suitable for beginner’s falconry. 

 

Morning routine

I'd like to start a dialogue today about your morning routine. As I've tweeted previously, having a good morning is the key to having a good day. I think Benjamin Franklin said this. Or possibly Cal Ripken, Jr.  I don't really remember which.

To get things started, here's mine. Every day I wake up at 5:15 AM to the pleasant sounds of nine variable alarm clocks placed throughout my bedroom. Each clock plays something from nature. A growling bear is one. A screeching hawk is another.

Next, I let my German Shepard, Hans, out to loose his bowels and mingle with the local wildlife around my New Hampshire cabin. During this time I prepare myself a triple espresso. Anything fewer than three iterations of espresso and I don't think I could fathom setting foot outside of my kitchen.

From 6:00 AM until 7:00 AM you'll find me nowhere except buried in the periodicals. While I've traditionally read the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and Wired Magazine, I've also started dabbling on my Tablet (TM) and checking out interesting stories and factoids on ZergNet.com. I also like to use this time to practice my craft on Twitter by thinking up clever #hash #tags.  For more on this, please see my previous posts.

By 7:00 AM I am ready for a two-cup serving of steel cut oats, some freshly picked blackberries, and a small block of Vermont cheddar. You'll notice I get a little dabble of everything in there -- I want to make sure my system is running in tip-top shape. One day, I didn't ingest my typical morning helping of oats. I nearly wound up in prison. That's another story I'll share another time.

Immediately thereafter, I take my morning constitutional, where I usually will get in 2-3 games of "Threes" on my Tablet (TM). This game really is a treat and I recommend you pay $1.99 for the "ad-free" version.

By 8:00 AM I am ready for whatever hurdles and surprises the day might throw at me.

What do I do to pass the time? Bird watching, knitting, and writing detective stories chiefly interest me. I've also been recently employed by a nationwide burrito chain to come up with the literature on their soft drink cups. Can you guess which one? I know there are many, but I like the idea of making a game out of this.

So far, so good on that front, but I worry about their vigilance in providing only non-GMO meats. I really should write them a letter about that.

Well, that's that. I really hope you can take something from my morning routine and apply it to your own!

Product Idea Wednesday!

Dear Reader:

Things have gotten pretty heavy on this site as of late.  I acknowledge Ethan and the fact that he has composed words and put them to his site, but please note that the opinions of writers are their own and do not represent the opinions of the other fine pushers of prose contributing to this site.  Put another way, Ethan is insane.

That being said, I wanted to share with you a product that needs to be invented.  I'd apply for the patent myself but I am too busy tending to my pumpkin harvest in anticipation of Thanksgiving next week.  What's the idea?  I'll tell you what!  It's a french fry carton that CLOSES.  How often do you get fries in the drive thru only to find them cold and limp by the time you get home?  This exact scenario has happened to me many times, and no, I don't want to discuss it further.  But aren't HOT fries the best?  By having a closed, heat regulated container, you'll still be able to enjoy those hot sticks of grease and starch long after you shuffle through the drive-thru of your local Carl's Jr.  I think it's really a great idea.

Ok reader, get out there and get that carton invented.  And please remember your dear friend Rupert the next time you enjoy a crispy, oily, mass produced fry at your local burger shack.

Love,

Rupert

The problem isn't Islam

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem.

And your religion, and your religion ...

A group of folks who subscribe to the Islam religion and are from the Middle Eastern region murdered 129 people while injuring a whopping 352 others, 99 of those critically, last week in Paris. This is an atrocious act and there is no reasonable defense for it.

That is, unless you are a religious person. If you are religious, after all, you must try to live in the way that your deity of choice supposedly tells you to live, and this deity, of course, can be construed by different people to tell them just about anything.

In reaction to this event last week in Paris, the fine people of America and others all over the world pointed to the religion of Islam. Whether you term it "radical Islam" or plain old "Islam" is of little consequence at this point — some form of Islam is to blame here, apparently.

And how could you argue with that stance? After all, the Koran says that Muslims should "fight those who do not believe in Allah ... nor follow the religion of truth ... until they pay the tax in acknowledgement of superiority and they are in a state of subjection."

So, when your asshole cousin posts on Facebook that Muslims have been literally instructed to fight non-believers, he's not wrong.

It's when he implores you to pray for the people of Paris in his very next post that he becomes a fool.

Because, you know, the bible isn't so different from the Koran when it says: "But as for these enemies of mine, who did not want me to reign over them, bring them here and slaughter them before me."

