Thursday, May 24, 2007

Enter Sandman

"Here's what we'll tell our kids: He looked like an alien, and threw like a god. He had one pitch -- and with that one pitch, like David with one rock in a slingshot, he could fell any foe. With that one pitch he could escape any danger. With that one pitch he could intimidate any lineup. With that one pitch he won world titles. With that one pitch he pitched his way to the Hall of Fame. With that one pitch he performed surgery. With that one pitch he wrote poems. With that one pitch he sang songs. With that one pitch he saved souls and converted non-believers, and brought peace to the boroughs and joy to the masses. And we will not be exaggerating."

--Eric Neel, espn.com

Friday, September 22, 2006

variations on a theme, howard dean style

Howard Dean Speaking to Supporters in Iowa, 2004





Dave Chappelle as Howard Dean:





Joey Porter as Dave Chappelle as Howard Dean


Thursday, September 21, 2006

another copout

I swear, I'm going to post regular entries in this soon... just as soon as I figure out my life. Priorities: life, then blog. Fair enough? Sweet.

As recommended by RF. (yeah, this song is kinda lame, soft, sappy, etc., but i can still kick your ass. remember that)

The Shins - Pink Bullets



Saturday, August 26, 2006

random discovery #2

Gnarls Barkley. As much as I dislike trendy music (because I'm not cool enough to be trendy), these guys are awesome. Their music has an original flavor to it, and they're crazy. It's the good kind of crazy; the kind of crazy that I call myself.

And these outfits are amazing.




 Posted by Picasa

random discovery




Fact: This is a statue located in the Boston Public Gardens.
Fact: This statue is a monument to the first surgical procedure which used an anaesthetic.
Fact: I saw this statue for the first time two weeks ago.
Fact: I just finished a novel which referenced this fairly esoteric piece of art two days ago.

Hi ho. Posted by Picasa

Saturday, July 15, 2006

why can't i own a canadian?

shamelessly stolen from someone else:

Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22 and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by a east coast resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them:

When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15:19- 24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?

Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your devoted fan,
Jim

Friday, June 30, 2006

pink's a cool color

writing is overrated.





There's about 900 words worth of material; the upload made it a little blurrier than my actual pic, so I won't say it's worth a thousand words.

Not too shabby though. I like it.

Friday, June 23, 2006

my greatest post ever

To all my adoring fans bored out their mind... you can thank me later.

Classics from our childhood:

It's too bad we don't have the nintendo gun for this bad boy...




This was another one of my favorites (yes, i had atari back in the day, too)...





Long live productivity!

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

does humor lie in the eye of the beholder?




Yes. I know. It almost makes one feel guilty. Honestly, though, I don't feel that bad. I laugh at my own imperfections (of which there are many) on a daily basis, and I truly believe that if we can't laugh at certain things, and constantly grovel to the overwhelming guilt trip of political correctness, then what's the point in laughing at anything?

I know that I'm a good person. As long as I know that my heart's in the right place, I'll laugh at anyone.


how's that for my first post in 4 months?

Friday, March 10, 2006

stud




Only when you're playing with MIT kids can you get this kind of recognition. I bet they're the kind of kids that would beg for sex. I would know; we can smell our own.

score one for clogged arteries!



I'll state for the record that I think White Castle hamburgers are unbelieveably delicious. That being said, this concoction developed by the concession department of the Gateway Grizzlies minor league baseball team might be the most disgusting thing that I've ever heard of. I like burgers, cheese, bacon, and Krispy Kreme donuts, but I'd be scared to have all of those things in the same day, not to mention at the same time. American obesity rules!!!

Monday, March 06, 2006

good times, great oldies.



This "testimonial", if you will, is actually a month old, but I haven't posted anything in a while and felt like adding something.

