Wait... What?

Yes, I've been quiet lately. Yes, there's a good reason. And when I'm allowed to tell you what that reason is, I promise you, I will.

I'm quite sure that there are more than a few people out there who have enjoyed my lack of posts, as I obviously make a few people uneasy, angry, or otherwise perturbed. Don't worry, I haven't gone anywhere. Well, not anywhere major yet, anyway.

Meantime, find me on Facebook here. Just drop a note that you found me via this blog so I at least know why you added me. Random blank adds usually get the "I don't know this person" treatment.

Stay tuned...

Priorities

I'm curious. Which is more important to you: Your family, or God?

Apparently, to my biological mother, God is more important than her first-born child. She absolutely refuses to deal with me on a purely secular level. Everything she says to me is laced with scripture and rhetoric (assuming the two are different, which is sometimes impossible to discern). It's not like I'm asking her to shun God or her faith: All I'm asking is that she deal with me on a human, non-God-influenced level. Too much to ask? I think not.

I'd like to hear opinions. Don't be some snarky Anonymous fuckface who takes joy in criticizing me from behind a CRT monitor. Be thoughtful, be honest.

I await your judgment...

How Lucky I Am...

There is no doubt in my mind now: I'm the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

For the first year of his life, I was unaware that he was mine. For the following two years of his life, I was unable to get to him. So, for his third birthday, I swore that - come hell or high water - I would see my little boy for the first time.

The first of many, many more...

The road to fatherhood wasn't easy. In fact, it was pretty bumpy. First, Jennie's pregnancy came as a bit of a surprise. Such a surprise, in fact, that we really couldn't nail down whether Luke's father was me or her ex. And then, Jennie and I had a huge falling out, and didn't speak for a while. Time passed, and while I didn't forget about it, it took a spot in the recesses of my already-over-crowded mind and waited.

And then, the IM came: Eric, Lucas is your son.

Initial confusion gave way to utter elation, because Lucas being born at all is something of a miracle. As with her daughter, Luke pushed the limits of what her body could take, and almost killed her in the process of coming into the world. But Jennie is a fighter, and she made it through just fine. It's because of that that I feel I'm the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.

I'm lucky to have a mother for my son that can survive not one, but TWO high-risk pregnancies and still produce two very happy, very smart, and very awesome children. I'm lucky that my son's mother does all that she does for he and his sister. It amazes me just how great those kids are turning out thanks to her. People don't give her enough credit, and so here I am to step up and say that not only does she deserve it, but she deserves a helluvalot of it.

I'm lucky to have had the sense to keep my own personal promise. When I was 13, I said I wasn't having kids til I was 30. Lucas was born just a month and a half shy of my 30th birthday. And now, I'm lucky enough to be able to make a whole new promise, one far less selfish than the first.

I'm lucky enough to have an awesome son who I can devote the rest of my life to. I'm lucky enough to see the joys that having a child can bring to your life. I'm lucky enough to have a chance to make a lasting impression on the world through him. I'm lucky enough to have the chance to teach him to read and show him the pure joy that books can bring to the imagination. I'm lucky enough to share my gift of music with him, to watch him dance and sing. I'm lucky enough to be able to share my love of video games with him, even if it means having to play SpongeBob's Truth or Square a thousand more times.

I'm lucky enough to share with him my love of animation in all forms, and to see the laughter it will bring him. I'm lucky enough to have a son who will cheer with his dad as their team takes the pitch and kicks some ass.

I'm lucky enough to have the chance to be a father. I can't imagine why any father wouldn't want such a chance. I have the chance to give the world a gift by raising my son to be a good, honest, free-thinking person, and the world obviously needs more of those. What kind of idiot balks at a chance like that? Now that I've been around him, watched him play and held him, I can't see life without him. He never ceases to amaze the ever-loving hell out of me.

Here is my creation, living and breathing and acting like a maniac. And I absolutely love it.

For a man who doesn't believe in any sort of God nonsense, I will concede this much: Our children ARE miracles, but not divine ones. They're the only reminder that we should ever need of our true purpose in life - to further the species and to help it grow, change, adapt, and improve.

And with all the bullshit I've been through, I'm not so blind as to not see how truly lucky I am to be a part of that through Lucas.

My son: I love you more than anything on this Earth, and I'm lucky to have such an awesome kid. In 10 years, when you Google the garbage your dad wrote and find it in an archive cache somewhere, you'll find amidst all the stupid BS I've written this one entry. It may be rambling and it may be sappy, but it's the greatest thing I've ever written, because it is about the greatest thing I have ever done with my life, and that is you. I can't wait to see you grow up, and I hope that someday you experience the pure happiness that I am now.

All because of how lucky I am to have you...

Tear Down The Walls

Wow. This far? I was over it that week. You've seriously taken it to that level?

And people think I'm the one who needs help. Why, I don't know, when there are so many others out there who make even me seem the picture of Normal Rockwell America.

Boggles the mind, really.

I found it funny how you chose to treat me as if I were some sort of child, when you've delved far deeper into that well that I ever have. And I'm the immature one in all of this? I'm sure that's true in some parallel dimension where different choices were made and what not, but in our reality, that's simply not the case.

I said what I said. I still stand by what I said. But to be quite honest with you, I'm past it. I mean, really. People in this are taught me a valuable lesson early on: There's no sense kicking a dead horse. I have bigger and better things to run my mouth about than old news.

Oh, wait, that's why you decided to get yourself involved in this at all, isn't it? The phrase "old news?" Yeah, that's the one. The over-reaction - it burns us. If that's a good enough reason to run off and pull 9th grade stunts and only cost yourself money in the end, I guess you're entitled to it.

The net effect, though? I obviously haven't shut up, and quite honestly, I don't think I ever will until I draw my last breath and can speak no more. And I don't think that even you could be so stupid as to hustle my fate along a bit, would you? No, unlike you, I'll give you at least SOME credit. You're a child, yes, but not a complete idiot.

I'm sure you thought your night out with me was fun, too. Oh, lordy, did I ever enjoy that. There you sat, pretending that you're someone and something you're not, trying to assert some kind of dominance over me like you have that kind of pull.

Sorry. Frayed Knot.

Do I fear you? No. Should I? No. Why? Any move you make seals your own fate, and I don't think you're stupid enough to throw away what you have going for you. So, honestly, the only real solution for you is to just let it go.

It's trivial. It's insignificant. It's nothing. It's a dead horse: Why kick it? You don't see me wasting my time, money and energy on it, do you? Nope. This account was free, and it didn't cost me a dime or much effort to sit here and type from the comfort of my own home, that's for sure. Why you insist on harping on the issue is beyond me.

I let it go a long time ago. Why don't you?

Temporal Anomaly

Well... I certainly didn't expect this to happen this fast. I was sure that, simply because I lived in Clearfield County of all places, and that because my records were within the walls of the courthouse, I wouldn't see them for quite a while. The way this County works, and as backed up as its system is, I really didn't think that I'd be able to achieve much at all in a short time. I was honestly in this for the long haul, and was prepared to fight tooth and nail.

Turns out I really didn't need to. But I want to let everyone know that I'm extremely lucky to get the results I have out of this. There are still thousands of people out there, young and old alike, who aren't anywhere near this lucky when trying to find out who they are.

So yes, I know I was supposed to post this after I got home from Kelce's last night, but my brain had different ideas, wanting instead to go to bed. And then today, I ended up going out for a while to get some work done, and then coming home to an unexpected nap. Fun, right? And now, here I am, actually blogging about it, and I've kept the better majority of you in suspense for the last three paragraphs.

Yep. By a twist of fate, I've discovered the paternal side of my biological family.

Turns out that, when I received the first letter from the Courthouse, they neglected to define the exact "methods" they'd used to try and contact my parents. What happened was that the Court had found contact information in my file for my father only, and the chances of it still being accurate were very slim - 32+ years past. After a month and no reply from the address, the Court sent me the first letter.

So earlier this week, I go out to get some cigarettes, and when I come back, I find that the mail dude has been by, and left me a letter from... Judge's Chambers, Clearfield?!? Hmmm. Wonder what kind of trouble I've been implicated in this time. Nothing like that, really, but what had happened was that my biological father had in fact received the court's letter, and after some thought, decided that attempting to contact me might be something worth trying. He had the Court forward him the original letter I'd written to the Judge, which had my contact information in it.

My guess is he didn't take much time to decide that he wanted to call, because yesterday, I got that call.

No sooner had I been dropped off at Mikey's place than my pocket started to ring. I didn't recognize the number, but my curiosity got the better of me yet again and I answered. Good thing, really. He asked for me, and after I confirmed that I was he whom he had sought, he told me that he was calling because he'd received a letter from the Courthouse in Clearfield.

2+2=OMG HOLY SHIT WTF WOW

After an hour and a half or so of conversation, I've discovered that I have a few half-siblings, a few aunts and uncles, plus a grandmother, across the pond, and that my mother will unfortunately remain an enigma for right now. But the good news is, I'll be able to get at least half of the information that I want for Lucas, and then some.