You see, your asshole cousin believes he has the moral authority because he believes his religion doesn't teach the same things that Islam does. That Islam is OBVIOUSLY wrong while his religion is MORAL and JUST. Once you subscribe to a religion and living your life according to its central text, you are subscribing to a belief system that you delude yourself into believing is the correct way to live. And most religions have the same central tenet that their belief system is *the* truth or *the* way, and the explicit (or, at the very least, implicit) duty to subdue or at least convert the "other" religions in some fashion.

The recommended means for this action are immaterial if you subscribe to any sort of omniscient being. My slaughter is your state of subjection; if you believe in a deity that tells you things, then you have to allow for the fact that another deity could tell someone else something completely different, and in your worldview that needs to be OK because, again, you're the type of person who believes in an invisible, impossible-to-prove thing.

And the pickle here is that there are no facts to support any of these competing belief systems. At the end of the day, people who subscribe to a religion are believing in something for the sake of having something to believe in. Whether it's because they can't believe in themselves or they need a "light at the end of the tunnel" to live a good life, if you want to give Christians a pass for condemning homosexuality and systemic oppression, then you also need to give Muslims a pass for believing that it's their duty to kill non-believers.

Let's say that I wake up tomorrow and claim that, overnight, I was spoken to by the one true deity and that my life's work was now to convert people to follow me in worshiping this deity. And let's say that this deity told me that my life's work was to procreate with as many women as possible by whatever means necessary, because by doing so, my offspring would also receive my "gift" to speak to this deity, and the world would be a better place.

Well, by the word of my deity himself, that pretty much gives me the green light to break into my neighbor's house and fuck the lady, and to go to a bar downtown and rape women when they come into the third stall on the left, right? You would call that bat shit insane, right? BUT THIS IS GOD'S WORK. HE WILLED IT. It is no more insane than any other religious belief out there.

You can't have it both ways. If you decide that because there are no facts involved with religion, you have to tolerate all forms of it, then I can concatenate any link of absurd beliefs into a new religion, and you have to respect it.

At least that's how it should work. Instead, everyone has "faith" in their particular belief system as they drone on chanting in their church or temple or mosque, and they dismiss each other's beliefs as somehow backward or silly or outright worse than their own.

And that's why, if it were up to me, there would be no religious tolerance of any sort. More people have died in the name of "god" than in any other name throughout history, and while I won't bother to give you a detailed historical explanation of the use of religion to control peoples, there's a reason for that:  Religion is extremely dangerous. They are *all* dangerous. Islam is no more dangerous than Judaism is no more dangerous than Catholicism is no more dangerous than Buddhism. They are all methods of mind control that infect populations and bring down otherwise functional societies.

Why do we tolerate this shit? At some point, you have to call a spade a spade.

At the Democratic debate the other night, Bernie Sanders mentioned that we have thousands of nuclear warheads that we continue to maintain and are incredibly expensive to keep up. My solution to this problem that we've faced for thousands upon thousands of years also incorporates a solution to that problem:

1) Declare the United States of America a religion-free zone. You may not practice religion or pass down religious beliefs. You will be put to death if you refuse to deny the existence of a god.

2) Nuke the rest of the world. We have enough problems cleaning out the religious population here; we can't do this piecemeal the world over. Let's give the human civilization a fresh start by wiping out everything else.

3) Repopulate the world with Little Ethan Averys because my deity said so. Wait, what?

OK, so that's all a bit of a farce and never going to happen, and frankly, I don't entirely give two fucks if you want to believe in a god and subscribe to some asinine religion. But my point is, let's not kid ourselves here: The religion of Islam isn't the problem.

It's religion in general. It's your religion. It's your neighbor's religion. It's all a problem, and it all needs to stop.

Fuck religion.

Alaska and Cheese

Dear Reader:

First, let me apologize for the hiatus - I recently returned from a last minute trek through Alaska and while I will not bore you with the details, I will say that the trip involved an encounter with a pregnant lynx (they are FIERCELY territorial), a footrace with a Juneau townie at 2 a.m., and the consumption of a local form of moonshine that boasts caribou saliva as one of its secret ingredients.  Please post in the comments if you would like to hear more about this trip, otherwise I'm done talking about it.

My main reason is to get something off my chest: I love cheese in most (not all!) of its forms.  I wanted to share my favorites and some tips should you choose to become a cheese aficionado yourself.

Right off the bat - please never consume a slice of American "cheese".  I consider this brand of cheese an abomination and will not devote any further time acknowledging its existence.

