Three More Goddamn Weeks

... on crutches.

This is not a good thing.

Without my left foot, I cannot operate my car (stick shift, dontchaknow).

Thus, I cannot do the ONE THING this miserable fucking state is allegedly good for.

I cannot drive to a range and get the practice with my firearms I so desperately need.

I am far too poor to afford actual training. This I can accept, until I land a real job (which being on crutches is also making hard- I can't even work part-time until I can stand up without using both hands).

But I cannot even log basic, elementary, ESSENTIAL practice.

I have never been a great marksman, but back when I was shooting at red squirrels eighty feet up on a regular basis, I at least didn't suck harder than Heather Harmon. Now, in addition to watching my left leg atrophy in the name of the healing process, I am also looking at my guns.

They look back at me accusingly.

"Motherfucker, you haven't even LOADED us since you got here."

Sorry guys. But its like buying condoms when you KNOW you're getting nowhere...

But there are silver linings. I have been accepted into a program which, if my luck stays at least tolerable, should land my pasty white ass in the middle of rural Alaska for two years. My tactical firearms training will suffer, of course, because out there, they use guns to get food, not kill people efficiently.

But I hope to learn a few key survival skills (building decent shelters, starting fires with crappy materials, preserving meat without the use of modern technology or abundant salt, trapping, navigation) and a few bells and whistles (like piloting small airplanes, maybe how to operate a boat bigger than a small Boston Whaler, perhaps some carpentry stuff). This is, of course, highly ambitious, especially since I'll have plenty of other things to do with my time, things that will earn money (for the co-op my degenerate tribe of misfits is going to purchase) and pad my resume so I can get a few more decent jobs before the whole mess goes tits-up and I have to eat what I can grow or kill.

I have a lot of time to think about this lately, because I, in my infinite wisdom, moved to a state I hate where I know no one and promptly gimped myself.

So, in summation- Time is finite, and the stuff my comrades and I need to learn is only BARELY surmountable.

Fuck me, I hate it here

Zombies

Now, I KNOW I'm not alone in wishing for a good, old-fashioned Romero-style zombie apocalypse.

These fast zombies they've come out with lately kinda make survival tougher... but slow, shambling, mindless things?

Bring 'em on.

Last night's dream featured myself and a few of my good friends holed up in a diner as an outbreak started, and I swear, I must be out of my mind... 'cause a dream with rotting undead cannibals trying to eat myself and my compadres was one of the NICEST I've had in ages.

My Fellow Nerds...

... are, true to form, driving me mad.

Since receiving this lovely pair of crutches, I've been free to devote even MORE time than usual to hearing the blatherings of geek culture online.

And they have found a new way to annoy me.

"Well, see, in the EXTENDED cut of the movie..."

"Well, if you read the tie-in comic book..."

"Well, as the SERIES makes clear..."

Fuck you.

Anything the filmmaker decided not to include in the theatrical release is not going to change Jack Shit.

Speaking as a fan of the series Firefly, there's a reason its associated movie, Serenity, did not revitalize the franchise. The movie made sense, there was enough exposition to see to that... but unless you'd watched the series, your investment in the universe and in the characters was minimal, and there was not enough time in the film to draw in new blood.

By the same token, trying to tell people they need to read, say, the comic-book tie-in to the new Star Trek film to address their concerns, or that the plot of Avatar actually makes some kind of sense if you sponge up all of the associated material is bullshit.

Don't defend a shitty script with an equally shitty comic book. Extended universes are for those who actually dig your little nerd-verse enough to want more.

For the rest of us, they're a goddamned waste of time.

Life in the Theocracy

So, as a direct consequence of my injury, I've had a lot of time on my hands.

And what better way to pass the time than by doing a little social research experiment?

So I've been watching TV.

No, not the "good" stuff- nothing you pay for.

No, all I've been watching is the stuff an aerial can pick up.

And man, is it revealing.

We get some channels all the way from Mexico, but those aren't really at issue here. They still broadcast on analog down there.

No, I'm viewing the stuff that the good people of Utah make sure are on free TV.

Did you know that you can watch the Lawrence Welk show in Utah?
Or that the Andy Griffith Show still airs on regular hours anywhere on Earth?
Or that Perry Mason and Matlock alike continue to never lose a case in the Salt Lake State?

It's all so white-bread wholesome it's easy to lose sight of a few crucial facts- like the fact that the Mormon Church never acknowledged their role in the Mountain Meadows Massacre... or that Brigham Young was basically a North American Ayatollah.

And so on.

But no matter!

The good guys continue to triumph in every iteration of Utah TV. Evil never prevails, injustice is a myth, and we can all sleep safe at ight with the feathers of the Angel Moroni tucked beneath our heads.

This state is a fucking time capsule to the 1950s, desperately trying to distance itself from its bloody past.

If I didn't have to live here, it'd be funny.

North Country Blues

So, it's been a while.

After finally deciding Indiana wasn't so bad- for reasons I'll hit a little later- I ended up leaving.

For Utah.

Yes, Utah.

A state where I know no one. A state where I have no history. A state more or less white-bread sanitized by the dominance of the Mormon Church.

But I'm living rent-free, and that counts for more than somewhat.

But back to Indiana.

As my time there wound down, I was shocked to discover something truly appalling- while I still haven't got much use for that state, I've made the best friends of my life there. Seriously.