Adam is 25 years old today. It seems weird to say, but I've known him for 10 years now, and probably been close friends with him for about 9 of those. Out of all the friends I've made over the past 10 years, I've probably seen Adam the least, and yet I still feel like he's a closer friend to me than people I see every week. His off-color remarks that make no sense to anyone except for maybe 4 people in the world, his willingless to leave his country behind in order to experience the world, and introducing me to the aqua teen hunger force are just 3 of the 20681 reasons why i miss this guy much more than any guy should ever miss any other guy. Um... yeah... I'm not sure who just wrote this emotional testimonial... why is it so dusty in here? eyes... watering... er... yeah. safari joe does indeed do it again.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

gonzo

Disclaimer:
I don't like cheezy tributes.
I'm not a writer.
I don't think that drug or alcohol references automatically make anything/anyone cool.


Today is the one-year anniversary of the passing of Hunter S. Thompson, commonly referred to as the father of "gonzo journalism". I'm not going to claim that I've known about him forever, and I'm not going to say that I was reading his books and articles "before it was cool". But Hunter is probably the one person who ever made me want to write. Granted, I've always enjoyed reading throughout my life, and I wouldn't classify Hunter's works as the greatest literary works I've read. But what makes his work stand out from the most things I've read is that it really feels like I'm reading Hunter S. Thompson on the page. I don't mean seeing his thoughts, translated into words; I feel like I can see Hunter himself. When he presents his opinions, I don't have to think about phrases and sentences and figure out what he's trying to say; I feel like they're already in my head.

There are many of Hunter's ideas and opinions that I agree with, and there are many that I just don't get. But I do know that I loved reading about his political aspirations, drug-induced memoirs, gambling wins and losses, and his devout love of sports. And even though I'm sure there are many people out there who'll probably try to mimic his style (myself included, at times), there will never be another Hunter.

"Some may never live, but the crazy never die."
-HST

Here's to being crazy.

Friday, February 17, 2006

misplaced apology

Taking a break from all that garbage that I've been writing about this week, I'm going to give Harry Whittington, the object of D-Chen's target practice last weekend, a little shoutout. I read this in the New York Times this morning:

CORPUS CHRISTI, Texas (AP) -- The lawyer shot by Vice President Dick Cheney during a hunting trip was being discharged from a hospital on Friday and told reporters he was sorry for all the trouble Cheney had faced over the past week.

"We all assume certain risks in what we do, in what activities we pursue," Whittington, 78, said as he stood outside the hospital, his face clearly bruised.

"Accidents do and will happen," he said.

Whittington thanked the hospital staff. He also said he was sorry for all the difficulty the vice president and his family had faced. He said the past weekend encompassed "a cloud of misfortune and sadness."

First of all, it wasn't even like this was skilled hunting; these old men were wandering around in a field where slow, dimwitted, flightless birds walk around and bump into each other. If you're going to hunt, go track deer or ducks or something.

Secondly... this dude was shot in the face and chest, and he apologized to the guy that shot him?! If I were in that position, I think I'd be more in the mindset of Jules, from Pulp Fiction: "That ain't right, man. Motherfucker do that to me, he better paralyze my ass, 'cause I'd kill a motherfucker."

I guess Chen-dog is a big fan of Rainier Wolfcastle; he just wanted to go to that Texas ranch, "tear it down, and turn it into a nature reserve where I will hunt the most dangerous game of all...man."

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

love, actually (pt. 2)

Continuing from yesterday's post, I'll continue to dissect this crazy little thing called love with a distinctly different movie than the 1942 classic Casablanca: Kevin Smith's Chasing Amy. It's your typical boy-meets-girl, boy-falls-in-love, boy-finds-out-that-girl-is-gay, boy-professes-love-anyway, girl-falls-in-love-with-boy-anyway, boy-finds-out-he-isn't-girl's-first-heterosexual-experience, boy-can't-deal-with-his-exlesbian-girlfriend-having-slept-with-other-men, boy-says-multiple-hurtful-things, boy-forgets-that-he-loves-girl-for-her-personality-and-not-her-sexual-history, boy-ruins-relationship-with-soulmate story.

In every relationship (well, every relationship that ends), there are five distinct parts: the courtship phase, the newlywed phase, the long haul, the beginning of the end, and the breakup. What I like about CA is the fact that Smith really doesn't glorify most of these scenes. Granted, the whole idea of a lesbian falling in love with a man might be a little outlandish (for any guy but me, anyway). I'll admit that. But Smith's description of the emotional transitions that each character goes through really takes you through the trials that guys and gals experience during a relationship.

