Won't You Be my Neighbor? ...Please?

I have officially been completely soured on the whole movie-going experience. It's been a long time in coming for me, but I'm done. I cannot handle seeing movies with large groups of stupid, and more to the point, loud people.

Allow me to explain.

Tonight I went to see SAW. Tee hee. I just said see saw. Anyway. The movie was allright. I give it a 3 out of 5. The audience participation portion of the film I give a negative 10 out of 5.

First of all the ticket was eleven dollars and the box office dick actually laughed a little when I asked if they offered a student discount.

About twenty minutes into the film a young hispanic fellow marched about halfway down the aisle and barked out:

"Hey! Julio!" He looks around " Julio! Where are you? Let's roll up outta here, dog."

A person who I can only assume was Julio muttered back a reply, to which our new friend in the aisle made that "tsk" noise that urban folk make when they're annoyed and said "Bitch-ass nigger." And then he left sans Julio. True story.

Trust me it gets worse.

This stupid valley girl sitting in front of me was constantly texting with some idiot on her cell phone. I know, I know texting is quiet, right? Why did that bother me, right? Her damn cell phone screen light kept flashing on and off in my periphery. I wanted to reach over and shove the damn thing up her right nostril. Why the hell would you pay eleven dollars to ignore a movie? Go home, turn on the tv and ignore that FOR FREE!

Last, and most disturbing of all was the inappropriate laughter. We're talking gruesome shit happening and you hear a crowd go nuts like they were watching Lewis Black give his famous Starbucks-across-from-another-Starbucks rant. And I'm not talking about that laughter at gruesome shit that people laugh when they are uncomfortable. That I would get. That I could see. I'm talking full on belly laugh at something funny.

Picture this: CARRY ELWES is chained to a wall. He is hysterically crying and railing against his chains because he just talked to his abducted wife and daughter on the phone. They might be dead now, he can't be sure, so he's hysterical.

Roar of laughter.

What.

The.

F**k.

NETFLIX here I come.

An Educational Vacation

After much thought, and more than a little agonizing I must make a return to Phoenix. Temporarily anyway.

It's the no car thing. It's killing me. I was counting on public transit, but I've been told repeatedly that it's completely unreliable. Plus, the nearest train station is quite a long hike away. So getting a decent job becomes impossible, and more importantly going on auditions is impossible.

At first I was very frustrated about this decision, but after discussing it with my good friends, Jimmy and Avery, I have a plan of attack so that when I come back in May I will come back with both barrels blazing and make Hollywood my bitch.

This plan includes getting a job for a while and earning some cash, getting newer headshots made with multiple looks in mind, and in color, getting these shots printed, obtaining a copy of Salena Incident and the student film I did so that I can make my reel, and working out constantly so that I will be in even better shape than I am now.

I found out that I was way more ill-prepared for this place than I thought.

Also, this gives me some time to revise and edit the play I finished almost exactly a year ago. It's been sitting in rough draft on the shelf ever since.

Plus, Jimmy mentioned that things would work out better for me if I am "all here." He's of course referring to my strong and beautful fiance living six hours away. He's right too. I've missed her like I would miss my right arm... or more acurately; like I would miss my genitals.

Jimmy has lived here for ten years, and apparently ten years ago he did the exact same thing. Came out for a month, had to go home, formulated a plan and came back and kicked some ass.

At first I was disappointed, but now I feel good about this decision.

God goes Old Testament on L.A.

Those of you watching the weather portion of the news lately may have seen a special note about the city of Los Angeles. This, the city that never sees rain, has beeen deluged the past couple weeks.

Starting yesterday afternoon around 3:30 it started a steady downpour that varied from a heavy drizzle to torrential sheets of water for more than twelve hours. I say "more than" because I went to sleep at 3:30 am and it was still going.

I borrowed Julie's car last night, so at eleven in the evening I went to pick her up from work. To get there I had to drive down Laurel Canyon through the winding Hollywood Hills road in the pouring rain. To do so safely I was only going about 30 mph in what was normally a 35 mph zone.

You should have seen the caravan of jerk-ass tail-gaters behind me.

These people here have NO idea what-so-ever of how to drive in the rain. They don't slow down, they don't allow more following room, and they tend to get into accidents when it's wet.
A lot.

As I'm twisting my way through this I look in the rear-view and think 'You know, I'm probably saving all your lives. You should thank me. But you won't. You'll just flip me off as you whiz by when it widens to two lanes.'