There's a certain Scumfuck and his wonderful wife and his beautiful daughter who I regard as family. And that definitely goes for the ugly dude in their basement, too... and all the other insane nerd revolutionaries we ran with.

There's an old redneck in the southern part of the state who's like a second father to me.

There's my aunt and her common-law husband, who I barely knew when I went to college- and who now rank higher in my estimation than almost anyone not on this list.

There's the Usual Gang of Idiots I worked with, who were always up for a jaunt to the greatest bar in the known world.

Then there's the staff of that bar, who I've come to regard as dear friends.

All of that.... and I've left it.

For Utah, which, as of this writing, will now ALWAYS be the state where I tore my ACL and fractured my tibia.

So, while I sit in an Anchorage, Alaska hotel writing this, I only have on thing to say about my move...

God, I hate it here.

Sweet Home Chicago

I just got back from the Windy City.

The trip, while not bad, has helped me reinforce a few things.

Namely, that I hate people.

Let's dial this one back a moment.

On Friday, I, along with two friends, ventured north from this little patch of swampland in order to attend Games Day Chicago- effectively a giant Games Workshop commercial disguised as a convention.

We did this for a number of reasons, but at least in part because we, as servants of a dreaded and dastardly games store, needed the inside skinny on what exactly the GW staff were going to do.

The convention was a big steaming pile of "all right." Not bad, but not good.

We learned a few things, but we also had to endure countless man-child reenactments of an Ork battle-cry.

The things I do in the line of duty.

Now, we've been wallowing in nerdishness all day.

My good friend and esteemed associate Bob hints that he has a line on a party we can go to.

So, after letting my mood spiral down into the basement, I agree to go.

Big mistake.

You see, it's a cast party.

Now, keep in mind that I majored in theatre. I have danced the dance of the performing arts. And knowing what I do, I should have taken the rain check I was earlier inspired to do.

Because theatre folk, for those of you just joining us, are cliquish, introverted, selfish creatures. They are convinced that what they are doing is important. They are, of course, possibly right. Sometimes.

Most of the time, they're a collection of indolent twits divorced from reality.

Which leads me to the party.

This is an apartment near Wrigley Field. Now, despise the Cubs as I may, I know that they sell a lot of tickets. And I know that real estate near Wrigley field ain't cheap.

The apartment is a luxurious affair.

Clearly, then, someone's Mommy and Daddy are forking over some dough.

I say this because the group throwing the party has just perpetrated Shakespeare in the Park, which is not exactly one of the bigger-budgeted shows on God's Green Earth.

Thus, it was like being in high school again... but without the desire to fit in.

No, this time, my bitter, scorched, blue-collar in spite of having every advantage ass was out for blood.

Particularly since these are people I have no intention of ever seeing again. Bob knows.... one or two of them.

The rest are an enigma to me.

So when a corpulent fellow in a white suit is introduced to me, and I am told he is the show's fight choreographer, my response is, "You poor bastard."

"Whoa, whoa, man, we just did a show, I don;t know if you wanna be so disparaging..."

"Look, I majored in theatre-"

"So did I!"

"... and I feel sorry for anyone who has your job."

Had he actually had the courage of his convictions, I would have been told to get the fuck out. Perhaps he might have punched me. I certainly wasn't the one with the most people in his corner.

Instead, adopting a wounded expression, he drifted away.


Which leads me to the point of this whole, ugly, rambling mess.

I often blame Indiana University for beating my love of theatre out of me... and they did their part.

But I'll be damned if, after several years of working freight, demilitarization, and retail, I'm going to put up with people so neurotic and thin-skinned. I get plenty of that shit from John Q Public.

Surrounding myself with a bunch of prima donnas convinced of their importance?

Bad move.

Life During Flutime

So, while I'm sure this may surprise some, I am, in spite of my lack of formal study in the field, greatly interested in epidemic disease.


And thus it is, that the current Swine Flu bit fascinates me so.

The 1918 Influenza Pandemic was an amazing disease.... its death toll was of the sort that beggars the imagination.

And while none of the data thus far make this look like a repeat of 1918 as such, it is still fascinating.

The WHO website hasn't seen this much traffic in ages. And with things like the Pandemic Alert Level moving from Stage 4 to 5, the temptation to go a little crazy is there, no mistake.

But rather than letting this phase me much, I'm taking a perhaps not entirely healthy interest in watching how things pan out.

As of 6PM, Greenwich Meridian Time, the flu has been reported in nine countries. Here in the United States, we have 91 confirmed laboratory cases, with one death.

Mexico has seven verified deaths linked to the H1N1 virus.

The WHO's advice on this is as follows-

"WHO advises no restriction of regular travel or closure of borders. It is considered prudent for people who are ill to delay international travel and for people developing symptoms following international travel to seek medical attention, in line with guidance from national authorities.
There is also no risk of infection from this virus from consumption of well-cooked pork and pork products. Individuals are advised to wash hands thoroughly with soap and water on a regular basis and should seek medical attention if they develop any symptoms of influenza-like illness."

In summation?

While this is interesting- and not to be ignored- wash your damned hands and don't fucking panic.
God bless the information age, when college students in Pig's Knuckle Arkansas can worry about flu cases in New Zealand.