When Holden (Ben Affleck) and Alyssa (Joey Lauren Adams) first meet, Holden breaks out cheesy line after cheesy line, and most of them flop horribly. For any guy who's ever tried to win over a girl without booze or rohypnol, this is a situation that is disturbing familiar. Even when you think that she might be sort of into you, trying to carry on a conversation with a girl you're trying to win over is nearly impossible because a) guys are idiots, b) girls are insane, c) you're second guessing everything you're saying to make sure that you're not coming across as an idiot, and d) the girl (she's crazy, remember) is probably trying to act like she's not as interested as she is.

Once their relationship starts, their romance (like most) becomes all-consuming; they're making out all the time, they're forgoing time with everyone else to be with each other... they pretty much forget that the outside world exists. Now, I'm not one to rip into wanting to spend a lot of time with a significant other, and I'm definitely not about to say that having sex all the time is a bad thing. And while I'm sure Kevin Smith isn't a "love-hater", he doesn't hesitate to display the strain that their engrossing relationship has on their outside friendships. Alyssa's close knit circle of friends and co-workers begin to show visible annoyance when she starts hanging out with them less and less (as well as the fact that she's no longer playing for Team Lesbian). Holden's roommate, comic book co-creator and best friend Banky (Jason Lee) even goes so far as to say that their friendship is seriously at risk because of the nonstop attention that he's giving his new girlfriend.
Banky: Everybody has an agenda. Everyone.
Holden: Yourself?
Banky: My agenda is to watch your back.
Holden: To what end?
Banky: To insure that all this time we've spent together, building something, wasn't wasted.
Holden: She's not going to ruin the comic.
Banky: I wasn't talking about the comic.

Because Kevin Smith is like me and doesn't appreciate 3-hour long movies, we don't catch a lot of the "long haul"-phase of their relationship, but we can pretty much assume that's it the same as the newlywed phase, but toned down a bit. Which leads us to... the beginning of the end. Depending on the people involved, this can happen in a variety of ways; one of the relationshipeers (I make up words... so what?) might start to feel inadequate, underappreciated, smothered, or one probably a million other reasons. In CA, the relationship begins to unravel when our hero comes upon a rumor that his "untouched by another man" girl has indeed experimented with heterosexuality in her younger years.

Some people might have found my Casablanca questioning of love and romance overly skewed towards making women the antagonists in relationships. Well, I stand by that opinion, because those are the feelings that dynamics of Rick and Ilsa elicited in me. And now, with Chasing Amy, I'm ready to admit that the demise of the primary relationship in this movie was caused primarily by the guy. When Holden finds out that he isn't the first man to have sex with Alyssa, he starts freaking out, yelling at her, calling her a "whore"; he's out for blood with this breakup. His irrational ranting and raving at her has nothing to do with their current relationship; it's merely a weird and bizarre insecurity inside himself that's made him erupt with an inordinate amount of intense passion. A level of passion which, at the beginning of their relationship, he had used to love her with.

The reason that this breakup scene hurts so much is that, over the course of the movie, Smith shows how well Alyssa and Holden are together. He doesn't just make up some cheesy "love at first sight" garbage, and then force the audience to trust him that they're kindred spirits. He shows them discussing their similar interests. He shows their playful banter with each other. He shows their ability to make fun of each other in a lighthearted way. And then, once they hook up, you see not just that they're intensely attracted to each other physically, but that they genuinely feel more complete when they're together and are in one another's arms.

So... what's the moral of this story? That quality relationships are so hard to come by that the only place a guy can find a quality girlfriend is in the lesbian community? Probably not; I think, in that sense, Smith's just trying to say that finding that you never know where you might find that perfect person... whether its at a comic book convention, Jimmy Buffet concert, at a Fourth of July party, or just walking across a bridge with a corned beef sandwich at 1am. Is the moral that guys are inherently insecure beings who need their egos padded constantly? That's definitely possible, because guys are idiots and as much as we want to be seen as tough guys, it's only to make girls want to be protected by us (if that makes any sense at all).

