NBC Jedi Mind Trick

It's a similar plot to "I Am Legend". All you need to do is substitute New York City with my little world and everyone I know, and the virus with "The Office". I am, of course, Will Smith.

I feel like I am the only person on Earth who is not of the opinion that The Office is a pure gem of comedic genius. As a matter of fact, I find it virtually unwatchable. I don't know how to officially classify the this brand of humor except maybe: "saying silly things with a straight face in a subtle semi-conversational monotone". But whatever you call it, it elicits an irritated reaction in my frontal lobe far before it can reach the laugh cells deeper in my brain.

I haven't seen much of The Office. I've only watched one complete episode. A couple more times I've tried to sit through it on the theory that I might have just caught a bad episode the first time. But I've seen enough. From what I've observed, the routine goes like this: "wacky premise delivered in matter-of-fact voice...silence...expressionless stares...wacky response delivered in matter-of-fact voice...silence...camera moves wildly throughout".

I figure there must be some sort of subliminal messaging going on somehow, convincing the viewer that they're watching something fascinating and clever. Those of us who are not affected by subliminal messages, and can see it for what it really is, are naturally baffled. But be advised: NBC is hypnotizing it's viewers to believe the cheap, thrown-together garbage they're watching is actually high quality programming.

How else can you explain "My Name is Earl"?

Making a Difference

It's time for my newest, least-favorite expression: "Making a Difference"!

Apparently this is the hottest of the hot new catch-phrases sweeping the nation. I've heard it on the news three times in the past 24 hours, and read about it twice on the internet. This Saturday is actually "Making a Difference Day", according to usaweekend.com. NBC Nightly News has a weekly segment about making a difference which they have cleverly entitled "Making a Difference".

At this point, I was going to list some of the numerous other organizations which have an event or feature labeled "Making a Difference", but I can't. Please go to Google and type those words in, hit enter, and you'll understand why. This phrase is all over our floor like David Hasselhof's cheeseburger.

So what does it mean? Well, within the currently accepted context, it equates to some sort of community service, but apparently the term "community service" is not longer hip, ya dig? The full and legal name is "Making a Difference in the Community". (Don't forget to over-pronounce the T) Because it's all about the communiTEE.

Now, hold on. I'm not against community service. I think it's very useful and nice, as well as a fantastic deterrent to misdemeanor crime. (Or felonies if you're a recognizable celebrity) What I hate with a passion are these phrases that everyone adopts and repeats over and over and over without ever really thinking about, or further defining what they mean. I have a certain amount of tolerance for the herd mentality because I realize it's an integral part of a consumer-driven, capitalist environment. The less you think, the more you follow along and chant the same song, the more crap you're going to buy because other people have it. And I'm all for a healthy economy, even if it means dumbing ourselves down and firghtening ourselves into submission by the potential danger that only online shopping and pharmaceuticals can vanquish. What? Do you think I hate America or something? Do you think I'm taking this a bit too far? After all, we're just talking about making a difference in the communiTEE.

We're sheep-zombies. We're the undead souls of sheep, cursed to wander the Earth and consume the brains of the living. This is why everyone in America can roll off the saying "15 minutes of fame", and "Your 15 minutes is nearly up", fully believing that some scientist somewhere in Sweden figured this out as a scientific principle. Yes, you are all entitled to 15 minutes of fame, minimum. If you've managed to read this drivel up to this point, you're probably in the minority who realize it's origin is some obscure quote by Andy Warhol from almost 40 years ago. Andy Warhol. A ridiculous, crackpot artist who was rambling incoherently in 1968, still (mis) quoted today by the zombie masses.