I never intended for things to go this well, and I certainly didn't anticipate this good a result. Yes, I acknowledged it as possible, but in the realm of high fantasy at that point. I mean, come on. When have things ever gone that well for me, ever, right? I've learned over the years to keep my expectations realistic. Not low, mind you, but within the realm of possibility given my track record.

So that's where I'm at right now. Trading emails and phone calls, learning what I can and figuring out where to go as it rolls along. Nothing super special at the moment. I mean, geez, it's been a whole 24 hours or so. But as things progress, I'm sure you'll see little blurbs here and there. But yes, now, I'm not so much in the dark anymore. I have more than one known biological relative.

Doesn't that suck? It brings me one step closer to being just like all of you :P

The Good Fight

See this little boy? This little boy is Lucas, and he is my one and only son. To date, he is the only first biological relative on this Earth that I am was ever aware of.

And I would lay down my life for him, as any father should for their child.

But there are people that would actively seek to prevent me from doing this, the greatest job I've ever had to do. There are people who actually have the outright nerve to say "No" to this little boy, to tell me that I can't do the one thing that a father is supposed to do above all other things: Provide the best possible future for their child.

And what's worse, these people are elected officials who are bound to enforce an actual law that has the nerve to legislate that this little boy can't have all of the things he needs to have a shot at a happy, healthy life. A law that I have since found to be unconstitutional - a violation of both mine and Lucas' Equal Protection rights.

Who writes such a law? And who enforces such a law? The correct answers to those questions are "Nobody should write such a law, because it violates the US Constitution" and "Nobody should enforce such a law, because it violates the US Constitution."

The law in question was somehow passed in 1984 by the Pennsylvania State Legislature. Acting on the notion that they were somehow defending the rights of parents to remain anonymous, they decided that they would seal ALL adoption records in Pennsylvania. So, for the first seven years of my life, I could have had access to this information, had I actually wanted it. Back then, of course, I was far too concerned with video games and school, and it remained a non-concern for the better portion of my life that followed.

And now that I actually have a reason to want this information, I'm finding that this law does far more in its willful violation of the ultimate law of this great nation.

While only on a theoretical level, it is possible for an adult adoptee such as myself to have my records unsealed and the information that I want. The problem with that idea becoming reality is, the same 1984 law that sealed my records in the first place also created hurdles and hoops for me to jump over and through.

First of all, I must provide a reason for my desire to have the records unsealed, which will be weighed by a judge. This is where the law becomes unconstitutional: By holding my reasons for wanting my records suspect at all, they're segregating adoptees like me into a new "suspect class," separate from Pennsylvanians who were not adopted - While all non-adoptee Pennsylvanians can petition Harrisburg and get their records on a whim, adoptee Pennsylvanians have to prove valid reason and go through a long, drawn-out and often hopeless court process. This is a clear and direct violation of the US Constitution's 14th Amendment, which reads as follows, as found on USConstitution.net:

Amendment 14 - Citizenship Rights. Ratified 7/9/1868. Note History 1. All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

This law is clearly unconstitutional: It creates two classes of Pennsylvanians, who are not protected equally under the rule of law - Adoptees and Non-adoptees.

And I'm sure you're all wondering what my "suspect" reasons are, so I'll spell out my entire plan for you all to see and judge for yourselves. I have nothing to hide in this matter: My reasons are crystal clear, and entirely valid.

By having my records unsealed and my biological parents' names known to me, I can begin the search for them. If and when I find them, the only thing I want to do is ask them for a general overview of their medical history.

Between 1977 (when I was born) and 2010 (over two and a half years after Lucas was born), medical science has improved by leaps and bounds. We know far more about genetics and medicine today than we did during the period when I was born. Hell, when I was born, you could still smoke in a hospital! Today, we know that certain types of cancer are genetic, as well as a whole host of other serious conditions. We understand the concept of carriers better than we did then - for example, the only real piece of biological medical history I have is that epilepsy has shown up in my family. Who's to say that other conditions haven't shown up, and might show up in Lucas or any of the children he may have?

I simply can't know this information unless I contact my parents. It is my belief that this information is vital to giving Lucas a good chance at having a happy and healthy future. At least armed with information I didn't have right away, he stands a better chance of being ready to cope with these things should they arise than I had.

Is that too much to ask? I think not. I'm quite sure that there won't be anyone who would argue that this isn't something that I owe my son. That's why I'm fighting.

Because the court is treating my reasons as suspect, I'd also like to outline, in no uncertain terms, the things that I DO NOT wish to do at all.

1. I do not want to suddenly inject myself back into these people's lives. It's not like I'm trying to force a meeting with them. Far from it: I have survived for 32 years without meeting my biological parents, and I don't feel any great need to meet them now, either. If my parents want to meet me/us, that's fine, I have no problem with that. But it is THEIR CHOICE.

2. Given what little information I do have about my biological parents, it's safe to assume that I am the first-born child for either of them, most certainly for my mother. However, it is NOT MY INTENTION to find them for the purpose of asserting my status as such in any of their affairs, period. I don't want money, I don't want in on any will, I don't want any piece of any possible estate, none of that.

No, my reason is simple: I just want to have the information I feel necessary in order to do my job as a father. That's it.

So, why am I being treated like a second class Pennsylvanian? And more importantly, why the hell are you treating my SON like a second class Pennsylvanian? He lives here too, you know, and he has the right to the information that I want to provide for him, just like any other Pennsylvanian does.

I am doing this solely for him. And in a State - and in particular, a county - where deadbeat dads are almost the norm, I think that should be recognized. Even though I may not see my son, I'm not giving up on him like so many others have before me. No - this child WILL know his father, and he WILL know that his father loves him more than anything else in this damned universe. And as his father, it's my job to make sure he gets a fighting chance at life.

And I will not allow something so vile as this unconstitutional attempt to legislate to stop me from doing that job.

The State of Pennsylvania is on notice: I aim to set a precedent, even before any further legislation can be considered on this subject. If I'm right, the law - along with any pending legislation that may seek to strengthen it rather than oppose it - will be declared unconstitutional, and we will no longer have to live as "second class" Pennsylvanians.

My son and I are Pennsylvanians - no class restrictions. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure that we can both claim that right.

-- 7/24/10 - Updated due to the surprise appearance of my biological father and his side of the family, giving Lucas even more people to know. Mission accomplished, at least partially so far. I now possess all the information that I figured would be in my adoption records, and what was confirmed to exist by the Judge.

So, what's the next step? Mom. She's going to be a jewel to find, that's for sure. First thing's first, though: Contacting her old high school and seeing if I can't find a yearbook picture of her...

42

Life is a case study in people.

This blog is here to report observations.

You know, I really love my work. It's fun to see the reactions people have to what I say. Honestly, you learn more about a person from their reaction to a stimulus than by simply sitting and talking to them. Sitting down and talking with a person allows them time to craft their answers and portray themselves in a controlled manner. But, when provoked, I find that most people have a knee-jerk reaction to things, and without that calm filter, their true colors come out. Something clicks in their brain, and the worst in them charges to the forefront like a roid-raging bull.

So I say I don't particularly care for someone, and in my opinion, that person fails as a human being in some of the most basic respects. The reaction? Two Facebook pages intended to demean me, and a slew of people making comments and thumping their chests in this sorry sack's defense.

The only problem is, they don't know ME very well. Instead of being offended, I've used them as a sounding board to reach a broader audience (people who have fanned these two pages, but are otherwise not connected to me), injecting what some people consider provocative material into the mix. In this case, I've been told that "I'm Christian, and this offends me because I'm Christian."

Yeah, because I give a fuck.

So, what makes a Christian uneasy? Why, the mocking of their establishment, of course. Feed a Christian a line of dialogue from someone like PZ Myers which states the exact opposite of their belief structure, and they grab their torch and pitchforks, marching as to war.

Yes, they consider this a mature and rational reaction. Amazing, isn't it?

They'll defend someone who's not all that great a person to begin with, and then to make matters worse, they'll take up the cause and defend their own imaginations on two fronts: They imagine this person is something way more than he really is, and they imagine a magic man in the sky who loves and watches over them. Two fictional ideas, vehemently defended by people who are supposedly grounded, respected community members.

Conclusions? For one, people are walking contradictions. There really isn't any other way to describe it; Do as I say, not as I do. Secondly, even people who think themselves good and above contempt are capable of the worst that humanity has to offer. Third, small minds tend to work in numbers. It makes them feel better, I guess.

Me? I work alone, because I lack something they have in spades: Fear. I'm not afraid of how other people perceive me; some idiots have taken that out of my hands anyway, so fuck it. I'm also not afraid of some divine punishment, giving my own free will complete license to soar. I don't need mob mentality. It's becoming quite clear that my own mentality is holding up just fine, and even the mob can't bring me down.

So, what's next? Showing them what the rational mind can do. By week's end, these two Facebook pages will be taken down, through normal channels (and some abnormal, I will be putting in a call to Facebook Corporate). Their creator will likely receive a reprimand at least, and at worst have his account suspended. And me?