That being taken care of, I will say that my favorite type of cheese is a nice AGED cheddar.  How aged?  2 years, minimum.  That shit needs to crumble - if you can slice it, don't bother.  I prefer my cheddar with a nice Honeycrisp apple, but a Fuji will do in a pinch.

When I'm in the mood I also seek out gouda, preferably smoked.  If you're going with the smoked variety, insist that the grocer prove that the cheese was smoked in the traditional Dutch method.  Trust me, it's worth it.

Finally, if I'm really feeling festive I will buy 4-5 ounces of a nice Havarti.  I enjoy this in a grilled cheese because of how nicely it melts.  If you want to go hispanic, get Havarti with peppers in it.  A real south of the border treat!  Grilled cheese sandwiches may be consumed at any meal, by the way.

I hope you enjoyed this post.  Please feel free to share with your friends, loved ones, and to your enemies if they are lactose intolerant.

Cordially yours,

Rupert

Serial Podcast Talk!

Dear Readers,

My sincere apologies for the delay in postings – the Holiday Season has come and gone and I find myself once again yearning for mulled wine, Elf on the Shelf, and bitter arguments with my father about whether I’m truly a “man” or still a child. 

However, I was able to listen for 512 consecutive minutes to the excellent “Serial” podcast narrated by the delightful and oddly seductive Sarah Koenig.  I really suggest you try listening to this podcast – it is like sitting around a fireside in the 1940s waiting for the weekly radio serial to come on, only now you can binge listen on your Samsung Note ™ while taking consecutive loops on the monorail at Walt Disney World. It really made me nostalgic for the days of yesteryear.

Anyways, I of course listened to the podcast a total of 5 times over the past two weeks.  I’ve spent hundreds of hours on the sub-reddit and have even booked a trip to Baltimore to tour all of the prominent sites from the story.  I really think this is the only way to truly experience this phenomenon, although I suppose casually listening while you drive to and from work, and shortly thereafter moving on with your life would be acceptable too.

I’m not going to go into the ultimate result of the podcast – I’m just glad that it exists and hope that the format continues!  Frankly I’m sick of pretentious longform New Yorker pieces about the history of cookie cutter stencils.  I prefer my pretentious media in audio form, thanks.

So how will I fill the gaping maw that is my free time now that I do not have “Serial”?  First, I’ll be writing to you more!  And second, while I cannot divulge all information given its sensitivity, I can tell you that I may or may not be involved in the search for treasure buried by Robert E. Lee beneath one of his plantations in Virginia.  I just hope that those awful Van Buren Boys don’t get there first.

Yours in sleuthing,

Rupert Chang 

Twitter 101: An Experience

My dear friends. I have been terribly occupied the past several weeks. Where does the time go? I'll let you know when I find out.

It brings me great joy to be able to sit down in front of the typing machine and share the thrilling adventure I have undertaken between now and my previous posting here. A local community college offers a four-week night class that gives you all the tools you need to be a better Twitter writer. Tweeter. Tweet maker. All of the above.

And because I like all of you so much, I'm going to give away some of these tips and tricks to my precious readership. The only cost of admission is a few minutes of your time, and the patience to stay focused -- my writing can get a little off-topic from time to time!

Tip #1: HASHTAGS AND WHEN TO USE THEM

Hashtags are like bacon smothered in honey. I can't get enough of them. The more you use, the more likely it is that someone else will #search and #find your #tweet.

My goal is to have 10,000 followers (at least), and I am absolutely certain that the more hashtags I can jam into my tweets, the more followers I will obtain.

Because people search for words and letters using the hashtag, it's imperative that every tweet contain at LEAST one hashtag. I'm going to make it a personal goal to use at least eight per tweet.

BONUS TIP: Use hashtags to spruce up and add a little color to what some might perceive as an otherwise mundane collection of words.

Morning treat to myself. Triple espresso. #OnTheTiredSideToday
— Vincent Fortenberry (@TheRealVinceF) December 30, 2014

I can't think of a more fun and cute way to tell everyone you're a little sleepy today.

DOUBLE BONUS TIP: Use hashtags to comment on your tweet -- in the same tweet!

Watching my neighbor pick up some litter on my front sidewalk. #ALittleHelpFromMyFriends
— Vincent Fortenberry (@TheRealVinceF) December 30, 2014

Astute readers may think these bonus tips are mere copies of each other. Please re-read the bonus tips repeatedly until you see the difference. Do not move to the next section until you've reached that conclusion. I'm watching you.