Welcome to Los Angeles.

To Mulk:

I see you requested me to call you again. Did you read my response after the first one? Bcause there was a response.

It basically said that there is no place for you to sleep this weekend. Myself and a visiting McCarthy Mom are sleeping on the couch and blow-up matress respectively.

Sorry, bro. I would call you but I'm out of minutes for the month already.

The last few days I have been reading a book called THE 48 LAWS OF POWER.

Authors Robert Greene and Joost Elffers take a look at writings from sources as varied as ancient chinese proverbs, italian renaissance politics, and World War II maneuverings. They distill all these documents down to 48 essential principles involved in the large scale and dangerous games we humans play for power.

The true beauty of the book is in its presentation of these laws. It gives you the stories from the original documents they used to discover the law and then gives you an interpretation that puts it into a context that is applicable to modern life, and even counterexamples of what happened to the not so successful people who chose to not live in observance of these laws.

People who I have mentioned this book to are quick to judge it and dismiss it. A few have said that it's a disturbing and twisted topic. These people will tell you that people lusting after power are sick and evil and blah blah blah. I disagree.

The fact is we live in a society full to the brim with hierarchy. If you work in a job where you answer to a "boss" or "manager" or "superviser" or you are, in fact, one of these top dogs then you operate in a structure that is built on the giving and taking of power. Yes, you could argue that your boss only has power over you because you choose to allow it by agreeing to work there, but the fact remains as long as you make that choice then he or she does have power over you. You cannot argue with that.

With that in mind consider that we all want to climb higher within these hierarchies. Most of us do, anyway. If you truly do want to climb, it helps to know how the system works. How the game works. If you play it badly you can hurt people and even ruin lives, including your own. The point of the book is to learn these laws so you can obey them to your advantage, but to do so ethicly. Also, it helps to know the rules and tactics laid out in this volume to help you better spot power plays against you and-or your own ethics/morals.

Lastly, this book is an invaluable tool for any artist as well. Most especially writers and actors. The 48 Laws Of Power is an in depth look at the strategies and motivations at the core of humanity. It's a practical encyclopedia of all the good and bad tactics people throughout history have used to get what they want or die trying. It gets to the core of people and what makes us tick. For anyone trying to write or act out plausible characters this book is a must.

5 out of 5 Book Poops

A Day of Wandering Wonderment

I spent most of this afternoon just strolling around my new neighborhood, and... uh, well... I gotta say I kind of love it a little.

I found this great little used book store called Dutton's that is literally around the corner. They not only have new and used contemporary books, but they have a special section of old first editions and rare collectible editions and whatnot. It's been running for forty-three years. I love that. In a world where Barnes & Nobles are squashing the little guy it's good to see a holdout doing well.

I had lunch at this little hole-in-the-wall called Sushi Don which is also just around the corner. A cute little japanese couple in their late thirties run it and they were so very friendly I almost didn't want to leave. Oh yeah, and they had that funny japanese novelty soda there too. You know the one with the marble in it. I think it's called ramune (pronounced rah-moo-ney).

I applied at a Starbucks and a grocery store, and inquired at several other places that were not hiring. I hope I hear back from Starbucks. They have flexible hours and offer health insurance to part-timers. Sweet.

Strangely enough I find there is a heavy concentration of russians in this area. Not only did I catch a few accents here and there, but I found two specialty shops within one quarter mile of our apartment that sold ONLY Russian language merchandise and specialty foods. Also the two brothers who run the mail and shipping store (also around the corner) had what sounded like eastern european accents as well. Interesting.

Coo coo kachoo Mrs Robinson

Lastly, just now on my way home I got checked out. As I was walking by this hot older chick
(I'd say mid-forties) she very blatently looked me over as I walked by. And I mean she did the full up-down sweep with the eyes and then grinned at me. I couldn't help but grin myself
(and I'm sure blush) as I continued to stroll on by.

Sorry lady, not today.

Great ego-boost though. For that I thank you.

The State Of The Poop Address

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I come to you today with a great deal of news with regard to this great land of ours.

I, your wise and powerful master, The Lord Knucklehead: Thane of The Land Of Poop, have made some changes around here. Actually, one of the largest changes is with regard to what "around here" means anymore.