I'll be sitting here enjoying some fresh popcorn and a whole mess of test subjects to further my personal research. Even when you're broke, you can find the resources you need.

And yes, for those of you who get the title, I do have my towel handy...

Eating Barbecued Iguana

Hello, San Fransisco!

Glad to see you all made it. I had to do a little housekeeping, but I think I'm ready for the few extra visitors that are sure to make their way here.

If you're visiting from FCCFreeRadio.com, then I welcome you! Chances are you probably heard my "Redneck Report" tonight on 107.9FM, and I hope you found it somewhat amusing. Given that I'm a city kid who really doesn't care for the redneck lifestyle, I'm amazed I managed to hammer it out!

First of all, no, I don't normally sound like that. Like a news anchor, I have a non-regional dialect, although southerners might consider it a "Yankee" accent. It's my passion for voice acting and comedy that led me to develop the composite "redneck" accent you heard tonight. It's a little Larry the Cable Guy, a little Early Cuyler (from Squidbillies), and just a pinch of Deliverance. And no, I don't want to "make you squeal."

How did I come to be involved with San Fransisco's Comedy Alternative Radio when I live in the boondocks of Central PA? Why, the Internet, of course! I've known John for many years, starting back when he and the late Paul McSween were running The John Miller Program as a webcast based in John's Scottsdale, AZ garage. In fact, you might have heard John air some of my "work" from those days: I was the guy who called into a tech talk show and managed to get in at least a dozen plugs for John's program. And you know what? I never got my fucking coffee, damnit...

Will you be hearing more from me? I hope so! John and I have been wanting to do a bit to get me involved ever since the station launched, and finally, we have the time and the resources to pull it off. And I assure you that "Cletus" isn't my only voice. In the future, you might get a visit from Comrade Nikolai, my crazy Russian-American alter-ego, or even from a very stoned Kermit The Frog. You never know what kind of craziness I might invent next, so keep your dials tuned to 107.9FM to find out!

Apart from Voice Acting, I have a few other talents, and I like to show them off. If you'd like to see me in action, just check out my YouTube Channel! I'm also on Facebook (because who isn't these days, right?), so if you'd like to add me and see what insignificant crap I'm getting into at any given moment, feel free! I can be found on MySpace, too, but I'm hardly ever on there anymore. Bloated piece of web garbage, that is.

Yes, ladies, I'm single at the moment. Sorry, guys, I'm straight...

So yeah, I hope you enjoyed tonight's segment! Like I said, keep your radios tuned into FCCFree Radio, San Fransisco's Comedy Alternative! John brings the funny!

Sarah Palin Is Retarded

Sarah Palin Is Retarded.

Sarah Palin Is Retarded.

Sarah Palin Is Retarded.

Sarah Palin Is Retarded.

Sarah Palin Is Retarded.

Sarah Palin Is Retarded.

And by the way, did I mention that Sarah Palin Is Retarded?

Come and get me, you know-nothing, self-righteous, stupid beauty queen whore. I do not fear you...

Wait, What?!? Aquaman vs. Sailor Moon

It started as a thought while hanging out with Jill. She goes on and on about Sailor Moon, and me with my comic book senses trying to find a funny way of making a point about that little black eye on the face of Anime. Onto my Facebook went the following status change, and here it is with the comments that followed, up until just now:

Eric Jacobson:
Aquaman could totally kick Sailor Moon's ass...

Jill Saupp:
prove it

Eric Jacobson:
Aquaman is bigger, blonder, can exist both on land and in the sea, and while his animals might not talk, he's not limited to just cats.

His equivalent "Sailor Scouts" include Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, The Flash, Wonder Woman, The Martian Manhunter, Booster Gold (the closest thing to a Sailor Scout the JLA* has, really)... Plus dozens more, all interchangeable depending on the situation, and with far greater powers than any Sailor Scout. None of this building a single (or sometimes multiple) creature out of some silly thing or another. Fucking SUPERMAN! Those hos best have his money, now!

His has a son as opposed to a daughter, and this boy is just like his father, only a little more edgy. HIS running crew includes such names as Robin, Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven, Starfire, Jericho... With the same results as Dad's posse. Not that Gender dictates in either situation, just pointing it out.

No masks or secret identities for Aquaman. Aquaman is Aquaman. Aquaman IS. And while it's cool that Usagi and crew are from Japan, Aquaman is from motherfucking ATLANTIS. Hellz yeah!

His villains are far more kickass than anything the Sailor Senshi have ever faced, though maybe fewer in number. These include his own brother, as well as feared Legion of Doom member Black Manta. Hell yes, Black Manta! I mean, come on! It doesn't get more badass than the Legion of motherfucking Doom. Black Manta isn't going to waste time during sophisticated transformation and power-up sequences with his thumb up his underwater ass, no way no how. Makos FTW.

What does Tuxedo Mask do, spin around in his cape and fling roses? Sailor Moon and her pack of teeny boppers spend five minutes transforming or powering up? In that time, all would become McNuggets to a very large sea creature, no-nonsense right freakin' now. Aquaman just thinks - not says, thinks - "Hey, snack over there" while Usagi is wearing a one-piece made of pure light because the American Censors won't let her show her naughty bits...

You tell me who's going to win that exchange. My money's on the swarm of giant squid he just telepathized into your face...

Aquaman is more or less the laughing stock of the DC universe. And yet yes, even he can trump Sailor Moon, if only by virtue of his Saturday Morning and Comic Book ties to the Man of Steel alone. It's all who you know. While she may be Queen of the Moon, he is King of the Ocean, with the power to command all of the sea's creatures in the fight for good. In a head to head showdown, sorry, Jill: Aquaman, by unanimous decision. Ring the bell...

Oh yeah. Score one for the king of the DC Heroes who has actual powers, yet isn't as awesome as regular-guy-with-assload-of-cash Batman. Hold your head high, Aquaman! On this day, you're the better blonde...

Find Out What It Means To Me

Wow. My family is a piece of work.

My beef with my Aunt Judy aside, it would seem that more of my family are taking a leap-of-faith swan dive off the 200m stupid platform into the empty kiddie pool of what the fuck. As I've stated before, I believe that it's a sick, sorry thing when a person actually shows more love for an imaginary man in the sky they can't prove exists without the word "faith" than they do for an actual, corporeal, tangible family member. These kinds of people actually sever ties with family members over religious differences.

This is why the empty pool is called what the fuck.

Even with all the knowledge I've tried to amass over the course of my lifetime, I still can't seem to fathom this phenomenon. And since we're talking Christianity, I might as well use a metaphor that Christians can identify with. Somewhat...

It's like there's a little invisible gnome, we'll call him Chompsky, living in the space between my brain and my various inputs (eyes, nose, et al). Chompsky's job, it would seem, is to decide what information is allowed to pass him by and carry on its merry way towards my memory and what is absolute rubbish. In a way, he's my brain's co-pilot. At any rate, for the rubbish, Chompsky has a little mallet that he uses to bat away the incoming bullshit, preventing my brain from becoming a sewer of useless, baseless crap.

A person who chooses God over Family must be rubbish, because Chompsky won't allow the concept to enter my internal database. Nope, no sir. Not a chance in hell. This is because Chompsky knows that, despite anything and everything that can come between people, the bond of family is a trump card when all other cards are on the table.

Imaginary men, mallets or no, should not trump that which you can see, feel, recognize, understand, communicate directly with, and most importantly of all, actually love.

And yet members of my family can't seem to understand this. Their fanatical devotion to the Magic Sky Pixie has led them to cut ties with me. They and their friends most likely think that I'm an embarrassment to the family, since I don't play ball in the House of the Invisible Cloud Monkey. To them, I am a blemish, a cancer, one that can be treated with the tried-and-true Christian throwback cure called "out of sight, out of mind."

I'm the embarrassment? I'm not the one clinging to the delusion that some omnipotent-yet-impotent super being even exists, let alone is more important that what's right the fuck in front of you. I'm not the one who condemns for stupid ideological reasons based on said magic space wizard. I'm not the one who professes unconditional love, yet administers unabashed hate because a 1600 year old story book told me that something isn't right.

I grew out of that phase. I filed that kind of nonsense in the fiction section. I know where my priorities are: They're with my family, my friends, and most of all, focused on my son. Where are yours? Well, you might as well forget family, because you've made your choice abundantly clear. Kissing the non-existent ass of the Amazing Man Upstairs is way more important than any family you might have.

Yep, that's right. When you consider excluding one, you open the door to excluding them all. Yoda said it best: "Once you turn down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."

Rachel, I hope there really is a Hell, because I want you to enjoy your trip there. And as the demon bus to Flamey Town rides past me, I'll smile and wave, and know that you and Aunt Judy are on your way to the very place that you people believe that bad folks should go first class next to Pat Robertson and every fucking Pope that has ever held office.

Forsaking your family is bad. I don't need any god to tell me that much is true...