Tip #2: A LITTLE TRICK TO MAKE YOUR TWEETS INTERESTING

I cannot believe I didn't think of this myself, but there is a very subtle way to make your tweets more interesting and catchy than the usual boring business that you see out there from a lot of common folk.

The trick here is to use hyperbole as often as possible:

Absolutely nothing better than #thumbing through the #library #card #catalog drawers and getting what I #want on the first #try.
— Vincent Fortenberry (@TheRealVinceF) December 30, 2014

Obviously, there are some things that are better than getting the card you want on your first thumb into the library card drawers, but on Twitter, you're in it to win it (my high school track coach once told me that). Everything is the best thing ever, at least at that moment.

Tip #3: RETWEETS AND FAVORITES

Retweets are easy. Just hit the button that looks like a square-shaped recycle bin symbol.

But you can do better than that! Thanks to TweetDeck (a handy Twitter client), you can do more than just retweet something.

When hitting the retweet button in TweetDeck, you are presented with the option to "Edit & RT." Do not pass up this option to edit, and insert in some fun commentary:

Poopsanto RT @GMWatch: Bill Maher slams 'evil ruthless Monsanto: the Scientologists of the corporate world http://t.co/vOttTfVBJ0 #gmo
— Vincent Fortenberry (@TheRealVinceF) December 30, 2014

And then there's the favorite button. I don't like this part of Twitter. I'm either in love with it, or I don't care. Using the favorite button is somewhere in a grey area between those two places, and I'm not interested in visiting.

Here's a great example on why you should avoid the favorite button. Let's take a look at the Miami Herald reporting an incident in Tampa today:

#BREAKING: Multiple news outlets reporting people fleeing, screaming as shots are fired at a large mall in Tampa. Police are on the scene.
— Miami Herald (@MiamiHerald) December 30, 2014

Why are people (39 as I post this) calling this a favorite of theirs? I will block these users when I figure out how to do that.

Anyways. My Twitter usage is going to see a real spike over the next few weeks. I will come back sometime in January with a report on how many Twitter followers I have gained since today. Right now I only have one. Look out, guys!

Fuck You, Giving Tuesday

So hey, let's talk about something that sucks.

CHARITY.

Charity at its purest core is fine. It's typically even great! You're giving something of yourself to help someone else. That's all well and good.

But CHARITY in the context of the way its bandied about in the modern world is pretty much the worst thing ever. If you donate your time to a cause, you might not be a jackass. But if you donate money to an organization, the odds are extremely high that you are an asshole.

And so we come to the reason for this post. There is now apparently a bullshit movement known as GIVING TUESDAY. Here's what it's about:

WHAT IS #GIVINGTUESDAY? 

We have a day for giving thanks. We have two for getting deals. Now, we have #GivingTuesday, a global day dedicated to giving back. On Tuesday, December 2, 2014, charities, families, businesses, community centers, and students around the world will come together for one common purpose: to celebrate generosity and to give. 

It’s a simple idea. Just find a way for your family, your community, your company or your organization to come together to give something more. Then tell everyone you can about how you are giving. Join us and be a part of a global celebration of a new tradition of generosity.

I'm sorry (HINT: I'M NOT SORRY), but fuck that shit right in the ass. Let's break it down:

We have a day for giving thanks. We have two for getting deals. Now, we have #GivingTuesday, a global day dedicated to giving back.

Hey, guess what? We didn't need a global day dedicated to giving back because the entire concept of "giving back" is primarily driven by what most people would refer to as "white guilt" (regardless of whether the person is actually white or not). "Giving back" is a construct that people create to avoid thinking critically about the things they do the rest of the year — "DURRRR, I might have not hired any minority candidates and I got the city to approve my plan to displace 30 poor families and I voted for a politician who wants to deport everyone, but I'm donating $10,000 to this scholarship fund so HURRY SOMEONE COME SUCK MY DICK" — and the people they marginalize.

On Tuesday, December 2, 2014, charities, families, businesses, community centers, and students around the world will come together for one common purpose: to celebrate generosity and to give. 

LET'S CELEBRATE GENEROSITY. Are you fucking kidding me? Because we're not celebrating generosity here. You're asking us to celebrate people who give, sure. But the people that deserve celebration for giving are not the ones you're asking us to celebrate. Let's continue.

It’s a simple idea. Just find a way for your family, your community, your company or your organization to come together to give something more.

Translation: Pick a cause that you like, then guilt people you know into donating to it.

Then tell everyone you can about how you are giving. Join us and be a part of a global celebration of a new tradition of generosity.

GOD DAMNIT THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER. "Then tell everyone you can about how you are giving." I mean, I just ... I can't. I can not ... go ... on.