You may recall some time ago we had a dispute with the powerful PRESIDENT OF CALIFORNIA on February 12th of this year. You may also recall that the last "State Of" address was five days after said dispute, making it actually only eight short months ago. Well, I'm in charge, and I'll give speeches whenever I please, so nyah-nyah!

Ahem.

Months passed with relations normalized with the Lands Of CA after our Queen was safely returned to us. Sadly, these months were spent in peaceful, blissful ignorance of the fact that one day Lord Arnold's sharp-as-a-muffin intellect would eventually catch up and notify him that he had been insulted.

By me.

Roughly forty-eight hours ago Lord Swartzenhaltertop... or Swatchenwearer... um, Arnold invaded our lands in a nearly bloodless coup (only "nearly" because I tripped and skinned my knee). Without ever using the great broadsward prop he had brought lashed to his back, he declared himself the new lord and master of The Land Of Poop. Then he confused everyone by announcing "I'll be back" and punctuating the statement by sitting on my throne. When asked where he was going he responded by grunting and waving the aforementioned prop sword.

I'm sure you are asking yourselves a number of questions. You're wondering where our great military was. Unfortunately, I had dispatched Fred and The Bat to fetch me... uh... important documents from Krispy Kremes in the neighboring lands of Tempe. With their post left unmanned, we were the proverbial sitting ducks.

So, to you. my fellow Poopalonians, I say go bravely into the new neighboring lands of LA! Make new friends, find new employment, and improve relations with the Californicons. Ours is a tenuous treaty, surely, but we must make the best of it while it lasts.

Two pieces o' news:

First, I launched a new blog for the specific purpose of hosting my headshot and resume. This makes it easier to send out email inquiries. This way, instead of seding out two attachements I just send a link in the body of an email. It's in the lefthand column, but for a limited time only you can get there by simply clicking HERE.

Secondly, Ed posted THIS URL in the comments after my las post about Bush. Check it out.
It's some crazy s**t.

After more postponements than I care to number, a case of the poops that rivals my robot friend at the top there, and a ten hour drive I am in LA LA LAND.

That's right, I said ten hours. Most of you are thinking it should have been closer to five and half or six. I would tend to agree. We took our sweet-ass time.

I love Erin and Julie's new place. Very cool. BUT, I already hate it out here. I already desperately miss my Mom, and Jon, and Meg, and Brandon, and David, and Ryan, and Nick, and Brian, and Henry, and EVERYBODY ELSE (sorry if you feel the lack of your specific name is a slight, I just got bored).

With the exception of forty-five minutes of sleep here or there I have now been awake since ten a.m. on Sunday so I'm going to try to sleep now.

Try being the key word.

Wish me luck out here. Please. It can't hurt.

Today I received an email that I probably should not have. Somehow I got on some kind of list that I know I did not sign up for:

h*****n@yesbushcan.com wrote:

RatherGate proved that bloggers are the best fact
checkers. That is
why we are writing to a few bloggers asking for
help.

Yes Bush Can has collected several documents that
are clearly suspect.
But we need your help to prove they are fake:
http://www.yesbushcan.com/falsedocs.shtml

Let's spring to action before these documents
needlessly tarnish the
reputation of our Commander and Chief. You know
the drill: analyze the
handwriting, search for factual errors, and post
your discoveries.

And keep us posted by sending email to
FakeDocs@yesbushcan.com.

Thanks in advance for your help.

YesBushCan

Here is my response:

Dearest Right Winger,

F**k you. F**k Bush. F**k RatherGate.

Kerry for president!

NoBushCan't.

I have been saved!

Hooray! Just one short hour ago I received the message of the almighty and a complimentary copy of The Watchtower. Two entirely too friendly bible-thumpers showed up at our door step and read to me a passage about the meek:

"Blessed are the meek for they shall eat potatoes."

Something like that, I think.

Oh wait... I'm sorry. They inherit the earth. That's right. It seemed so arbitrary I had trouble remembering.

But if one considers the rules that nature seems to follow (i.e. survival of the fittest and all that rot) it seems unlikely to me that these so-called "meek" shall inherit anything.

I mean, let's just say they do for a second. Let's say all "the bold" are taken to heaven... or hell, or wherever they are supposed to go when this ineritance takes place. Won't these meek be overrun by lions are something? Won't their crops be ravaged by pests? I mean, the truly meek don't strike me as the type to set up means to destroy other animals just to make more room for themselves and their food. By definition the people that would do that aren't really meek, are they?