Dubya Gets One... Right?!?

Mark this day on the calendar, because I'm about to give +1 to one of the people in this nation that I despise the most: George W. Bush. To see Farker's heads asplode, hit the thread.

"First of all, it takes time to get the supplies in place. That shouldn't deter them. In other words, there's an expectation-- amongst people that things are going to happen quickly. And sometimes it's hard to make things happen quickly. Secondly, there is a great reservoir of good will that wants to help. And that's why he asked us to help, and we're glad to do it."

Yeah. Good on Bush, right? Took him 9 years, but he finally got one right for a change. And the thing is, he actually spoke it well. That in and of itself is a small miracle. Hopefully, his efforts with President Clinton to bring attention to the crisis befalling Haiti will allow him to see how things SHOULD be handled, and maybe we can get another miracle: He'll apologize for fucking things up so badly...

Ahhh, a man can dream...

The One Not Mentioned

Over the years and over the blogs, I've gone on quite a number of rants about the joke that is my love life. I've written diatribes about this ex and that ex, the effect they had on me, and the lasting scars that came as the result of these so-called "relationships."

But recently, I've come to remember one that, when compared to the others, didn't really seem to have the impact that they did. Hence, when I went on my rants, she remained unmentioned. However, now that I've been reminded of it all, and now that I think about it, this relationship - unfairly brief though it was - was probably one of the best I'd ever known.

Looking back, it's apparent to me now that this was my first real shot at love, and for reasons I can no longer remember, I somehow screwed it up. Then, of course, I left for Pittsburgh, and entered into the Twilight Zone as far as relationships went, so I couldn't really fix this mistake.

Oh, how Time and Fate work in crazy ways...

I can't really say much about it: It's still a very new situation, and I have no idea how it's going to go. In fact, I'm pretty sure I won't know for some time yet. But, like any good detective, I've picked up on some clues. (And it's funny, as I mention any good detective, TV Batman Adam West is voicing a Lending Tree commercial - awesome!) Hopefully I don't read them wrong.

And, since I know that she'll find her way here, I have a message for her:

10 years ago, when I came back from Pittsburgh, I went to the Fair. There, I saw you, and even walked right past you. And I said nothing. Like an idiot, I said nothing. I should have said hello. I should have said "Hey, remember me?" Part of me knew you couldn't forget, but part of me was also afraid it wouldn't end well. Lots of things didn't end well since then, trust me. But could have, should have, would have - didn't. I'm sorry...

Odyssey Two

2010. It's finally here.

Big fucking deal, really.

When I was a kid, science fact and science fiction both drove my imagination, as well as my hopes and dreams for the future. Up until the Challenger disaster in 1986, my mind was always making my eyes look skyward. Star Wars, Classic Trek (TNG would appear in '87), The Jetsons, books by folks like Arthur C. Clarke and Issac Asimov...

The possibilities were endless.

And then reality stepped in. Ruined by religious interference and conservative thought at the absolute wrong time, we're nowhere near where we dream we'd be by now. This auspicious date - made legendary by the Clarke story and Peter Hyams film - has finally arrived, and we're nowhere near where we should be.

I know it's almost silly, but I really have to get it out of the way first. Look: We sent people to the fucking MOON 40 years ago, so WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FLYING CAR? Why did we reach that lofty goal so long ago, before my lifetime, and then just... stall out? Why have we not been back to the moon since the mid 70's? Why do we NOT LIVE THERE? Why the hell did these massive human achievements just die off? Why do we limit ourselves to our own orbit, just sending probes out to other stellar bodies? Why don't we have a lunar launch facility to travel beyond our own galactic back yard? Why?

Here's something to think about: For Christmas, I got myself an HTC Droid Eris. This little device fits nicely in my hand. And it has far, far, FAR more computing power inside of it than the entire Apollo Lunar Program's fleet of vehicles had inside of them. And those ancient machines TOOK PEOPLE TO THE FUCKING MOON. Sure, my phone can let me get my email, take pictures and let me post them to Facebook, and even take control of my computer to post blog entries, but it won't let me leave the trappings of planet Earth.

Here's something else to think about: The Space Shuttle fleet will be retired soon. Know what's replacing them? Nothing. There's nothing ready to fill in the gap. Everything is going to be handled by Russia and China now. Once the Shuttle fleet goes, America has nothing.

We went to the motherfucking MOON in motherfucking 1969. And you mean to tell me that, in 2010, I have to watch the once proud American Space program roll over and play second fucking banana to the Ruskies and the Chinese?

FAIL.

Look, I don't have a problem with the Russians, or the Chinese. It's not the Chinese's fault that their government are a bunch of greedy dicksplashes. It's not the Russians' fault that they had the same problem for damn near 90 years. I have full faith in their space programs, as well as that which is developing in - of all fucking places - India. But for half a century, America was either gunning for the lead, or in the lead. And now here we are, in what, at least third place?

Same goes with Science in general, which brings me back to the flying car thing. Why has science stagnated so damned much? The promises of technology have pretty much been limited to computers and hand-held devices. Our cars get a little smarter, yes. But they're still designed to be gas hogs compared to the rest of the world. Our phones get a lot smarter, yes. But they still can't really hold a phone call anywhere yet, and commercialism makes them expensive and a pain in the ass to deal with.

Computers are a kind of barometer for this whole thing. My computers should tell you something: My first was a Pentium at 166MHz in 1996. My second, a Pentium III at 550MHz in 1999. I saw my first 1GHz system in 2000. We peaked at 4GHz sometime in the mid 2000's. And... That's where we are now, in 2001. After a decade of chip speeds going insane, we seem to have leveled off around the 3 to 4GHz mark: My current system is clocked at 3.32GHz. What gives?

I can only venture guesses as to why this is happening, and since you're reading this on this particular blog, you know exactly where I'm going to go with it. Faith in sky men makes us Stupid. And Stupid makes us make bad decisions. Religion made us stupid at several points in history, declaring true science as heresy and suppressing scientific thought and knowledge for centuries. Then it made us sheep, made us blindly follow idiocy in the name of God: Hence the election of top officials who's priorities don't include meaningful scientific development. Our nation stagnated for a long time under administrations like Reagan/Bush I/Bush II. That's 20 long years.

What were their focuses? Wars (Iraq twice, Afghanistan, Nicaragua, and let's not forget the massive FAIL of the 'War on Drugs'), Deregulation (which led to bad loans, bank failures, and your bills being sky high for pretty much any reason the company billing you can think of), and pretty much ruining this country. And they did it on the backs of silly, ignorant religious Americans who simply don't know any better and follow blindly as if they really were sheep.

Proud to be an American my ass. How can I be proud of not fulfilling the promises and dreams of 2010, and deliberately taking this nation from first in the world in so many aspects, to mediocrity?

Where we are and where we should be are two very different realities.

Still, though, I do have hope - and yes, even faith - for the future. I'm hopeful that we can get this monkey off our backs and get back to the business of bringing the future back up to speed. The dreams of Asimov, Clarke, Roddenberry, and so many others can finally be realized - and we're dropping the ball. We have to fix this, and soon. Stop singing silly songs and being complacent.

Live. Dream. Reach. Realize. We can do this. All we have to do is get started again...

The Obligatory 2009 Year-In-Review and Lyric Post Title Post

365 days. Counting this one, 72 posts. 73 if you count one I deleted out of pity. Who knows how many words, because I'm too lazy to count. So many rants, so many raves, no ROM reviews (sorry, Earthbound Zero fans, still no ROM either), yet so few posts overall. Yes, it's been a rather insane year for the ol' Lost Kid. Of course, there will be the listing of lyrical titles, but first, a look back at a very crazy year in the life of a foul-mouthed wannabe citizen journalist and entertainer with a soapbox and nearly zero self-censorship.

It started like a lot of the previous years have, and it will end just the same: Absolutely bone-chilling. Bloody weather (+1 self high five of Python-ness). All the talk about Environment this and Global Warming that and blah blah blah hippie nonsense - coupled by the equally ignorant yet closer-to-correct opposition - madness. If you just sit back and look at all the data we've collected since the dawn of modern meteorology, it's not hard to figure out what's happening to this ball of dirt floating in a giant vacuum we call home.

This year, we lost Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett - ON THE SAME DAY. First the pin-up queen, and then the king of freak pop. We all know who got more coverage. Farrah went out with quiet dignity, yet she was damn-near ignored by the mainstream media given the circumstances surrounding Wacko Jacko's death. I remember that day well: Stuck in a dually with Justin, who insisted on having the Sirius tuned solid to, of all networks, Faux News, so he could listen to the wall-to-wall Jacko coverage and say "Man, that's a shame" over and over and over and over...

Yeah, I wanted to strangle him by the time we got to Hermitage, believe you me. It took all my willpower and a walk to the local Sheetz to keep me from smacking him upside the head for that shit.