Sometimes these clever sayings catch on, but then are corrected by the Pussification Dept. censors and altered as not to become offensive. (See previous blog entry) For example, remember when someone made up the cute expression "My Better Half", to describe the person with whom they were involved in a romantic relationship? But, the Pussy Master said, "Hold on, y'all. How can we say one person is better?", and another said, "Yeah, and if someone is your half, it means you aren't WHOLE, man! That ain't cool." And so was born the lovely description, "Significant Other". What the fuck? "My Better Half" sounded like a term of endearment. "Significant Other" sounds like lab results. There wasn't a law enacted that states you need to be absolutely literal in your description of your mate. I'd rather someone asked me if I had a "Breathing Fuckhole" than a "Significant Other". At least I'd know what they meant.

So let's look at "Making a Difference in the Community". What does it mean? To me, it's somewhat vague, in the sense that it doesn't specify what type or amount of difference is being applied. So in effect, I could go out and set a building on fire, and I could claim I had made a difference in the community. The difference? There's a smoldering hole where Bob's Clam Shack used to be. That's a difference. But the term is vague, and that's the new cool. Vague is the new Hip-Hop.

With that in mind, here are some cool new descriptions and their definitions that I would like to submit to the masses of zombsheeps for instantaneous approval and adoption:

"Doing the Something" - You aren't doing nothing. You're working and then going home. You're Doing the Something.

"Riding On It" - You aren't really pedaling. You create no locomotion.

"Taking a Piece" - You're putting your hand in the jar, but leaving some jellybeans for the guy....who comes in here sometimes.

"Starting the Car" - You're starting your car.

"Bringing the" - You're bringing something somewhere for some reason. Nobody knows what, where, or why. But you're ROCKIN' it! "Dude, I'm "Bringing The" for the CommuniTEE".

"Uh..." - You're helping a friend move out of pure guilt, because he's asked like twenty people and everyone has plans that Sunday afternoon, and you know they're all just going to be jerking off at home and nursing hangovers, which is what you'd like to be doing, but you happened to be the last one he asked, and now you're stuck, and besides, you're going to be moving in three months and you know you're going to be in the same situation. In the communiTEE.

Jesus in Traffic

My wife and I were on our way to work this morning, sitting in very heavy traffic on Lakeshore Drive. It was drizzling rain, which in Chicago means that traffic slows to almost a complete standstill. We were attempting to switch from the far right to one of the middle lanes in an attempt to avoid the two lanes of traffic "merging" in from the on-ramps. My wife flips on the left turn signal, and we wait. And we wait. And we wait. Cars to our left see the signal as a threat that another vehicle is trying to disrupt their progress and their entitled area of space, so they speed up and lock bumpers to prevent any ingress. It's a very efficient system if everyone participates. We jerks in the right lane are always trying to pull this crazy shit, and we need to be stopped. That is, until we graduate to one of the lanes of privilege and honor, at which time we gain a position of great power and responsibility.

At one point I thought we almost had it. I saw a tiny opening of pavement. Almost instantaneously, the large white SUV that had been slacking behind, sped up and quickly blocked our path. As they pulled ahead, I noticed there was a "What Would Jesus Do?" sticker proudly displayed on their bumper. I thought it brought up a very valid question.

Well, Mister White SUV, I believe I can answer this one. See, I know Jesus very well. So here's how I see it:

Jesus would have gotten up late and rushed his way down Lakeshore in his urban assualt vehicle. He would have been jabbering away on his cell phone, probably conferring with St. Peter or Jude, setting things up for another day of ruling humanity. Now there's a city ordinance in Chicago that prohibits the use of cell phones in a moving vehicle without the use of a headset, but hey, this is the Son of God. Do they really think Jesus gives a damn about the rules? Rules apply to others. And besides, everybody else is doing it. What are they going to do? Pull us all over?

At this point, Jesus would have seen one of his loyal and loving subjects in the Kingdom of God, trying to get out of the purgatory of the right lane. But Jesus would not allow this. He controls the middle lane merely by his existence in it. And this lane space has been bestowed upon him by the Almighty Father in Heaven. Besides, Jesus is late for work already, and doesn't have time for this coutesy bullshit.