But I think the main thing that Kevin Smith is trying to say with this movie is that relationships are difficult; as great and happy and comfortable as your partner might make you feel, it still takes a lot of work to keep a relationship healthy and strong. There'll probably be times when one of the partners might not visibly show as much affection as he (i mean, err... he or she) did during the courtship and newlywed phases of the relationship; he (or she) has to remember that although he (or she) might still feel the same way, he (or she) has to work at showing that he (or she) feels the same way. There might be a time when one of the partners feels that she (or he) isn't getting to spend enough time with the other; she (or he) should remember that although her (or his) partner may love her (or him) more than anyone else in the world, the two of them are still individuals, and that the "individual" version of the partner is the person that she initially fell in love with.

Two love analyses, two broken relationships... this is no good.

Stay tuned for Part III, boys and girls... hopefully I can find something good to say about relationships...

-Editor's Note: This sequence of epistles on love is being indefinitely suspended due to... um... not really wanting to do it anymore. However, I will pick it up again if I get positive feedback on the first two entries or an overwhelming bunch of requests for a continuation. Mahalo.

Monday, February 13, 2006

love, actually (but for straight guys)

It's been a while, I know, so in the spirit of the season, I've decided to figure out what "romance" and "love" are all about by studying the definitive source of knowledge for anything worth knowing: cinema. In the words of the great philosophers Kenny, Stan, and Eric, "movies teach us what our parents don't have time to say." So, without further ado, the sources for the four-part discussion:

Casablanca
Chasing Amy
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Swingers

In case you're wondering, these are the four greatest love stories ever to grace the silver screen. I'm sorry, but this is not up for debate. Now, two questions need to be posed:

  • How does the film glorify and idealize romance?
  • How does the film realistically depict modern romance?

Casablanca - The most critically acclaimed of the bunch*. In case you don't know the story, Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) falls in love with the beautiful Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) while in Paris. When the Germans invade the city, Ilsa disappears without a trace, and Rick ends up avoiding occupation by moving to Casablanca and opening a popular saloon. Years later, as fate would have it, Ilsa and her resistance leader husband Victor Laszlo end up in Casablanca, fleeing the Nazi authorities. They require "letters of transit", and as it turns out, the only person in Casablanca who can provide this escape valve is Monsieur Blaine. Hilarity ensues (in a WWII, tragic romance sort of way).

Rick, being the resistance sympathizer at heart, wants to help the world-reknowned Victor Laszlo escape the clutches of the Nazi Regime and support the resistance. But how can someone be expected to have rational feelings towards the woman who took his heart and smashed it like grape? Yes, in theory, his feelings towards doing what is right should come first and foremost. But for anyone who's ever experienced true romance, the ecstasy that is love and the corresponding devastation that is heartbreak can be so overwhelmingly consuming that anything outside of the sphere of the relationship can seem trivial. So, while I'm usually of the school of thought that genocide = not cool, I can understand why Rick isn't sticking his neck out for these particular people.

Somehow, after dealing with all of this Ilsa-induced drama, Rick comes to his senses and realizes that these Nazi bastards are no good. Even though it pains him to see his ex-girlfriend with another guy (who's not nearly as cool as he is), he decides to give Victor the letters of transit so that he can escape the social oubliette that is Casablanca and continue his resistance efforts throughout the world. Rick formulates an elaborate plan, putting himself at enormous risk, to have Victor and Ilsa avoid the Nazi authorities and fly out of Casablanca when, in typical woman fashion, Ilsa does her best to ruin everything again. She realizes that while she is in love with Victor's efforts towards making the world a better place, she sees Rick as the only man with whom she could spend her life. A mere twenty four hours in the same city as Rick rekindles the fire that warmed her all those nights in Paris years ago. Fortunately (for the free world), Rick realizes that a) Victor must escape Casablanca, and b) Victor had nothing to do with this tangled love triangle and shouldn't have to endure the same heartbreak that he did. So, even knowing how wonderful his own life with Ilsa could be, he forces the love of his life to go on with her new beau for the sake of humanity. Wow.