I've finally struck back out on my own again, thank whatever fairy tale figure floats your boat. The new apartment is nice, albeit a bit poor in the heat retention department. All in all, though, it's worth the work and the worry. Between the DJ gigs and Buck-It booking more shows (we have five or six coming up in the next two months, already well more than I ever did with Tempered Edge in the same timespan), it's a livable situation, and I couldn't be happier.

Well, I could, but one new thing does make up for it...

OMG DROID! Yes, I got myself an HTC Droid Eris for Xmas (thank you, Mom, you RULE!), and holy shit, I'm in love with this little gadget. I haven't really gotten balls deep in apps yet, but the ones I do have are both fun and incredibly nifty. And now, I will type this next paragraph - using my Droid as a wireless keyboard:

So yeah. Basically how it works is the phone app connects to a server program running on the computer you want to control. Then once it connects, it uses the touch screen to emulate a touch pad mouse. It also makes use of the phones virtual keyboard, obviously.

Tada! I know, it doesn't look any different. But being able to use the Droid as not only a keyboard, but a wireless touchpad mouse as well, has become the ultimate in lazy geekery for me. I'm able to start videos from my couch now, nearly completing my in-house on demand setup. All I need now is a workable front-end and I have it made. If you're curious about the app, click here.

Sadly, Electric Avenue is no more. The last show was at the end of January (with Buck-It, of course), and the restaurant closed its doors a few months later after just barely hanging on. Sad to see the place go. It really was the nicest bar in the entire region, it just had some off-color customers that really put people off to the place. Otherwise, the food was good, and the fun was even better. I'll never forget my five years there, the times we all had, the cuties that worked the day shift, and the nights stuck in that little DJ booth at the corner of the stage. Farewell, Electric Avenue! So many memories, so little time to cram them all into this not-so-quick post. I may have to stop and make a sandwich, though...

2009 was spent completely in bachelor mode, and quite honestly, it was time well-deserved. Although I do miss the company of the opposite sex on a regular basis. That, I'll have to resolve to work on in 2010...

I broke down and signed up for both Twitter and Facebook. Yay, right? Just like everybody else. Does that mean I sold out? Well, sort-of. All I'm doing is whoring my stupid little blog and getting into fun discussions with interesting people. And also making my family feel uneasy, which is always fun. If you all want, you can add me on either service (and if you came here from either service, welcome) and follow my boring little life, tweet to status update to blog post to naps in the early afternoon. The joys of growing old geeky...

Old chapters concluded, new chapters begun. I'll have a little bit more on that next year (snicker snicker), but for now, I'd like to get on to the music. And speaking of music, please imagine a little proper snack time music - perhaps "Let's All Go To The Lobby" or the parody from ATHF:MFFT - as I go make myself a sammich. Yes, that should do nicely...

~( :: Some Time Passes :: )~

There we go, much better. Now then, on to the lyrical entries from this year! Did you spot them all? Well, here's you're year-end checklist!

1. Newt Sensation - If you loved the 80s, then you should recognize one of INXS' bigger hits indeed, here adjusted for political funny.
2. Deny Your Maker - From Alice in Chains' "Man in the Box," and good advice for any religious believer.
3. All Alone, Or In Twos - The greatest band in history: Pink Floyd's "Outside the Wall"
4. The Evil of the Thriller - Duh. Click and be amazed.
5. Cuts Like a Knife - Bryan Adams: Canada owes us a big one for that guy. Double sad, he shares my birthday... From his song of the same name.
6. Hey, Kids, Rock and Roll - Depending on your age or preference in music, this is from "Rock On", originally by David Essex, but covered by such names as Def Leppard, 80s soap star Michael Damian, and Silverifsh...
7. Do You Really Want To Know? - A semi-whispered line (and only words at all) from the DJ Dado techno mix of the X-Files theme song.
8. After The Rain - The title of an album and song by Ricky Nelson's kids: pretty boy rockers Matt and Gunner, AKA Nelson.
9. Spelled G-Double-E-K... - Genius rhyme from nerdcore sensation mc chris' anthem for the rest of us, simply titled "Geek."
10. So I Looked At The Bartender... - Classic blues rock track "One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer" is the song, but most people know this Rudy Toombs-penned ode to getting wasted as heard from the legendary George Thorogood and the Destoryers
11. And finally, If Only In My Dreams - "I'll Be Home For Christmas." You pick your artist. That is all.

Right on. Good tunes that fit the mood. You can never go wrong with an awesome soundtrack for life. Just too bad that this year's soundtrack was so bloody short, at least as far as post titles go. Oh well. Maybe a New Years resolution to blog more? Where have I heard that before...

Oh well. The sammiches have been eaten, the songs revealed, and the year has been reviewed. It's now time for me to get some sleep. I have a long day tomorrow doing two things: having a wonderful New Year with my friends and tweeting this blog post occasionally.

I hope you all have a safe and wonderful New Year as well. Find a DD, and have a good time, responsibly. You all have to stay alive - I have yet to convince you all to write comments!

If Only In My Dreams

For the first time in a very, very long (and long-overdue) time, I'll be spending Christmas alone. And you know what?

That is fucking awesome.

Now, granted, I wouldn't mind some female company for the holidays (and beyond), and I'd certainly like to know if I really am a father so I can celebrate with my (potential) son. But all in all, a Christmas alone, in my case, isn't that terrible a prospect. Allow me to explain.

First of all, there's the whole "reason for the season" argument. As an Atheist, of course, I'm rather opposed to the Christian definition of the modern Christmas: To celebrate the birth of Jesus of Nazareth (even though he is clearly of Bethlehem according to the ol' yarn). How many things are wrong with that? Well, if the calendar is truly "the year of our lord," then Jesus' birth would have had to occour at Midnight between 1BC and 1AD. In January. Not December. The December celebration is actually a Pagan holiday which celebrates the Solstice; it was annexed by Christianity in order to get the Pagan folk to join the club.

Of course, this is a major point of contention between myself and my family. It's of great embarrassment to me that:

A) My family actually buys into this Mother Goose horseshit, and

B) Some of them are entirely too forward (read: evangelical) about it.

It's a wonder how I stayed sane during the Holidays for so long. Maybe it was the gifts in my selfish youth, or maybe the vain hope that I might plan the seed of doubt in one of their minds. The desire to get your parents to take the red pill can give you quite a bit of willpower, but not enough to last not-quite-half a lifetime.

To counter the above sources of much facepalming, and to ease the sting of being here by myself this Christmas, I have these two rather comforting thoughts:

A) The fact that I'm away from my family means no possible arguments. Having two iron wills collide in a discussion of faith and folly is both taxing and loud, and

B) The fact that I see the seeds of rationality and free-thought in the next generation of Marie and Walter's descendants.

Silent Night indeed. Holy Night, not so much.

No, here - alone in my little box that can't hold heat worth a damn - I will sit and celebrate the Christmas of the Godless. Upon my fellow men and women of all kinds, godless or not, I wish peace and goodwill, and the hope that we can all sit down, shut the fuck up about stupid shit, and get along for a change. We're all on this rock together, and fighting over it for silly second grade reasons isn't doing us any good, so we might as well drop the bullshit and try to move forward.

Forward is the only direction you can go, but it's a difficult journey indeed when you're stuck so far back in the distant, primitive past.

This Holiday Season, I hope that Mankind - all of Mankind - can put away the grown-up Santa Claus fantasies that it clings to and matures into the species that nature meant us to be.

So I Looked At The Bartender...

Pennsylvania. Literally, Penn's Woods. One of the original 13 colonies in America. Known as the Keystone State. Population: roughly 12,500,000. Home of Gettysburg, the Horseshoe Curve, the Drake Oil Well, and the City of Champions: Pittsburgh.

And home of the most archaic alcohol regulatory laws outside of the Islamic world and Utah. Ain't that like two fucking alien worlds, right?

So, here's the deal: You have to get different kinds of alcohol at different places. The only way to get a case of beer or keg in Pennsylvania is to go to a distributor. Can't get one at a bar or six-pack, unless you take a friend or make two trips into the building. Why? Because the biggest package of beer a bar/six-pack can sell is indeed a six-pack, and you're only allowed to carry two six-packs of alcohol out of a bar at a time, per person. If you want hard liquor to go, there's only one way to get it: At a State Store. State stores have the most atrocious hours - some are open six days a week in one town or another, yet some are open only on certain days. You can get wine at a state store, too, but nowadays wineries themselves have licensed outlets. But they can only sell wine, not hard liquor, and not beer. Alcohol cannot be sold on Sundays in Pennsylvania, unless that establishment is also an operating restaurant or has enough of its income come from food sales. Distributors, state stores, bars and six packs that don't offer food are all closed on Sunday, even 24 hour beer distributors. Despite having food, grocery and convenience stores are prohibited from selling alcohol, period.

Still with me? If you are, congratulations, because that is a summary of what amounts to some of the most absurd liquor control law systems in the world.