We can all learn from the teachings of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. As a tribute, I called his name out with great enthusiasm during this time, and again later when we were cut off at our exit by an Asian cab driver.

POLICY

"I'll have the broiled salmon please. But can I have it without the cream sauce? I'm lactose intolerant."

"Would you like to have it on the side?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

...ten minutes later...

"Um...you said you'd bring it on the side. This salmon is swiming in cream sauce"

"Yeah, it comes that way automatically."

"Automatically? What, did you get it out of a machine?"

This is, word-for-word, a conversation I had several days ago at a restaurant across the street from where I work. Did she forget to order it on the side? Did the cook scoff at her and refuse to do it? Or was everyone who works in the restaurant bound by some invisible code of conformity? There was no apology, no offer to make it right. She said her line, I said mine, and she departed into the haze as swiftly as she'd appeared. The sauce on the fish was "automatic". There was nothing either of us could have done about it. We are helpless against the forces that have driven us into this unfortunate situation. I must have the cream sauce. The cream sauce is automatic. I hear and I obey.

Now I've been thinking about how many times, day to day, I encounter the mysterious force that controls the minds and actions of waitstaff, clerks, customer service reps, and most others in the service industry. The force has a name. It is called "Policy". (ominous tone) No one knows where it came from, or why it's here. They only know that they must obey, even if it means forsaking courtesy, productivity, or even simple common sense.

Whenever I go see my doctor, which has been somewhat frequently lately, the receptionist reminds me that I have a balance, and hands me a copy of the invoice.

"Would you like to pay the balance today by credit card?"

"No thanks, we mail these in. Also, I don't need this copy. I get these in the mail."

"Well, we have to give them to you."

"Why?"

"Because you might say you didn't get it in the mail."

"But...I just did."

Again, logic is cast away in favor of serving the Almighty Policy. The ability to think and to act, or even treat a customer as a human being is stripped away, and replaced with robotic obedience to the Lord and Master.

In the time of the Roman Empire, the army devised an ingenious method of defense and assault which was called the phalanx. Soldiers in the front line of the formation would lock their shields together forming an impenetrable, forward-moving wall. They could thrust their spears above the shields to gore the enemy while remaining virtually untouchable. America's legions of heroic clerks wage battles against The Customer in much the same way. Their phalanx is an array of complex and indisputable rules of engagement that bear down on us, driving us back as we are impaled by self-righteousness and an aggressive lack of patience. Each time we charge forward, we are beaten back in defeat.

"You can have soup. If you want to substitute salad I'll have to charge you extra."

"AHHH!"

"If you don't have the receipt, I can't accept it, even if it's shrink-wrapped in the orginal packaging and has our price sticker on it."

"OWWWW...OH GOD!"

"You're in the wrong line. You'll have to go wait at the end of the other line."

"NOOO, PLEASE STOP! ARRRRGGGH!"

"What's the reason you want to cancel your online service? I HAVE TO put down a reason."

"OHHH...woe is me. I lie down before you awaiting the blessing of death."

"The fish..."

"OH!"

"...comes that way..."

"AHHH"

"...automatically!"

"unghhhh.......( in a barely audible whisper) thank...you."

Offended

Have you ever stopped to consider exactly what it means to be "offended"? This word seems to pop up in the news just about every other day. Someone has said something on television, radio, or other media that has offended a person or group of people. And in response, we all rally together to condemn the Evil Offender, because he or she has hurt people for no good reason. But what exactly is the wound of offense? Does it cause bodily harm? Does it cause psychological distress? Does it cause pain and swelling of hemorrhoidal tissues? Where exactly does the damage occur?

The most recent, highly publicized incident of offense was when Don Imus referred to the Rutgers Womens Basketball Team as "nappy-headed hos". I don't need to recount the backlash that occured, since it turned into one of the biggest news stories of the year. One comment that struck me was this:

"It's important that we stand with the women of Rutgers who are deeply hurt by the highly insensitive comments of Don Imus," said Marc Morial, CEO of the National Urban League.