Listen, we all have different motivations in life. Charity to make yourself feel better about the way you act the rest of the year is awful by itself, but when this whole CHARITY concept gets really fucked is when people go running around talking about it. If you are the type of person who goes on a social media site and posts about supporting a cause, GO FUCK YOURSELF.

But hey, that's 20 fucking 14 for you. We have a fucking DAY dedicated to shitheads telling everyone about how they're donating to charity. #GIVINGTUESDAY actually makes the retail thievery that the big box stores perpetuate each year look like Mother Teresa handing out bread crumbs to starving Turkish peasants.

Fuck Giving Tuesday.

Thank you for your service?

Ah, Veterans Day. The national holiday when we salute the mercenaries who police the world!

Veterans Day is a farce.

There's nothing worse than being reminded by holier-than-thou types that we should tell veterans how much we appreciate their service today. "It means so much to the veterans," these people will tell you, and most others will listen, because, man, we owe veterans a serious debt! THEY PROTECT OUR COUNTRY WHILE PUTTING THEIR LIVES ON THE LINE!

Once upon a time, fawning over veterans probably made sense. If your father fought in the Civil War, for instance, that guy saw some fucked up shit and was in a war that truly CHANGED things (kind of). That guy deserved at least one holiday per year, and yet men in those days were true men — they didn't want a goddamn holiday for doing what was right.

These days, going into the military is supporting the massive military-industrial complex in America, signing up to kill brown people in the Middle East, and, more than anything, a calculated decision that you can put up with some shit from the military in order to get your education paid for and some nice benefits on the way and down the road.

There is nothing noble about being in today's military. If you enter the military, you are one of three things:

1. A mercenary.
2. An idiot who had no other options.
3. A sorely misguided young person with nationalistic ideals and dreams of waving the American flag on a mountaintop after you killed the entirety of ISIS with your bare hands.

And yet, we are subjected to this kind of awful thinking when it comes to saluting veterans: 5 ways to honor veterans beyond Veterans Day.

I mean, COME ON. If you are a veteran, you signed up to be in the military. You were not forced into it. I will not honor veterans anymore than I expect anyone to honor me for having a white collar job. We all have jobs, and we all make choices based on what's best for us. Joining the military is not a selfless act. Joining the military in 2014 is accepting a job. You weigh the pros and cons and you either do it, or you don't.

The worst part of all of it, of course, is that you don't dare say anything bad about the idea of honoring veterans, because otherwise you are an asshole in the eyes of 99 percent of the country. Even bleeding heart liberals would be appalled at the very notion someone would say FUCK VETERANS DAY.

But, seriously: FUCK VETERANS DAY.

Dinosauria

Good Evening Reader:


Sometimes when I have a spare moment I like to grab a cup of organic black root tea from Bogota and read the latest academic findings of Dr. Jack Horner, who I consider to be an amazing mind and also one of the most evil men to ever grace this planet.  His greatest sin is the perpetuation of the lie that Tyrannosaurus Rex was a scavenger and not the uber-predatory hunter we know that he in fact was.

I've never shared this before, but I've traveled to an alternative universe nearly identical to our own thanks to the wonders of quantum physics.  I landed in this nearly identical universe in a time approximately 70 million years before the arrival of the Great Bane of the Earth - Humans.  We really are the worst.  I saw a guy throw a cigarette butt out of a speeding 1989 Volkswagon Rabbit and it killed a sun-bathing armadillo, or something.  The. Worst. 

Where was I?  Oh, right, multiverse travel (TIME travel is not possible, and please don't say it is).  I happened upon what is present day North America just in time to see a female Tyrannosaur in action, at the peak of her powers, and she just downright took out 20 full grown hadrosaurs in the span of 30 minutes.  I swear I am not making this up.  I clocked her at 30 miles per hour in peak stride.

Which leads me back to "Doctor" Jack Horner.  How in God's Good Green Earth* can you posit that the Tyrannosaur was a scavenger?  I saw all of this with my own eyes, those animals hunted.  They ran.  They stalked.  I'd tell you how I got to the multiverse, but frankly, I don't think you have the mental capacity to take it in and I actually don't really remember.



Yours In Fury,


Rupert Chang










*prior to arrival of man, now it's vaguely gray in color

Uncle Barry

I was fortunate being born into a large extended family. My father has 10 siblings, giving me more than my fair share of uncles, aunts and cousins.

Among that clan of indefatigable folks was my Uncle Barry. He’s long since passed on to his next life, but during his time on this planet as Uncle Barry, he was the best damn uncle one could ever hope to have.