Now, from exit 120 (Clearfield) on Interstate 80, drive a little under two hours west to our neighbor, Ohio. Go to any grocery store, quick stop, whatever, any day of the week. Guess what? You can buy BEER. You can buy BOOZE. Bars are OPEN on SUNDAY. So are six packs and liquor stores - which aren't run by the government. And you know what else? There's no real difference in the frequency of alcohol-related problems. It's pretty much the same. No better, yet certainly no worse.

In other words, it's not godless chaos and rampant drunken anarchy. People still manage to go about their daily lives, remaining good, responsible people, despite being able to get themselves some sin-in-a-bottle on a whim.

So, why is Pennsylvania still living in a post-prohibition world? Two reasons. And you know what's funny? Our national Constitution says they should be separate entities: Church and State.

We'll start out with the State. Pennsylvania has a lockdown on any sort of alcohol sales, and they make quite a pretty penny off of it no matter how it's sold. The State Store system is inherently a legal monopoly - it is the ONLY place you can buy bottles of hard liquor, period. While I don't have any prices available for comparison (I don't feel like surfing Google at 5:30am, honestly), I assume that they're a bit inflated, as there's an 18% tax on it system- and state-wide. All other alcohol not sold in State Stores is taxed, too - heavily. In short, it's all about the income. And since Pennsylvanians love their booze, the money keeps rolling in, so they have no reason to change the current system in that respect.

And yet, we can't fix our budget problems. Amazing, isn't it. All that income from the Stalinist control of the booze industry, and yet Rendell and company can't pay the fucking bills. Astonishing.

The other reason is the Church. Long has the Church sought to control the lives of their followers in the name of God. Alcohol? Yeah, unless its sacramental wine, they'd rather you not drink it. Granted, quite a number of religions are more or less lax about the drink these days, some still seek to return to their halcyon days of prohibition, when you couldn't drink at all. Instead, they found a compromise: Alright, you can have your booze, but not on Sunday. Sunday is for the Magic Sky Pixie and his Zombie Offspring. Holy day. Not yours.

Well, the Church's influence has been further hampered, since restaurants and can serve booze on Sunday with a separate license. But they still bitch and moan and complain - and try to assert their false authority over humanity.

We're starting to come around, though. Sheetz, based in Altoona, PA, has been trying like hell to get the law amended to allow them to sell beer at certain stores. Petitions are popping up everywhere to have the Communist laws repealed, or at least relaxed. Will it happen? I once sent a note on Twitter to John Scalzi, who was trying to think of new novel ideas. I'd mentioned a distant future (23something, I think) where Pennsylvania had finally allowed normal liquor sales. His reply?

Pretty much "Like that will ever happen."

Well, maybe we can prove Scalzi wrong, eh?

Go Cry, Emo Vampire Kid

Twilight. Bah.

What the fuck do you kids see in this fluff? Honestly! I seriously doubt that this is what Bram Stoker had in mind when he created the modern vampire novel with the ultra-classic "Dracula." Where do you people get the idea to romanticize this stuff? And why is it breaking all sorts of box office records?

I suppose it should be noted that record-breaking box office films, quite frequently, are driven to such heights by women. And not just any women, either. We're talking over-emotional, love-struck, curiously-hyphenated tweens, teens and young adults. Think I'm bullshitting? Look at the giant sinking heap of chick flick that was Titanic. Ugh. Top grossing movie of all time, though. Yes, even higher than any Star Wars film, E.T., Gone with the Wind, The Godfather, Plan 9 from Outer Space, you name it. Titanic is number one. Why? Same reason New Moon currently rules the box office.

Well, I hate to do it to you, kids, but here's yet another smug blog post about how the Twilight Saga sucks, and how Stephenie Meyer is nowhere near an author of any worthy note whatsoever.

Get out your razor blades, emo kids, because this is going to be brutal and honest. Here are six Fantasy authors who make Stephenie Meyer look like a third-rate Theodore Geisel (with absolutely no disrespect to the legendary Seuss) wannabe.

1. J. K. Rowling - Oh yeah, I'm going there. Why does she come first? Because Jo Rowling is the one author that Meyer is commonly compared to. Which is better? Harry Potter or Twilight? Well, for my money (and yes, I've spent the money) it's boy wizard for the win. Case in point: There's far more believable character development in Rowling's legendary series. Despite the fantasy setting, Harry, Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Hogwarts students are easier to connect with, because they go through real life problems. Rowling's books also have the wonderful habit of growing with the reader: As they age, so do Harry and his friends, and the problems that come at each stage roll right along with it. Kids can find kindred spirits in nearly any of the plethora of personalities that exist within the walls of Hogwarts, whether you're a Colin Creavey or a Dean Thomas or a Lavender Brown or a Ginny Weasley or even a Vincent Crabbe. Wizards and witches or not, Rowling's kids are just that: nearly real, very believable kids. IMHO, that's a very good thing if you're hoping for a young reader to develop a love of books...

2. Trudi Canavan - I know, most of you are probably asking "Who?" Well, I'm pleased to inform you that Trudi Canavan is indeed a very real author, with a couple very real fantasy series that you should all check out! I was introduced to her through an advert in the back of a book by the next author on my list, and I was most certainly not disappointed with the portion of her work I've read so far! So, why is Trudi Canavan better than Stephenie Meyer? On this level, I think she writes a damn good female lead, as is evident in her Black Magician trilogy. A lot of people don't seem to buy females as lead characters in fantasy novels, but Canavan gives us a very real heroine to tag along with as she learns to live with rogue powers in a realm of magic dominated by men. There are love story undertones here and there, but Canavan herself has stated that she's not much of a "shipper," and leaves that to fanfiction writers. In other words, she can weave a side love story, but she doesn't get all emo about it.

3. Raymond E. Feist - Wow-wee-wow-wow-WOW! What started out as a group of friends playing in a custom old-school RPG world turned into a series of sword and sorcery novels that have got some serious teeth! Written while killing time as a campus security guard, Feist's "Magician" brought Midkemia to life, introducing us to the Riftwar Saga that would grow to span two more core novels, three subsequent sagas, and then expand into one of the first attempts at a multimedia franchise. It has grown to pretty much take up the most space by any one author on my bookshelf. So, where does Ray Feist beat Stephenie Meyer? One should rather ask themselves where he doesn't. Because yes, even in a world like that of the Riftwar, there are love stories to be told, battles of good versus evil, and all the stuff that the Twilight saga only wishes it could scratch the surface of.

4. Ursula K. Le Guin - Don't let the SciFi (now SyFy) Channel's adaptation, or even Miyazaki Goro's anime adaptation Gedo Senki, fool you. The EarthSea Cycle is one of the most imaginative fantasy series you'll ever read, hands down, bar none. While relatively short compared to some of its literary counterparts, it's most certainly not short on mythos or legend, nor is it afraid to write a bit of its own legend as you read. Think of the world of EarthSea as a planet dominated by ocean, and land comes in the form of island chains and mini-continents. There's a lot less sword and a bunch more sorcery, and an interesting tale of love and family along the way. Not your everyday fantasy fare, it stands on its own as a unique and engaging story. Whereas Meyer is like Anne Rice in Middle School. Eww.

5. C. S. Lewis - So, the Atheist is going with the Jesus Allegory Lion, is he? Yep, he is. Allegory aside, The Chronicles of Narnia still stand to this day as a near-perfect example of what a children's fantasy series could and should be. The story of four children - torn from their home and family by the Battle of Britain and the bombing of London - who take a magical journey through a peculiar wardrobe into a world of talking animals and everlasting winter is a fairy tale for kids of any age. While love stories might not be at the heart of the series, that doesn't really matter much at all, because the pure narrative keeps you too occupied to worry about such drivel. Every child should read this book. It's that simple. It's their first step into a much larger world of imagination and creativity.

6. J. R. R. Tolkien - Professor Lewis' contemporary, and the author of the single most legendary fantasy series of all time. The creator of Middle-earth, of Dark Lords and Wizards, Humans and Elves, Dwarves and Talking Trees, and the smallest of creatures doing the biggest of things. From the first pages of The Silmarillion to the last Appendices of Return of the King, Professor Tolkien took an idea scribbled on a napkin, coupled it with his love of linguistics, and wove the single greatest fantasy tale ever told. Steeped in mythology, language, lore and legend, The Chronicles of Arda (as the whole world is called by the Elves) stand in literary history as the Colossus - The Great Grand Pappy of them all. There is no way in hell Stephenie Meyer could ever dream of coming anywhere near the heights of the men who made up The Inklings.

So yeah. Anytime some emo Twilight freak asks you to name five authors who are better than Stephenie Meyer? Smile and say "I can name six." You kids need to get over your little sparkly vampire fluff. Quite frankly, there's a certain boy wizard and a certain dark lord who themselves have a final battle to fight, and something tells me that the opening weekend for Potter 8 (Deathly Hallows part 2) is going to make New Moon look like Leonard Part 6.

Enjoy your box office success. It won't last long. And there's absolutely no way that the Twilight Saga can even bother to try and hold a candle next to the above, in any form. You're officially on Fad notice, and can join Where's Waldo and Dick & Jane when your time comes.

Art School 101: In The Beginning...