Deeply hurt? In principle, you can't be hurt by words. You can feel badly because of your reaction to the words, but the words themselves can cause no damage without your active participation. Now I will concede, we're only human, and we react to verbal attacks and personal insults almost instinctively. But, can we really feel the same emotional distress from hearing second or third-hand about what some stranger said in a time and place where we couldn't possibly have been affected by it? Is that maybe carrying it a little too far? How do we get to this level of displaced outrage?

The foundation is in the phenomenon of personal, individual entitlement. According to our social structure as a Nation, we have certain natural ("unalienable") rights. These rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, or "life, liberty, and property" if you're recognize the influence of John Locke on the Founding Fathers. Either way, it's pretty basic. You have the right to live, you have the right to freedom, and you have the right to make a living. But over the years, Americans have assumed scores of additional "natural rights" that have never been officially documented or endorsed by our system of government. One of the most prominent seems to be, "The right to not have to hear anything we find distasteful". I assume this has become an American right because Don Imus was fired from his job and persecuted by the media for his words. And tragically, millions go unpunished every single day for uttering insults, slurs, and all manner of profanity directly into the ears of law-abiding Americans. I myself have told a cab driver to go and engage in sexual intercourse without means of a partner this very afternoon. And yet I roam free as a fugitive from justice.

Where do these new rights come from? They come from the very same conglomerate of media sources which now enforce the punishments for violating them. I recall at a very young age being informed by Saturday morning television that, "The most important person in the whole wide world...is you!" I've been assured by countless television and radio commercials that I DESERVE the very best. For most of my life, my country has celebrated my unique individuality, and encouraged me aggressively to nurture and cultivate it as a beautiful flower in a desert of mediocrity. And I have risen to the challenge. I groom my beautiful self every morning with floral soap, skin-softening shaving cream, triple-blade razors, coconut scented shampoo, fun and sassy hair products, sweet deodorant, minty fresh toothpaste applied with a specially designed toothbrushing implement. So when I leave the house, the world can see that I am a success. I have no human odor or imperfections. Then I grab my razor-thin cell phone, get into my sexy-ass car and turn on my 50,000-song portable media device. It goes on and on.

Pretty soon I start feeling like all that matters is my own personal gratification. And as a highly adaptable and resilient survivor of the animal kingdom, I create methods for achieving my needs. The best way to make sure I get what I want is to change them from wants to rights. My "pursuit of happiness" becomes a mission for total and constant gratification. And now I start feeling like the smartest monkey in the cage, because I've figured out how to get what I want. The ego grows, the pride swells, and now I have the natural God-given unalienable right not to be distracted or disturbed. Now, when I hear a joke that I simply find no humor in, instead of simply not laughing, I must have the joke teller punished for upsetting the balance of my personal air. I have become offended.

Please stop the world and tend to my needs. I have been mortally wounded by cruel insensitivity projected at me in the form of sound vibrations that contain references I would prefer not to hear. Please retrieve for me, a reputable physician, at once. And bring me the head of Don Imus on a steel lance so that I may post it as a warning to all others.

Little Bill: "Mister, you just shot an unarmed man!"

William Munny: "Well he shoulda armed himself if he was going to mutter thoughtless, insensitive comments, that I heard about from some people in another town, a couple of weeks ago, about my friend."

Welcome to My World

Hi, welcome to Earth. We're a giant spinning sphere of dirt that circles around that big fireball you see over there. We call ourselves humans. We're the fastest evolving and smartest animals on Earth. We were made by a guy named God, who's our boss. We used to be what's known as a monkey, but we got promoted, given bigger brains and a soul, and now we're like the boss of everything else. Feel free to look around. I'd be happy to answer any questions.

So God made you... who made all this other stuff?

Oh, God made that stuff too. He made the whole thing.

What did he make it out of?

Um, we don't know, really. We think he made it out of nothing, I guess. I don't know.

So tell me about this God guy. Who is he? Why did he make all this stuff?