Where to start?

Uncle Barry was a blue-collar hero, working almost religiously at the local candy factory for thirty-plus years until his unfortunate death in a car accident in the late 1990s. I do not recall the exact year, given my tendency to consume more alcohol than I’d like to admit during that decade. Perhaps another blog article will reveal more of those days’ details.

His working-class roots didn’t stop him from enlisting himself into the public sector. I was truly in awe of his work on the township’s Conservation Commission. Here he was able to put his forward-thinking environmentalist hat on and wear it with pride.

While he oversaw many honorable projects during his time on the Commission, I cannot be more thankful for his dedication to wetland preservation. Given my intense interest and research experience in that realm, he was always keen to consult me for advice on wetland issues. You’d be surprised how many there were!

But my favorite memories of ol’ Uncle Barry are rooted our irregularly timed family gatherings. Whether it was an impromptu picnic at Barnard Park during a muggy August afternoon, or ringing in the New Year at grandma-ma’s hillside estate, Uncle Barry was always the figure that I gravitated toward. His sublime joke-telling and improv magic tricks? I could never understand why he wasn’t a professional entertainer in a glamorous show town. I’m thinking somewhere in the Ozarks of Missouri.

Getting Ready for Halloween

Subject: Getting Ready for Halloween

 

Dear Reader:

 

This post continues on our journey through the glorious fall season.  I’m excited to say that my second favorite holiday is coming up – Halloween!  I’d tell you my favorite holiday, but frankly it’s none of your business, and I really wish you’d stop asking.

 

Let’s take a moment to talk about costumes.  I feel very strongly about this.  If you’re not getting your kids’ costumes from Pottery Barn Kids, then I think there are probably grounds for you to be reported to the Department of Children and Families.   If you’re an adult, nothing less than a fully authentic costume will do.  Don’t go out there with a $20 plastic Darth Vader costume, or I will find you and throat punch you to oblivion.  If you’re going as the Dark Lord of the Sith, you must have a fully accurate, form fitting suit, with a fully functioning light saber.  The latter is crucial for the overall ambience, and for slaying neighbors attempting to hand out health food to trick or treaters.  Halloween is for lifelike costumes and tooth rot, everyone agrees on this, so don’t be an asshole.

 

Please join me in my next post as I wade you through the “Dos” and “Donts” of watching football, another great fall activity.  Here’s a sneak peak – you should never cheer for the Kansas City Chiefs for any reason whatsoever, as I have a lifelong blood feud with Andy Reid.

 

 

Cheers!

 

 

Rupert Chang

Welcome Shep!

Dear Shep,

Your drunken tales have piqued my erstwhile dormant curiosity and I look forward to your contributions to this site.  Perhaps we can get together for a craft brew and discuss Southern Rock? I have some theories on Lynard Skynard in particular (I don't want to give anything away, but I'm pretty sure their plane was bombed by the malevolent spirit of Adlai Ewing Stevenson II) and you seem like a man that enjoys intelligent discourse.

Please reply via reply on this website or fax.  Never, ever call me.

Yours sincerely,

Rupert Chang

Bourbon! Tornado! Fight! Prose!

Salutations

My composition professors always told me to pander to my audience, but since no one ever reads my writing, I usually end up composing to the nervous pre-teen construct that managed to lodge himself in my hippocampus after unsuccessfully kick-flipping off my corpus callosum in 7th grade.  Anyhoo...I've been drinking.

So I've been compelled under duress, threat, and coercion to put words to paper.  I've been given no specific guidance as to what would be pleasing, or at very least, what would be inoffensive to the listening audience.  So with that, let me tell you the tale of how I came to possess the power of drunken composition, or, at the very least, careful drunken editing.

Ol' Shep lives in Wisconsin.  Stereotypes would most likely lead you to believe that at least the drunken half of my powers originated here; and you would not be wrong in that assumption.  However, my tale begins in the Ted Nugent fever dream known as North Florida.  I lived in Gainesville for half a decade in my later 20's/early 30's while my bride learned her p's and q's at UF.  I worked in the school district of Suwannee County.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the geography of North Florida, Suwannee County is approximately equidistant from Gainesville and Tallahassee.  This relationship is represented below:

Fig 1:  Book Learnin'

 Fig 2:  GER GERTERS!