So, as I move into a new place and reclaim my stake here on the web, I decided to start writing about happier memories. My Atheist rants are surely wearing on some people, and all the talk of the more depressing parts of my life can't be good, either. So, here now is a snippet from my 'college' days, when I began my life with a clean slate in the City of Champions.

After my acceptance to the Art Institute in Pittsburgh, I began to gather my stuff together and get ready to move on from my rural existence and into a faster-paced life in Pittsburgh. I'd visited the city several times before: Once, I went with the Boy Scouts to my first Pirates game at the old Three Rivers Stadium, as well as a day tour of the city which included Point Park and Allegheny Center's Buhl Planetarium. There, I ran around in a fountain that I would become very familiar with just six years later.

That day came when I discovered that the school-sponsored apartments for AIP were provided by the very same Allegheny Center. That fountain? Walked past it every day I went to class while I lived there. Even went down there to hang out quite a bit. It's always fun to have a previous connection to something that becomes a big part of your life.

Anyway, Allegheny Center also played host to the old Pittsburgh Public Theater building (PPT is now located downtown), where AIP decided that it would hold a "Roommate Orientation Day" of sorts. They would gather our incoming class into the theater, and have us sort ourselves out based on similarities and differences in order to find ourselves roommates.

The first division came from the obvious big problem: smokers vs. non-smokers. This was the funniest part of the whole ordeal, as the better majority of the incoming students (including myself) were indeed smokers. It was like a lopsided parting of the Red Sea, if you believe in such feats of engineering in ancient history: A large mass headed for the west side of the theater (and occupied a good majority of the south side as well), while the smaller mass of non-smokers took to the east side seats. Once we all got seated, I found myself next to a student named Jacob (Jake).

To be perfectly honest with you, I don't remember what the second division was. It was probably by major, but we never got that far. Jake turned to me and said "Look, I don't really want to go through all this bullshit. You look alright, wanna room up now and go have a cigarette?"

Aha. Someone thinking like me. "Sounds like a plan." With that, we stood up and left there rest of our future classmates to continue dividing amongst the chaos of Resident Life's valiant-but-futile effort at an easy solution. Our plan was better.

As we stood on the theater steps slowly killing ourselves with cancer sticks, we hashed out our similarities and differences. Jacob and I were both musicians - he plays multiple instruments with his best by far being the saxophone. We both loved rock music, especially Classic Rock and good old fashioned Heavy Rock, so there would be no conflicts with genres on any level, really. Jake was less of a geek than I am, but still nerdy enough to get what I was saying and enjoy the kinds of TV and movies I dug, too. As I recall, he was a decent Star Trek fan as well.

To be quite honest, Jake was probably the best choice of roommate I could have made out of the whole crowd, as I would come to know many of them in the next few months. For our first three days, though, Jake's friend Richard came to stay with us and experience our first time out in Pittsburgh. It was during those days that a stupid little ditty was written with me on guitar, Jake on harmonica and Richard as a James Brown wannabe. Ahh, musicians in college dorms...

Within the first few hours of move-in, Jake and I found ourselves easily making new friends, mostly by sticking our heads out of our 9th floor window (oddly, we found ourselves in apartment 911) and seeing who else was poking their heads out. It was in this manner that we met Amy and Anna, who were on the 10th floor. Mind you, even though both were attractive, they remained just our friends as we decided to venture out into the neighborhood in search of the elusive "something to do."

Jake found a cajun restaurant on James St. which also doubled as a Jazz club. While these days my stomach can't take the spice, back then, that was absolutely perfect. It was a Thursday when we went, and the club was featuring a open jazz jam hosted by local musician Leroy Wofford. I'm not much of an improv Jazz musician, but Jake of course brought both his sax and his harmonica.

Before he got on stage, we were surprised to learn about the arrival of Pittsburgh's then-mayor, Tom Murphy. Bonus! Not bad for our first week in the city if I do say so myself. Leroy was joined on stage by another popular local musician, sax player Kenny Blake, making it even more exciting once Jake took the stage, called out a tempo, and hit the first note. The rest of the band caught on in a hurry, and pretty soon, people were up and dancing as a high energy free-form song unfolded from the front of the room. Even the mayor was digging it!

Some days later, I found myself using Jake's copy of Dennis Leary's "No Cure for Cancer" album to make sound clips for a Windows sound scheme.

And then came the Great American Smoke-Out 1996. Our favorite radio station, WRRK (then a classic rock station, but last time I checked it's now "Bob FM," where they play "anything"), and the DJ at the time was giving away a gift certificate for a carton of smokes and yelling "smoke 'em if you got 'em" on the air during the afternoon drive. Coincidentally, the DJ on the air was Jude Sheets, who is actually from DuBois, PA, not that that's awesome or anything...

His contest for the carton? Well, Deep Purple (the original Mark II lineup, sans Blackmoore) was coming to do a show at Duquense Universitiy's A.J. Palumbo Center, so he wanted four callers to sing "Smoke on the Water" in their best smokers' voices. When the contest was announced, I called in and became contestant number three, and cued up some of the sound clips I had made from Jake's CD just a few days earlier.

I recorded my bit, sticking in a few clips of Dennis Leary saying how he smokes "seven THOUSAND packs a day, OK" and declaring "I love to smoke." Once that was done, I remained on the line while Jude went live with the contest recordings from the other three contestants and myself in the third slot.

But the carton of smokes on Smoke-Out day? No, that wasn't enough for this crazy DJ. He talked to the prize people, and upped the ante after we had recorded our segments. Now included with the carton of smokes was a copy of Deep Purple's new CD at the time, "Purpendicular," as well as two tickets to see them live at the Palumbo Center.

Score! Excited, Jake and I listened on as the contest began.

The first contestant was a female, and sang it in her normal voice, declaring it her smoker's voice. FAIL. Jude then proceeded to the next contestant, who must have rode the short bus to school as a child, because he couldn't figure out what he had been asked to do. ULTRAFAIL. And then came my recording.

Live, on the air, Jude completely blew off the fourth caller and declared me the winner. In the background, you could hear him rushing about the air studio, trying to kill the contest recording and cue up some contest winner sounds, which came seconds later as he was screaming "Dude, you're the winner, buddy! He comes with his own sound effects, I love it!"

Of course, Jake and I went to the show, where we met up with Jude before the opening act. It was an awesome night, both bands were spot-on, and it pretty much capped what would become some of my fondest memories of my time at AIP.

I'm hoping I can dredge up some more memories from that time to share here on the LP blog, and turn "Art School 101" into a series. It's about time I talked about some positive stuff for a change...

A Simple Question

So yeah, we all had lots of fun with my previous encounter with an evangelical Mormon, didn't we. Well, you all know me, I can't resist a good laugh at religion's expense, so when @DenyReligion tossed this link my way around the same time I found this link on Fark (FT), I couldn't say no.

The Conversational Atheist link is thus quoted:

Rule 1: Do not let your argument hinge on asking a Christian to explain something he could conceivably say, “I don’t know” as a legitimate answer to an argument. So, how do you tweak the question to ask essentially the same thing, but to close the “I don’t know” loophole? Ask the slightly improved question:

Atheist: “Why do you worship a God that allows suffering?”

It’s still not great, but notice that answering, ‘why should I know why I do that’ is not a legitimate answer to the question. You may still hear that answer, but even the Christian will feel uncomfortable about such a lame answer.

Not a bad method, so when the Fark link came in, I decided to put it to the test. Today, we meet Gordon James Klingenschmitt. He's being sued for what pretty much amounts to thinly veiled threats in the form of prayers. Who's he threatening? Not ironically, it's the founder of the Military Religious Freedom Foundation, Mikey Weinstein. Here, watch the video that has Weinstein so rightfully pissed off:

Yeah. This guy is actually praying that Weinstein not only experiences personal and professional ruin, but he's actually praying that his life gets cut short! What the fuck kind of prayer is that?!? Weinstein has every right to be angry at this guy: It's outright threats!

And yet, this man thinks what he's saying and doing is perfectly OK because it's in the context of prayer, and by extension, the seemingly-unassailable bastion of Religion. Wrong.

So, I took it upon myself to visit this douchenozzle's website, and found my way to the contact page to see about getting a hold of this big, tough, macho man of God, who can go around threatening people just because they see things differently than he does. What a pious, righteous person this man must be!

And what a perfect candidate for CA's question, in slightly modified form: Why do you believe in a God who allows so much suffering?

As the conversation unfolded, I realized that I was most assuredly on to another spectacular blog post, similar to my little run-in with Christopher the Doubting Black Mormon. After I'd made Cap'n Dogma (as I came to call him) aware of the fact that I'd be publishing his emails, he made one request of me, which you'll see later, that I'm more than happy to follow. And now, away we go! First, I fire the opening salvo:

You, sir, are a sorry human being. You have your facts all mixed up, and your mind is clouded with theistic nonsense, making the whole mess worse.

Do the human race a favor, and go away.