As far as we know, he's an indefinable entity who's taken the form of a male, caucasian homosapien, and he made earth to amuse himself. You know, like a hobby.

Why did God promote you guys? What exactly was the reason?

Well, I think it's probably because we look exactly like God. But you know, he did that on purpose. He made us to look like him.

So you guys are like mini-Gods?

Yeah, I guess you could say that. We're kinda like a bunch of little God Assistants.

What kind of work have you done here for God?

Well, we've populated the earth. This is called being "fruitful". We've established our domination over all the other animals. We've gone around and told other humans who didn't know about God that they need to know about God. We've harnessed the elements to power machines in order to eliminate stress and effort from our existence. We recite ritualistic chants towards God, and we do some light typing and filing.

And God finds this helpful? This is what he assigns you to do?

You bet!

And so what is God doing while you're taking care of all his work on earth?

Um... I don't know. I assume he's creating stuff or doing miracles or something.

How do you know what assignments you have, day to day? Does God call a staff meeting?

Well, no. We get written orders from a long time ago, by some guys who talked to him.

Really? How long ago?

Oh, a couple thousand years I guess. No one really knows.

And who are these guys?

Well, some of them were written by these guys called Disciples. But the rest, we really don't know.

So you work based on assignments written thousands of years ago by someone you've never heard of?

Yeah.

And this person got his orders from God?

Yes. Well... that's what he says...in the papers.

Why doesn't God write some new papers? You know, update the old papers?

Oh, because he's testing us!

Why is he testing you?

To see if we make the right decisions.

You mean he thinks there's a chance you might not?

Yeah.

Do you think there's a flaw in your design? Are you a prototype...a test version?

No, absolutely not. God made us perfectly. God is perfect, ya know. So everything he makes is perfect.

So...why the test?

What do you mean?

I mean, this God guy is perfect, right? He could make a perfect version of you the first time.

Oh, we're not perfect.

So God didn't make you perfect?

Nope.

Why not?

Because he wanted us to have a free will.

What does that mean?

It means we can decide whatever we want.

But you still have to do these assignments, right?

Well, yes.

Can you choose not to do them?

I guess we can. Yes.

What happens if you chose not to do the assignments?

Well, when we die, we are handed over to this guy Satan, who takes us into a big underground cave and burns us in fire.

Ouch! For how long?

Forever.

Forever?! What the hell?

Yeah, that's the joint.

So this God guy is really harsh, huh?

Yeah, but he loves us.

OK, tell me a little bit about these other animals living on your planet.

Well, these other animals are put here by our boss, God, for our personal use. We can use them as a food source, have them work for us, kill them if they annoy us, etc.

God loves you more than them, I guess.

Oh yeah. we have a soul and they don't.

What's a soul?

It's a thing inside our bellies that brings us to heaven.

What's heaven?

God's home office, pretty much. There's lots of room there, but only for good people.

No animals there, huh?

Nope, not a one.

So to summarize, you live on this spinning ball of dirt, where you were put by a guy named God to do some of his work. But he's really testing you to see if you'll be good or bad. And even though he could have constructed you perfectly, he didn't, because he wants some of you to go to an underground cave and burn forever in fire, while all the rest get to go to his home office and hang out. And the work he's given you was all written down by some dead guys two thousand years ago who supposedly met God, but he hasn't met with anyone or updated the orders since then. But he did give you a supply of other animals to kill and eat and enslave for your amusement. Is that about right?

Yes.

Have you ever net this God guy?

No, not personally.

Do you know anyone who has?

No...

How do you know he's there? Maybe the guy left or something.

I guess he could have. I'd have no way of knowing.

Have you ever tried to contact him?

Yes, every day.

And...?

Well, nothing so far. But I know he's busy.

And what about this Satan guy. Ever met him?

Well, no. But I have seen him. He does a t.v. show on Fox. Calls himself... "O'Reilly".

Weird.

Yeah.