One of the reasons I love this movie is because Rick's emotions are so easy to empathize with; for the most part, you can realistically see someone coping with love and heartbreak the same way he does. His girlfriend leaves him for no reason; he moves to a warm weather climate, becomes a moderated alcoholic, and lives for one night stands:
Girl: Where were you last night?
Rick: That's so long ago, I don't remember.
Girl: Will I see you tonight?
Rick: I never make plans that far ahead.
When he sees ex-girlfriend for the first time since she dumped him, he stays up until the wee hours of the morning, drinking away his sorrows with whiskey and cursing the fact that he has to see her again. When she tries to reason with him, he responds (granted, he's slightly intoxicated) with no intention other than hurting her: "I heard a story once. As a matter of fact, I've heard a lot of stories in my day. They went along with the sound of a tinny piano playing in the parlor downstairs, 'Mister, I met a man once when I was a kid,' it'd always begin. Huh... I guess neither of our stories was very funny. Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Laszlo, or were there others in between? Or aren't you the kind that tells?"

Now, as much as I want to admit that I'm a tough guy who is completely immune to emotions, I'm not. In the end, I sort of wanted the disturbed relationship to work out and for the guy and girl to live happily ever after. And what makes this movie a little distressing is that the two former lovers don't end up together. When the film ends, Rick remains in the North African desert alone, living above a bar, and Ilsa is shoved onto a plane with a man she doesn't love. Does this conclusion mean that romance is a futile waste of effort? that the strength of love is more of an illusion than anything else? that time heals all wounds? or that we're all just better off with a hetero-life mate like Louis Renault (ala Jay and Silent Bob) than worrying about the drama and problems that come with chasing an Ilsa Lund around?

F- the Nazis... I would've taken Ilsa back.


Comments are welcome and appreciated (either on my opinions or my return to blogging in general)

Part II - coming soon...



* "Critical Acclaim" doesn't mean a damn thing to me, since the "Academy" didn't think The Shawshank Redemption could beat out Forrest Gump for Best Picture in '95. Not that FG isn't a great movie; it easily cracks my top ten. But come on... the only reason it won was because baby boomers were able to watch an entertaining movie while reliving the different decades of their youth. And man... Pulp Fiction came out in 1995 too! But I digress...

Friday, December 16, 2005

silver linings

So, for a while, I've been contemplating moving to the west coast. From what I hear, it's a lot more laid back and upbeat than the manic, bitter northeast, where I've spent my entire life. I suppose it's not that terrible in the spring and summer, but once the temperature drops below 35, and every day is either gray, rainy, snowy (or all of the above), the attitudes of just about everyone become ridiculously unpleasant.

This morning, I awoke to see that we were going to reach our highest temperature of the week (a balmy 35 degrees), as well as receive a good dose of "wintry mix" (a sweet Robert Frost-esque way to describe simultaneous rain, sleet, and snow). Wonderful. I also awoke to see that my room was a mess, because apparently when I came home from my company's holiday party last night (and enjoying a few cocktails of Christmas cheer), I decided to do a little "redecorating". Brilliant. This day had the potential to become one of the most miserable days ever.

After walking, slipping, stumbling, and almost falling flat on my face as I walked along the ice- and slush-lined sidewalks of Cambridge, I finally reached that great beacon of humanity: the bus stop at Kendall Square. As I envisioned, all of my commute-buddies had perma-pouts on their faces, mad because they had to go to work, frustrated that its almost-but-not-quite the weekend, and depressed that the weather has been craptastic all week. "Ahh yes, the beginning of a wonderful day", I thought to myself.

Twenty minutes go by. No bus. This wasn't really anything out of the ordinary; the CT2 bus schedule is quite possibly the least reliable schedule on the planet. Thirty minutes go by. I'm a little aggravated, since one bus is supposed to come every 20 minutes, but again, this is not the first time this has happened. People are getting visibly perturbed, walking out from under the roof of the bus stop; demeanors are changing from listless boredom to slightly irritated restlessness. Forty five minutes go by; the bus comes! Oh wait, no... the banner on the side says "OUT OF SERVICE". Lovely. Groans of "Are you kidding me?!" and "It's been almost a friggin' hour! When's this damn bus gonna take me to a job I sure as hell don't wanna go to?"