This is pretty much my opinion of his praying for someone else's life to be rendered shitty and short. At the very least, as opposed to his methods, His response is typical of any hyper-Christian:

"If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema Maranatha."
Paul's New Testament prayer in 1 Cor 16:22

Scripture, scripture, scripture. Always scripture with these people. Ugh. He can't answer me like a human being with a mind of his own, he instead does the very Christian thing and becomes a Bible-quoting robot. If I had a nickel for every time my Aunt Judy alone did this to me...

I hate to tell him this, but scripture isn't a cure-all. And so it came to pass that I asked the question of him:

Let me ask you something.

How can you believe in a God who allows so much suffering?

His response?

Satan is the author of suffering, not God. You blame the wrong spirit.

God opposes suffering, and has compassion for those under the devil's oppression.

When you look at Mother Theresa, do you see God working through her, to end suffering?

Jesus can be your best friend against death, disease, sin, and all kinds of suffering.

Yep, nowhere in there is a direct answer to what is obviously a direct and unoffensive question. Instead, he uses the Satan excuse to say that God is not the source of suffering. Sorry, but that logic doesn't work, and we still don't have an answer as to why he believes in this failure of a deity.

Just to make sure he's aware of the question's exact wording, and my dissatisfaction with his non-answer, I sent him this reply:

You didn't answer my question.

How can you believe in a God who allows so much suffering?

Leave the rhetoric and BS out for a minute. Quit quoting scripture. Talk to me like a human being, not like one of Pat Robertson's robots. I'm asking YOU, not your STORY BOOK.

It's no giant secret that I think the Bible is on par with Aesop, Mother Goose, and the Brothers Grimm. So yeah, I'm gonna call it that. Rude? I don't really much care, because this guy was already well beyond rude when he prayed for other men's lives to be cut short. Yeah, when you do something stupid like that, you tend to get an equally crude response. Welcome to Human Nature 101. Anyway, here comes his next nugget of joy:

It is our sin that causes suffering, not God's permission.

We never have God's permission to sin.

God does not allow it, in fact he forbids it.

God also has the power to end it, according to your belief that he's all-powerful. And being omnipotent, he most certainly has the knowledge that he has this ability. And yet he knowingly chooses not to use that power to destroy human suffering. This is my point: He's obviously choosing to let you suffer, so why the fuck do you believe in and have absolute faith in such a monster?

Obviously, we still have no answer to my original question. This, coupled with the fact that I've already had an incredibly shitty day at the hands of my Jesus-freak family, makes for a very cranky Lost Boy at this point. But again, since he used prayer to wish suffering on his fellow man (I thought God forbade that?), any hope he had of being treated nicely went straight out the window. Next volley's on me:

Seriously, are you that retarded? I asked you a simple question:

HOW CAN YOU BELIEVE IN A GOD WHO ALLOWS SO MUCH SUFFERING?

And you have answered with nothing but rhetoric and scripture.

For the last time, Cap'n Dogma: Answer me with YOUR OWN WORDS, YOUR OWN OPINION, AND YOUR OWN EXPLAINATION.

I don't care to hear what your Magic Sky Pixie and his bastard zombie son have to say.

I want to know how YOU, as a mortal, imperfect human being, rationalize your belief in a so-called benevolent deity who allows so much suffering to continue.

You know, your explanations make it look like Satan is superior to God. So, here's another question:

If God is more powerful than Satan (not to mention Satan's creator), why doesn't he just wipe him out and end all the suffering you claim comes from the Magic Underground Pixie?

Once again, the rules are: NO SCRIPTURE, NO DOGMA, NO RHETORIC, NO BULLSHIT. I want your words and your words alone, not those of the Cap'n Dogma character you've created for yourself to sell to small-minded old bitties who are worried about some fantastical afterlife that doesn't exist.

Answer me like a Man.

Oh yeah, I went there, and I had FUN doing it. And, of course, he still really doesn't at any point in this conversation answer the question he was asked. All he does is drone on with his dogma like a good little Christian Lapdog:

I've answered you twice, in my own words, without quoting scripture.

God does not allow sin, he forbids it.

The cause of suffering, disease, death, is sin, which God forbids.

You cannot blame good for the existence of evil. Good is not to blame.

God is on your side, He's for you not against you, He loves you and shares your suffering.

In fact, if any human suffered more than any other, it was Jesus himself.

God suffered the same way we do, and therefore has more compassion for we who suffer than any other false god.

Do you think Islam cares one bit for those who suffer, when they teach Muslims to make others suffer?

Do you think Hinduism cares one bit for those who suffer, when they teach "let it be" and don't help the sick?

Do you think Atheist communist care one bit for the millions of people killed by Stalin?

Jesus alone taught us to care for the sick, visit the imprisoned, feed the hungry, clothe the naked.

Suffering exists, wherever it came from.

If you really care about ending suffering, you should follow the teachings of Jesus, and care for those who suffer.

But I suspect you really don't care about helping people who suffer.

You just want to argue, and walk away from your duty to love your neighbor.

You just want to say, "God isn't real, God is to blame, so I don't have to lift a finger to end suffering."

You're wrong. YOU are responsible for your failure to end suffering in the world.

Prove me wrong. Take up your duty, and try, just try, to end suffering, like Jesus commanded you to do.

In Jesus, Chaps

Do you see why he believes in God up there? Nope, neither do I. And I would also like to take this time to point out that I actually HAVE DONE MANY THINGS to end suffering. I've mentioned them quite a number of times on this blog, including This Post. Go ahead, Gordie. Read it. See what evil that a lack of a God can do. I dare you.

Also: The cause of disease is microbial infections. The cause of suffering is ignorance. And the vast majority of Atheists - myself included - have nothing to do with and want nothing to do with Stalinism or any other nutbar thing like that.

But somehow, I'm wrong. Oh well. By this point, I've had it, and the gloves come all the way off:

Nope, still haven't told me why you believe in a God who allows so much suffering.

You see, if your Magic Sky Pixie is as omnipotent and all-powerful as you so blindly and adamantly claim, then he has the power to end all suffering in one stroke.

And yet he doesn't.

So, I'll ask you one more time: Why do you believe in a God that allows so much suffering?

And by the way, you broke the rules. This private conversation is about to go very public, and your stupidity revealed to the world.

And oh yeah: QUIT WORKING AGAINST THE PUBLIC OPTION.

The public option might be my only chance at getting medical coverage. It's not a Socialist takeover: It's human compassion.

I took particular offense to him having the gall to imply that Jesus would have any right - let alone the ability - to command me to do anything, illustrated in this after-the-fact post script message I sent:

PS: Jesus didn't command me to do anything. He lived in 1-33 CE. I live now, from 1977 CE to the present.

You show me where Jesus specifically states that "Eric is to take up his duty to end suffering."

Oh, I'm sorry. You can't. All you have is a storybook full of fables, half-truths, and is filled in the rest of the way with things that no rational human being could ever possibly believe.

And now, as you can see, Gordie makes his request:

Eric,

Feel free to make my emails public, since I'm not embarrassed by them. Just be sure to include your own emails between mine, and don't truncate.

I'm not ashamed of the compassion that Jesus offers the world through the church by voluntary generosity (not through the atheist government who steals from the rich and spends it on bureaucrats, not on the poor). Socialism is not voluntary compassion. Socialism is involuntary theft. There's a difference.

Why don't you call me sometime? I'd be glad to get to know you personally.

In Jesus, Chaps

Which I have obviously very much obliged and indulged him in. I point this fact out to him in my forthcoming response, which you'll all get to see first right here, just before I send it. The link mentioned in the first line is to my conversation with Christopher from last week:

Truncating these emails or omitting my own side of the conversation isn't what I'm about, sir. Please refer to This Link to see what I mean.

As for your phone call, perhaps, once you answer my question.

As for Socialism, did you know that we already have "socialist" programs here in America? Yeah, how about that! Medicare? Yeah, that's government run! Social Security? It's right there in the name! And how about the Welfare that allows so many members of your congregation to simply be able to feed, clothe, and shelter their families and keep them coming to your houses of worship?

You calling it Socialism and evoking images of Benito Mussolini, Joseph Stalin and Mao Ze Dong is nothing more than a blatant attempt to frighten people into your ideological camp. That, sir, is tantamount to yelling "FIRE!" in a crowded theater. Your birther contemporaries focus on our President's middle name simply to evoke fear, same thing.

You, sir, have quite a bit to learn about reality.

So, he wants me to call him. Sure! And hey, he just said 'sometime,' didn't he? Keep that in mind, kids, because I think I might build my first podcast around just such a phone call.

And yes, that means I'll be recording it, Gordie. You've been officially warned.

So, in the end, what do we have? Five emails from this sorry excuse for a good human being, and five blown chances to answer a single, simple question. At no time has he made even the slightest effort to justify his faith in such a fallacy. All he did was spew the rhetoric that all Christians spew, the same old tired argument that we're so sick of hearing.

Come on, Gordie, man up and answer from your own mind, not the mind you were programmed to have by such an outdated and malicious organization...