Also: does the name of their publication, The Watchtower, sound very meek to you? I'm just trying to picture the meetings for this one...

Ezekial: Hear ye, hear ye! We now hereby commence this the meeting of The Meek. Last week's minutes please.

Goliath: Last week we talked about crushing our enemies, spewing our rhetoric, and aggresively trying to convert everybody to be meek. Just like us.

Ezekial: Excellent! I shall now open the floor to discussion. Yes, you sir. The plain, un-assuming man with the bad posture and large, puppy-dog eyes.

Bob: Um. Yes, hi. Thank you so much. I don't want to be a bother... I'll just sit back down--

Ezekial: No bother, sir. Please, speak.

Bob: Well, I was just thinking that maybe... um... well, you're not exactly meek, are you?

Ezekial: What?!?!? How dare you!?!?! Guards of the meek, seize him!

Bob: Of course. You're right. Sorry. Sorry.

"Well, here we are" he said as he turned off the ignition to her car. She had taken down a pint or two too many, so he drove them both in her car to his house. She needed to sober up and he was too tired to handle the bar noise anymore.

"Yes. Here we are" she said a little too demurely for his liking.

As they walked in the door of the house he gave her the "five dollar tour," pointing out bathroom, roommates' rooms, kitchen, etc. She excused herself to the bathroom and he sat down on the couch. He would soon regret not choosing a chair.

She came out of the bathroom, saw where he was and sat down right next to him. Mere inches away. Now what he had been suspecting for a couple hours had become painfully clear. She thought this was more than it was.

Until tonight it had been nearly ten years since the two had seen each other. They shared a few stunted attempts at dating when they were around fourteen. They were twenty-four now, and had taken separate paths for all the years in between. He was a moderately successful actor, and she a pre-med student. The only reason they were seated next to each other at that moment was because after a strange walk down memory lane he had googled her name. And now, here she was.

Right then, as the sound of her too-close breathing made him feel very awkward, and fourteen all over again, he couldn't understand what he had been thinking. When the google search turned up fruit on the first result he emailed. She responded. They talked and agreed to meet for a drink to "catch up." During the conversation at the bar all he could think was "shut up, man" as his own mouth ruled the entirety of the conversation. Seriously, how does one learn anything about an old friend when one does not leave openings to listen?

The creepy method of finding her, and his odious, narcissitic behavior aside, here she was. Drunk and clearly making a pass at him.

All he could think to do was to really drive home the whole "I'm tired" bit and hope she could take a hint. Yawn a lot. Rub the bridge of the nose right where it meets the eyes. Blink rapidly. Yawn. Rub. Blink. Blink. Rub. Yawn.

Nothing.

"Hey, I got some pictures from that movie I did. You wanna' see 'em?" he asked.

"Sure." she said with a smile that faded when he walked over to his computer and sat in the desk chair and brought the pics up on the monitor. Sweet! he thought. Out of the couch, that's good.

"Well, you seem pretty tired. I should let you get to bed." she said glumly.

Finally she got the hint. Or so he thought.

"Yeah. I'm still not fully over this cold, so- you know- rest is a good idea. But hey, it was great seeing you before I left. Keep in touch." He began heading for the door.

"Yeah. You too" she said as she leaned in for a hug. Just a hug, no big deal he thought.

That's when it happened.

He let go and began to step back when he felt her not doing the same. He looked down at her to say something and she just looked at him with this curious expression that he could not identify. In that moment of hesitation she leaned in and kissed him before he even knew what was happening. It was so startling that in the first few seconds he just stood there like a deer in headlights. Sad and a little embarassed, he broke lip contact and leaned back in to the hug, keeping his face over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I can't. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just can't" he said with what was probably an over-dramatic, afterschool-special tone.

She pulled him back to look at him. "Because you're leaving?"

"No, I just can't. I'm gonna go back in now." and with that he took his leave of her.

She would call him the next night and he would see her number pop up on his cell phone screen and just stare at it until it stopped ringing.

She would not leave a message.

The older I get the more novelty I find in our little "adult" behaviors. I wonder if these feelings are the last niggling remnants of my self-diagnosed Peter Pan complex. Or is it just normal?

