Tell Me All Your Thoughts on God....

Lately, for no reason in particular, I've been thinking a lot about religious issues. And one overwhelming theme I keep coming back to - although I feel a little strange to admit it - is religion's potential to be a source/motivation of incredible evil. I don't like to think about it in that way, as the main point of pretty much every different religion out there is providing structure/morals/purpose to life, but sometimes it's hard to ignore. Anyway after I got all hyped up from reading Superbee's latest post, I felt like I needed to share something I witnessed today.

My job involves a lot of foreclosure work, which means I typically run into two types of people: the jerks who think they've found a way to "beat the system" and stop paying their mortgages (the fun foreclosures), and the good folks who just happen to have fallen on hard times and really need help (the sad foreclosures). Today I encountered one firmly in the latter category, and it was probably the most heartbreaking to me personally (Slight disclaimer: this isn't one my firm handled...I just happened to be at the courthouse on other business, and a friend of woman who was there for emotional support filled me on what was going on...he was very upset himself, and just wanted to talk to someone...I was the closest one).

Basically the this woman's husband ran off to California with his mistress, leaving her and 3 kids with nothing except for the bills. The wife busted her ass to make ends meet, and in the meantime sued her piece of crap husband for child support and a whole laundry list of other things which she rightfully deserved. Apparently the case was proceeding well for her, and things were starting to actually look up.

Then one day, the husband shows up and knocks on her door. He says that he has found Jesus, has "been saved," and is there to beg her forgiveness. Being devout Christian of the born-again variety herself, the wife follows the "WWJD" mentality and forgives him...and drops all of the pending lawsuits.

Right after the case was dismissed, the husband disappears again. Cleans out the bank accounts. Goes back to the mistress. He was faking the whole Jesus thing. He knew she would buy it, and saw it as his chance to get out of the lawsuit without a scratch.

The wife - although trying as hard as she can to support herself and the kids - can't keep up the mortgage payments, and the house falls into foreclosure. She tries to save the house, her friends try to help out, but no deal is struck. The sale was today. The woman showed up, along with her pastor and several friends, in hopes that maybe one of them could buy the house at auction. None of them had enough money. The bank now owns the house.

As soon as the sale was finalized, the group joined hands and began to openly weep and pray. Right there in the courthouse. They begged Jesus for hope and strength, and ask Him to help them understand why this was part of His plan.

My reaction to this scene was two-fold: Part of me wanted to go over and join their prayer circle, just knowing what this poor woman had been through. The other part of me though just wanted to yell "Open your eyes! Don't you see what happened? It was your blind faith that made a bad situation so much worse, and now all you're gonna do is just pray about it!?!"

It was that second part of me that had firmly gained the upperhand by the end of the episode. Standing there watching them pray and openly call out to Jesus, I started to feel like I do when I see a bunch of young talking about Santa Claus. It's like "Oh that's so sweet that they still believe...someday they'll learn how it really works, though."

And that scared the hell out of me. Have I really become that cynical? It's not like I'm anti-Jesus, but it just makes me mad to see people turn to the spiritual when they should be looking to the readily-available solutions in the physical world. I'm not saying ignore religious beliefs, but I think in a lot of cases religion should be a supplement to real-world devices instead of an alternative. How can you let this dirtbag off the hook just because he tosses around the J-word a few times? Are you really that naive? ARRRGGHHH!

OK, this is turning into a ramble, so I'll stop. Take it however you want.

Dear Sony Corporation:

I have been a consumer of your fine products your a number of years. The very first CD player I ever had was on the Sony stereo I got when about 12 years old. A few years after that I got a Sony Discman for long car trips with the parents, and when I got my license and my own car (sans in-dash CD), I had one of those cassette tapes that plugged into the earphone jack. I'm not even going to go into how much time I've devoted to the Playstation. All fine products that have brought me much entertainment.

My motivation for writing you today, however, has nothing to do with any of those devices. It actually doesn't have anything to do with any of your products per se, but rather with your recent marketing campaigns for the PSP.