Now that you're aware of the situation within which this Yank found himself, you will be happy to know that the locals took to me fondly, and christened me with endearing southern nicknames.  My favorite of which came from the Elementary School principal.  A former Gator linebacker who was some sort of blend between Conway Twitty and the least murdery parts of The Bible.  After learning that I was a Wisconsin man, he took to calling me PSYCHOBADGER SHEP!  Every day I would hear him call me down to the office (there aren't phones in North Florida) by hollering "PSYCHOBADGER SHEP!  YIPSHAWWWWW!"  which I think was his way of offering me his daughter's hand in southern matrimony (there aren't any phones in southern matrimony).

I came to be friends with some of the local boys, who had inexplicably left this blighted 30 mile scar in the landscape to go to college, only to return and challenge the local notion that the earth was only 400 years old and perched  on the mustache of Stonewall Jackson.  We would gather together on Friday nights and consume copious amounts of bourbon while I was given a crash course on the subtle romanticism of southern rock.  On one of these occasions after consuming a particularly strong bottle of Buffalo Trace (the finest), we were visited by the ghost of Charles Bukowski, who rode, what must have been at least an F4 twister.  After knocking down the tobacco shed, Mr. Bukowski stumbled off his steed and made his way to our humble fire, where he intended to relieve us of whatever bourbon we had on our persons.  Well, dead alcoholic anti-hero warrior poet or no, our ragtag crew was not going to give up our stash so easily.  Charles was quite clearly still drunk, which is quite a thing, considering he's been dead for some time now.  He lurched toward us but lost his footing and found himself sprawled in that sharp-ass grass that only grows in the worst parts of the south.  It was at that point that my friend Wade, in a giggling fit, relieved Mr. Bukowski of his faithful twister steed and rode off in the direction of the nearest boiled peanut stand.  In a fit of rage, Charles stumbled after him, hollering unintelligible curses as he followed.

Hmm...I just realized that this doesn't have anything to do with being able to write drunk.  Heh.  Made me laugh to beat the band, though.  Parts anyway.  

The issues with the Ray Rice narrative

First, let me be very clear: What Ray Rice did to his then-fiancee Janay in that elevator on that fateful February night was wrong.

Whatever led up to it, it was wrong. Whoever started the clearly ongoing fight, whoever threw the “first” punch … it was wrong.

And yet.

The 1997 movie Good Will Hunting featured one particular quote that I've always enjoyed. After Matt Damon's character does an impromptu psychological evaluation of Robin Williams's character based on a painting in his office, Robin kicks him out. They meet again a few days later in a park and have a conversation about it. Robin tells Matt (real names are just easier, you guys) that, for instance, while he can regurgitate anything he's read in a book, he doesn't really *know* anything. Matt might know everything about Michelangelo — his life's work, his political aspirations, etc. — but he doesn't know the beauty of the Sistine Chapel because he's never seen it with his own eyes.

And as Robin continues talking, he says this:

"No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right? You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you?"

It's the ultimate caution to judging people and situations without knowing the full story. And with that as the framing for this discussion, allow me to stop to plainly state the points of my argument here:

1. Ray was wrong to hit his now-wife — physical violence of any sort is unacceptable in our society and he should be punished.
2. Without knowing everything that occurred that evening between the two parties, Ray’s action may be more defensible than it is based solely on the video evidence.
3. The immediate reaction by the rest of society to paint Ray as one of the worst people in the world — and Janay as an ongoing victim/idiot — is a glaring example of the worst kind of mob mentality the public at-large assumes in cases like this.

Let’s walk through these points one at a time:

1. Ray was wrong to hit his now-wife — physical violence of any sort is unacceptable in our society and he should be punished.

• No matter what Janay did to him earlier in the night (we’ll explore this below), the best solution for Ray was obviously to walk away. And, frankly, as much as some of the crazy PRO-MEN lobbies would disagree — EQUALITY FOR ALL, etc. — it simply is different when a man hits a woman than when a woman hits a man, and especially when the man is a pro football player. There are shades of gray in everything, and this shade of gray reflects very poorly on Ray. I won’t bother opining on what the correct punishment for Ray should be other than to note, as everyone else has, that the NFL’s bungling of the entire situation has been nothing short of damnable. Besides, the correct level of punishment is based upon another shade of gray, which is related to …

2. Without knowing everything that occurred that evening between the two parties, Ray’s action may be more defensible than it is based solely on the video evidence.