I had a phone conversation last night with an ex-girlfirend I have not seen or talked to in nearly ten years. The fact that I am old enough to have a former relationship be that long since gone blows my mind. This is someone I kissed and had rediculously long phone conversations with, and yet at the same time I don't think we ever really knew each other. But at the age of fifteen we thought we knew it all. Most of us probably thought that at that age.

I told her that I am now a moderately successful actor and I plan to move to LA this weekend. She was floored. She never pegged me as the type. SHe remembered me as "so quiet and shy." What she remembers as quiet and shy were actually both symptoms of my complete lack of skill with the opposite sex at that age. All girls, including her. I was awkward and inarticulate, but I was always out there trying desparately to make them laugh or even smile. I was always good at that.

Then she told me that she spent a tour in the air force and is now studying to be a pharmacist. Now it was my turn to be surprised. She always seemed so laid back and opposed to authority that the discipline of the military and the medical field seemed to straight-laced for her.

Like I said, neither of us ever really knew the other in any substantial way.

We made plans to get together and chat tonight. I was just thinking to myself if we should get a coffee or if we should go get a beer. Both options are things that still seem so foreign to me. Those are "adult" things. Grown-ups get together over a cup or a glass, not me. I'm just a...

Nope. Not anymore, am I?

Names have been changed...

Yesterday my good friend Nohj Dnalor, and myself went on an adventure to Picacho Peak...

Actually, that's kind of a misnomer. A misadventure is what it really was.

Our goal: hike the sweet, challenging glory that is Picacho.

Our result? Due to Nohj's famous procrastination, we got there about an hour before sundown and found out you have to pay just to get in the place. With so little time left in the day, and a complete lack of funds we were forced to abort our Picacho mission.

So, Nohj and I did what any red-blooded, american hiker would do. We drove to the other side of the freeway, parked illegally on the shoulder of the frontage road, crawled under a barbed wire fence (clearly this fence was only intended to stop animals as it was not labeled with any signs indicating any kind of punitive action taken against trespassers. right?) and hiked the even bigger, and cheaper (cheap as free) mountain over there.

Now, sadly we didn't get very far before we realized we both have the metabolisms of hummingbirds on speed and neither of us had the foresight to bring any kind of food at all. It was also just reaching a pitch black level of darkness, but that didn't seem nearly as important to our intrepid heroes.

sigh. Flashlights or no, we were starving.

We turned back.

Luckly we found a Dairy Queen right off the frontage road to get a sugar fix, or else I don't honestly think we would have made it home. At the very least I would have passed out from low blood sugar before then.

Interlude With A Strange Humanoid Creature

Rewind to just before Nohj and myself were making our way under the barbed wire.

We stop at what I can only call a red-neck, white trash, hillbilly gas station to try and find some food before we hit the trail. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "now, Joey, don't you think that's an excessive amount of slurs? I mean, could it have been that bad?"

Just know this, all ye naysayers: if ignorance is bliss. You have no idea how blissful you are to not have been there.

In the parking lot... I'm sorry, in the dirt lot where we parked, there were five (yes I said five) soda machines all looking like they were old enough to be the first soda machines ever. I mean on that seventh day God didn't just rest; he created the miracle of coin operated beverage dispensation. These machines remember that as "the good old days."

There was no indicator of price on any of these machines. They're twelve ounce cans, so I figured I'd try my fifty cents and hope for the best. Nothing. I tried another button. Nothing. Another. Still nothing.

Now, I started walking for the front counter inside. I opened the door and saw the dirtiest, greasiest man I have ever seen. He wore one of those mechanic coveralls with the name patch sown into the breast. With his grizzled beard and obviously unwashed everything, he was the living embodiment of white trash. As I started to ask about the machines the guy cut me off with the thickest mountain bumpkin accent I have ever heard.

Artist's rendering. Artists take liberties, it's called artistic license. Deal with it.

"It works s'far as I know" he drawled with a tone that says it must be my fault. "How much money ya' got in 'er?"

"How much does it take?" I asked.

"Buck and a half." he said with a tone that said I must have been living under a rock to not know the apparent going rate for a can of soda these days.

For a split second I came within inches of telling the man "f**k you! That's the most rediculous thing I've ever heard" but the thinking part of me pointed out that we were miles from anybody else, and he looked like the NRA type. Instead I laughed a laughed with a tone that said "f**k you, that's the most rediculous thing I've ever heard" and actually said "peace out" and took my leave of the man.

It's funny to have a conversation with someone entirely in tones that do not connect with the actual words you are using.