You see, we live in a society where video game mascots and pitchmen can become cultural icons. Mario and Luigi, Sonic the Hedgehog, Mr and Ms Pacman...celebrities all in their own right. If I were in charge of marketing a video game system, I think I would be aiming to come up with some sort of character to join the ranks of those previously-mentioned icons. Something to be the public face of the product. Something instantly-recognizable to the average guy on the street. Something you could make into an action figure and sell to kids. You get the idea.

That's why it bothers me - both as a consumer, and as someone who took several marketing classes in college - when I see your latest PSP commercials on television. Your "spokesman" is neither a kid-friendly Pikachu-type nor someone a little more for the older crowds like Master Chief. It is instead, what I can only describe as a huge wad of pubic hair....that talks with an exaggerated Mexican accent.



Are you kidding me? You're a well-respected multinational corporation...you must have quite a marketing budget at your disposal. And you spend it on this? I imagine that meeting must have gone something like this:

(In a modern, upscale conference room, several people in suits mill about making small talk as they wait for the Director of Marketing to arrive. Promo footage from a variety of Sony products plays on two enormous plasma screens on opposite walls. The skyline of the city is visible through the large window in the back of the room. Director enters.)

Director: Alright folks, let's get started. The PSP launch is coming up, and it's our job to get the word out. I want to hear some ideas....

Man in suit: I think we need a franchise figure....just look at what Pokemon did for the Gameboy...

Woman across the table: We've got to think about our target audience....the prime gaming demographic is getting older, and trends indicate....

Man #2 (who in my mind looks like John Karr, and talks like Dr. Mephisto from South Park): I say we use pubic hair....a big clump of it.....that talks....

(stunned looks are exchanged around the room)

Director (sits silently, stares down at nothing in particular, his expression indicates he is deep in thought; finally he looks up): Brilliant! I'll have our designers start working on concept art immediately!

(More stunned looks are shared; Man #2's creepy grin reveals a mouth full of yellowing teeth)


How it ended up with the accent is a different story entirely, but you get the idea. This whole concept is obviously the result of some bizarre mix of pervertedness and ineptitude, but I'm not sure which factor is the dominant one. Regardless, I find it both disturbing and disgusting.

You Don't Hate Babies, Do You?

I'm not usually the type to get behind an online petition (although we did get Family Guy back on the air and the orginal Star Wars trilogy on DVD), but - in all seriousness - this is one I stumbled onto that I think could help address an extrememely important issue - the on-going genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan. This is something that has not gotten a tremendous amount of mainstream press coverage in the US, but by most accounts is a humanitarian crisis far worse than what's going on in Iraq and Afganistan right now.

Anyway, here's the link. Even if you don't want to sign it, though, I do urge you to at least google "darfur" and look at some of things that come up (here's a link for that, too, just to save you the time). I think just making people aware of what's happening could help immensely.

Enjoy!

A Great Epic, In My Mind

Rarely do I remember my dreams the morning after they happen. And when I can recall anything, it's usually just a little clip....something like, "I was playing frisbee with my dog, only it wasn't really my dog, and then I had to go to the DMV for some reason!" Not exactly the type of thing I would take the time to devote an entire post to.

However, last night something unusual happened. My dream not only played out like a somewhat-cohesive storyline, but I also remembered every single part of it in vivid detail upon waking up this morning. It actually played out much like a movie, and I'm quite convinced that should it ever be made into a movie, it would be at least as good as From Justin to Kelly*.

The tale begins innocently enough with me and a bunch of my friends at the beach. That in itself was cool because there were people there I knew from high school, college, law school, etc, that have never actually met each other in real life, but in the dream everyone knew each other and was hanging out. Someone suddenly had the idea that we should rent some 4x4s so we could drive down the beach to the mysterious lighthouse we could just barely see off in the distance. And in true dream-like fashion, there is of course a 4x4 rental place right next to our house. Off we went.

At first we cruised along without a care in the world, but then suddenly there was trouble. It seemed the sand was growing less and less stable the farther we drove, and eventually the ground could not even support the weight of the vehicles. We became hopelessly stuck. But at this point we were closer to the old lighthouse than we were to home, so we decided to continue on our on foot, thinking that maybe there would be someone at the imposing tower who could help us out.