And then, something surprising happened: people started laughing. Other people chimed in: "If I wanted to wait this long for a ride, I would've stayed home with my wife!" "It didn't take the Sox this long to win the World Series!" "Yeah, this bus is never coming is it?" (the last guy wasn't that clever... think Brick, from Anchorman... but he wanted to join in with the group... no complaints from the crowd.) Somehow, a combination of cold temperature, miserable weather, and a late bus was able to lift the spirits of crazy, bitter northeasterners and turn them into friendly, amicable people.

After the bus came, 61 minutes after its scheduled arrival, it was greeted with a thundering round of applause. And I ended up having the most enjoyable commute to work that I've ever had. Strangers were talking to each on the bus, commiserating about how much trouble they're going to get into at work for being an hour late. People actually said "excuse me" when they were passing down the aisle to exit the bus. And just about every person had a smile on their face.

Who needs southern California when you've got gray, dreary, rainy Boston?

(I do, but still... fun times.)

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

is the price actually right?

One of my dreams has always been to be a contestant on "The Price is Right". I feel like, after watching this amazing testament to consumerism on countless sick days over the last 24 years, I have an uncanny ability to make the correct guess or select the proper strategy for every game that they host. Plinko? I'm hitting the $10k or $25k slot every time; Cliff Hanger? That little dude isn't going over the edge on my watch. Dice Game? I could roll those fuzzy dice and pick the right numbers in my sleep. I'm fairly sure that most of the people who actually make on to the show share this sentiment. Now, what I don't understand, is how every single contestant selected for a given game always asks the audience for help with their task. Every single one!!

Why!?! You've been watching this show for years, constantly telling yourself "oh man, I would've picked $14.95... everyone knows that 4 boxes of pancake mix wouldn't cost $24.95... idiot!", and then as soon as you're up on the stage next to Bob, you're asking stoned college kids and housewives on vacations for advice?! Stick with your gut! Make your own choices!

Is it possible that this can viewed as a deeper insight into the human persona? Is it possible that we actually know the correct answers to life's questions most of the time, but because we have such a fear of rejection we decide to succumb to the collective will of our peers and colleagues? Or, on the other hand, is it possible that in solitude, we like to believe that we are smarter than we are, but when presented with a challenge in a public setting, we are humbled by the fact that we truly don't know anything?

The Price is Right... ponderous.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

billy goats gruff is crap.

Recently, one of my friends included a nice little writeup on her blog about an encounter between Muhammad Ali and the president of our fair country. The details are insignificant to this post (check out SR's post anyway though), but there was a reference to the fairy tale of The Billy Goats Gruff. (If you're a little rusty, here's a refresher)

Most fairy tales have morals... don't underestimate people/don't be overly cocky (tortoise and the hare), don't lie (the boy who cried wolf), etc... but what exactly was the precautionary measure exemplified in The Billy Goats Gruff?

JJ: what do you think the moral of the billy goats gruff story is?
SR: i'm thinking it's travel in packs?
SR: or don't be a dumb troll and let others walk through your yard
JJ: so its saying, give the goats some shit even if they're small and cute because they're really only out to fuck you over
JJ: they'll smile to your face, and then get their enforcer to kick your ass
JJ: dude, those goats are dirty
JJ: i'm getting more and more sympathetic for the troll
SR: i think the message is actually... don't fuck with anyone because there's always someone bigger than you
SR: so it's like a negatively put golden rule
SR: don't fuck with anyone if you don't wanna be fucked with
SR: i think that's a fair message
JJ: ok, but look at it this way
JJ: lets pretend the troll's not a "troll", per se
JJ: he's just a normal dude who keeps to himself
JJ: first of all, he's got this really crappy apartment below ground level that's probably reeking of moisture
JJ: then he's got these uppity little punks traipsing all over his ceiling, making a buttload of noise when he just wants some peace and quiet
JJ: he voices his complaints, but then he just settles down and doesn't worry about the first or second noisemakers
JJ: when he finally gets the cojones to step up to one of these ass-clowns, he gets his ass beat
JJ: you know, the story makes its point, literally
JJ: "don't let punks walk over you"
JJ: if you let one person do it
JJ: then you're just inviting more people to do it
JJ: and eventually, its going to come back to bite you in the ass