Allow Me To Retort...

How very brave of you, Mr. or Ms."anonymous." Going out on a limb to vociferously defend people's right to not vote. I did not at all appreciate the tone of your comments. I will freely admit that my dropping the word "idiotic" in the post was a bit strong, but that described a choice not a person. The rest of the post was more of a persuasive essay, not a specific commentary on any one person's ideals. Whereas in your comments you throw sarcasm and personal comments about my "bashing." Not cool.

I was so bothered by your comments I felt it warranted it's own attention. So here we go.

You're right, people don't have to vote. It's not required of you, and neither is making it your business to LISTEN AND LEARN ABOUT THE ISSUES that you say you know nothing about.

The info is there, LOOK FOR IT. And if you say "I'm too busy" that is a lame excuse, and you know it. In this day and age a simple Google search can yield PILES of info on any given subject and do it QUICKLY.

If you are a part of the country's unfortunates, then I might understand. If you are somebody who works several jobs in order to feed a family and cannot afford an internet connection, or even a newspaper subscription, nor has the time to use either, then okay. That's not irresponsible. It's sad.

Nobody I know has these problems or anything remotely resembling them.

"Vote for the one you hate the least"

I didn't say that. Vote for Nader. Vote for Dean. Vote for f**king Mel Gibson for all I care, but don't waste your opportunity. Make it your business to learn about some candidates and find one you DON"T HATE.

"Only idiots don't vote, because voting isn't a [choice], it is something you MUST do."

I didn't say that either. I was trying to make a compelling argument as to why you SHOULD vote, not why you MUST.

And calling somebody's choice "idiotic" and calling them an idiot are two different things. Smart people do stupid things sometimes.

"I may not share Nick's opinion, but I respect his choice."

Sure, it's a choice, but I don't respect any choice that involves ignoring responsiblities. You have a right to vote or not vote as you choose and that right is given to you and guaranteed by the very same system that your vote contibutes to. It's a give and take. If you think about it that way you actually undermine your right to not vote by exercising it.

"Australia knows what's up."

Please explain that. I don't know what that means, and I'd honestly like to know.

"I guess they could point you out and "bash" your decision online without knowing or caring why your not voting."

You are right, I don't know any reasons, but you are wrong about whether or not I care. I inquired as to reasons and I was met with an "I don't want to talk about it." That conveys a specific impression to me. That says to me that he has no good reason for his choice and is sick of being told all the reasons why he's being irresponsible. That impression may be wrong, but why would he refuse to discuss it?

Conclusion:

If you truly don't care, then don't vote. This post and the one that came before it were designed to give compelling reasons why YOU SHOULD CARE and therefore should make it your business to know the issues and vote. Apathy is a problem when these are all issues that DIRECTLY affect you and your life and the lives of your friends and family. Issues like stem cell research, abortion, and the death penalty may seem too lofty and far away now, but they could be in your backyard tomorrow. What if tomorrow you knock a girl up? What if tomorrow you are hit by a truck and damage your spinal chord? Then abortion and stem cell research may seem pretty important to you.

Also, I appreciate disagreement. It leads to discussion/debate which can only lead to better understanding. But please, don't be so flippant and sarcastic about it and don't pull the old anonymous trick. I've done it in other conversations myself before, but after this I can assure you: never again.

Give me reasons why I'm wrong and tell me who you are. Hiding figuratively behind sarcasm and literally by not identifying yourself is lame and doesn't help your argument at all.

Power

Recently it was brought to my attention that certain members of my inner circle have made the conscious decision to abstain from voting.

As this is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard, I say for shame.

Keep in mind as you read this that I speak from my own miserable experience. In 2000 I was twenty years old and had been able to vote for two years. Had I voted once in those two years? Nope. Did I intend to start then? Nope.

I try to live by a no regret policy, but I have to admit I do have a few. One is not allowing myself to be more of a hedonist in college while it was still considered acceptable behavior, two is not buying more absinthe while I was in London, and three is not voting in the 2000 presidential election.

For four years now I've had to sit and watch this man's legacy unfold around us all and for four years I've stewed over my political impotence. Had I voted and he still won, so be it. I still would have done everything in my power to stop it.

Which brings me to the biggest point here. In America we live in a consumer-driven economy and a democratic republic. In such a society we, as the average consumer-citizens, have two main forms of power allotted to us on a regular basis. One is the vote and the other is our money.