• Here’s what I see in the video: Ray and Janay are arguing in the hallway. She takes some sort of swat at him. They go into the elevator. He’s in her face and takes a swat of some sort at her. She, understandably, is pissed and comes at him, at which point he hits her with a left hook that sends her into the railing and ultimately to the floor unconscious.  Again: BAD MOVE, Ray. But here’s where the video doesn’t show everything. You kind of get the impression from the actions of both (swatting at each other before the punch heard round the world, her charging at him) that there have been some physical altercations between them in the past. And we obviously don’t know the nature of those altercations. Maybe Ray is just a lowdown dude who beats women and this was the first time she stood up for herself in any way. Maybe it has been physical both ways in the past and it just never got to *this* level. Or, just maybe, Janay has been the primary abuser in the past — maybe she even punched him repeatedly in their hotel room before they went out — and Ray just snapped in the heat of this particular moment.  Does that change the fact that knocking her out was wrong? No. Again, it was wrong. But it’s less wrong, right? Killing someone is wrong, but if you’re defending yourself from that person, it’s less wrong and in the most severe cases even justified, right? Imagine, for just a second, if the tables were turned here. What if Ray was on the receiving end of that punch and it was instead him who was knocked out? What if we then found out that Ray had abused her earlier that night and she finally stood up for herself? She would be hailed by men and women alike around the world, right? The point is that it matters what the involved parties have to say about the situation, and whether you want to believe her or instead speculate about her internal justifications for doing so, Janay has taken some of the responsibility for what happened that night. There was more going on than meets the eye here. Which brings us to …

3. The immediate reaction by the rest of society to paint Ray as one of the worst people in the world — and Janay as an ongoing victim/idiot — is a glaring example of the worst kind of mob mentality the public at-large assumes in cases like this.

• The overwhelming reaction to this case has been along the following lines: 1. They should burn Ray at the stake - and/or - 2. Janay is only staying with him for the money/she thinks love will conquer all but she WILL be abused again Any reaction to the contrary is immediately panned. In fact, in conversations with other members of this very site, I have been painted as a guy looking for an excuse to beat women! Here’s where a sort of societal sexual stigma comes into play. Even if the facts of the entire case were that Janay had regularly abused Ray and this was the first time he struck her, they could never in a million years come out and say that and have it stick as the truth. People would immediately jump down both of their throats, call them liars, and so on.  And this is where another dirty little fact that nobody wants to talk about creeps into play: A national survey by the Centers for Disease Control and Department of Justice found that more than 40 percent of the severe physical violence cases were directed at men.  If a man hits a woman, the public says that man is despicable and that the woman should leave immediately,regardless of what may have precipitated it. If a woman hits a man, he is most often depicted as “deserving it.” I probably shouldn’t be surprised, I guess, but I am always disappointed with the mob rush to judgment in cases like these. The public happily takes one two-minute altercation in a couple’s life and defines them by it. You now have professors like Ramani Durvasula opining that “Many times a victim becomes so dependent on her partner for everything that she can’t even entertain a reality without him in it. I don’t know that any of us would have been strong, brave or courageous enough to push back on a billion-dollar organization and a man that she loves.” Sigh. What it ultimately comes down to is that the public mob is doing Janay a disservice and paying her the ultimate disrespect by ignoring what she has to say and projecting its own thoughts and opinions onto her. All of these people telling her she suffers from abused spouse syndrome or the like. All of these people creating such an uproar that they have now removed her from a revenue stream that her family depended on. You have all painted Janay as weak and helpless in this situation. And that’s the last thing that needs to happen here, whatever the real story of their relationship and that night is.  Let Janay be strong. Let her handle her situation. Don’t project your own misguided thoughts and fears onto someone else. Of course, it’s too late for that now. Not only was her personal life rocked by a violent assault, the outsized reaction by a mindless public has forced her to relive the event and embarrassment of it all. Janay called it a nightmare. And it is. Our reactionary mob society is a fucking nightmare.

Fall

Fall is right around the corner and I wanted to share some tips and tricks for sliding comfortably in this new season.  First, make sure you stock up on pumpkins from your local Fresh Market or Whole Foods (your local grocer will do in a pinch, but this is not recommended).  I personally enjoy spending Saturday afternoons baking pumpkin seeds and checking out how my alma mater's football team is doing - go Huskers!

Second, check out your J.Crew catalog and buy a few scarves.  If you do not read J.Crew, please move to the Ukraine* and never read my missives again, because I hate you.  

Third, make candied apples. TONS of them.  I enjoy inviting kids over every Friday night during the fall to eat apples and really get ready for Halloween.  Parents will generally be ok with this if you tell them you are doing BIble study, or whatever.

Hip Hip Hurray for Fall!

-  Rupert

*Yes, you are required to use "the" before Ukraine.  Have some culture