By judiciously deciding where your money is spent it can be almost like a form of voting. I mean when a business sees that it's not making money in a certain area it's options are change or die. For example I plan on making a return to vegetarianism after reading what I've read about the meat industry and the unethical practices it employs. It obviously won't cripple them, but I will not be supporting them either.

Now, I would argue that the dollar is actually a more potent voice, but most of us don't really use that voice to express our convictions either. Simple things like boycotting companies that use child-labor or buying more fresh foods and less processed crap. Hell, walk out of a movie you don't like the first fifteen minutes of and demand your money back.

I digress.

Power is power. And if you are handed power that you lay aside, you are a fool.

And I will be taking a very O'Reilly stance with non-voters who plan on saying word one about politics for the next four years.

"Cut his mike."

Environmental Fun Day

No matter how much we screw things up, life will go on. This we all know. The cockroach, for example, they say would easily survive a complete nuclear holocaust.

Skeptics to environmentalists seem to think that those who care about the environment are sappy sentimentalists who want to save things just for the sake of saving things. I've heard people ask questions like "What's in it for me?" and "Why should I care?"

To those I say read on.

And I'm not going to throw numbers about rainforests at you. That is only a symptom, and not nearly the worst one. The problem, as far as I can find is too many friggin' people. With all these damn people on earth we need a lot of food, so anything else alive on the planet is either eaten or knocked out of the way to produce more of our food.

The problem with that philosophy is that it throws things way out of balance.

Check out this piece about Factory Farms:

"Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations [CAFOs] are, perforce, Concentrated Animal Shitting Operations. Every hog produces ten times as much feces as a human being. Imagine if you produced ten times as much shit as you do right now.

A single CAFO in Utah is home to 850,000 hogs, producing as much shit as the city of New York. New York City has fourteen sewage treatment plants. CAFOs have none. This presents some problems."

On the traditional, small, family-owned hog-farms of days-gone-by they would use the feces as fertilizer on their crops. Nice and efficient. However, today a typical CAFO "farm lagoon" of feces holds anywhere from 5 to 25 million gallons of untreated feces. It's impossible to use that much for fertilizer. And keep in mind that is only one farm's load.

In 1995, after one of these pools spilled in North Carolina into The Neuse River scientists found a previously unheard of microbe called pfiesteria piscicida. "This dinoflagellate is a microscopic free-swimming single-celled organism that can mutate into at least 24 known forms, depending on its prey. It attacks fish, stunning them with one toxin, then liquefying their flesh with another, then feasting." This freaky little guy has made himself a comfortable home in The Neuse. To this day fish wash up dead on the shores and they, along with the fisherman and bridgekeepers, sport horrible, bloody lesions from the microbe.*

But don't take my word for it. These links illustrate the idea far better than I ever could. And if you only read one, make it the first one. It's a complete synthesis of what I'm trying to say.

BBC ARTICLE

SHIFTING BASELINES

NATURE.ORG

*Quotes from Franken, Al. Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them. page 341

A Glove to The Face

Tonight I sent a challenge to Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity. It went something like this.


Bill,

Hi. I watch your show from time to time and I'd like to challenge you to a public debate. A full scale event with rules and points and Jim Lehrer.

With all due respect, I think I can take you. I'll have a partner, I think you should too. That's why I've sent a similar email to Sean Hannity.

Please don't ignore this. I plan on making some calls and making this challenge a BIG deal.

Your Biggest Fan
Joe Moore

You should know that the "biggest fan" line is actually irony. Lots and lots of irony.

I actually do plan on making a big deal of this. I am going to contact MoveOn.org which we all know is one of Bill's favorite websites (also irony) and see if they can help me get some publicity about this.

Also, if I can manage to get Al Franken's attention, maybe I can get his help. Actually, if I do manage to get Al Franken's attention, I'm sure he'll put me on his show. Hmmm......

If you have a spare second and you know someone who knows someone who knows someone who happens to be sleeping with someone who knows someone... pass my message along.

Or, you could add another email to the pile and bug the two suggesting they take me seriously

OREILLY@FOXNEWS.COM

HANNITY@FOXNEWS.COM

If I can catch any major attention they'll have to agree, or else I win.

Then again, I am pretty sure I'll win anyway.

That's a little thing I like to call checkmate, boys and girls (not irony, true statement).