To our dismay, the structure appeared abandoned from the outside, and the main door was padlocked closed. As we discussed our options, we barely noticed the gathering storm clouds behind us. With the first crackle of thunder it became apparent that there was no way to make it back home before the sky opened up on us. It quickly became obvious that our only hope for finding shelter from the storm was inside the lighthouse, and we began trying to find away around the lock. Fortunately, the chain on the lock was rusty from it's time spent exposed to the elements, and a few well-placed blows from some old bricks we found sent the chain dropping to the ground.

Once inside, we were amazed. What looked to be dilapidated and forgotten about from the outside was actually well maintained and quite luxurious within. The main attraction was an enormous gas fireplace in the center of the building, which provided some much needed warmth to the group as it had begun to rain on us as we worked on the lock. Well-stocked cabinets and comfy furniture put us in no hurry to leave this strange abode. The only problem - we had tripped the silent alarm when we busted the lock.

The sound of approaching police sirens brought out revelry to a screeching halt. Panic set in. The cops were there in no time, barking orders through megaphones, surrounding the lighthouse with weapons drawn. The sudden stress caused a rift among the group. Suddenly someone had an idea - steal one of the cop cars and escape to freedom! I, however, was not up for this. I wanted to try to escape on foot into the dense forest that surrounded the lighthouse grounds. I found myself vastly outnumbered, though, and only my friend Andy from high school agreed with my plan. The others were not to be persuaded, but as they charged wildly towards one of the parked police cruisers, it did provide the perfect diversion for me and Andy to escape into the woods.

After hours of wandering aimlessly through the thick brush, we started to recognize some of our surroundings. We had somehow made our way to the area near a small local college, and as luck would have it, it was orientation weekend. Lots of people, lots of opportunities to hide from the cops who we knew were still intent on bringing us in for our little breaking-and-entering stunt.

As we tried our best to blend in among the crowds, we spotted the boys in blue - they had tracked us to the college. Interestingly enough the leader of the squad of cops was Wade Williams from Prison Break, in his full "Capt. Bellick" glory. Just trying to act natural out on the quad wasn't going to cut it. We had to get indoors, and a nearby dorm provided the perfect opportunity.

It seems that some of the cops noticed us trying a little too anxiously to enter the building, and soon they were making there way there as well. Realizing we had inadvertently drawn attention to ourselves, Andy and I began to look for a place to hide out. An unlocked door at the end of the hall seemed like the perfect spot, but the cops pulled one of the dirtiest tricks in the book: One of them yelled out "Andy!" and, just out of instinct, Andy stuck his head out to see who was calling him (sort of like the scene in the stairwell in The Fugitive). Andy was busted, but being a true friend, he didn't rat me out as they dragged him off to jail. I owe you one, man.

The TV was on in the room I had ducked into, and station was abuzz with news reports about our now infamous lighthouse break-in. I learned then for the first time that the group who decided to commandeer the car had actually pulled it off - at first - but were now involved in a high speed chase on the freeway with an legion of law enforcement vehicles in hot pursuit. There was also an APB put out on me, as somehow it had been discovered that I was not among the group in the car and was still at large.

The artist's rendition of my face they were showing on the screen was spot-on, and I knew I may be in trouble. Rummaging through the room, I found some clothes to change into (the anchorman on TV had been describing precisely what I was last known to be wearing, and those were in fact the clothes I still had on at that point), and also noticed some electric clippers which I quickly employed for an instant buzz cut. Feeling I had changed my appearance as much as possible from the cops had last seen me, I felt like I had bought myself some time and began to contemplate my next move.

Meanwhile, the news continued to pour in through the TV. Andy was already in lockup downtown. The folks in the highway chase were all but finished. And they were telling everyone watching to be on the lookout for me. The latest reports were not only describing me physically, but also my habits and mannerisms, in hopes of giving people as much information as possible to help track me down.

But then the anchorman began to focus on something very odd. According to him, I could not stand to eat to fish. Now it is true that I am not a huge fan of fish, but for some reason the network had decided to do an entire expose on the topic. Apparently they considered my lack of desire for mahi such a strange trait that it would instantly give me away if I tried to go on the run.

This gave me an idea.

I left the dorm room, found some random hot girl, and said "I'm in the mood for some seafood...would you care to join me?" She eagerly accepted my invitation, and off we went to some place known for its great shrimp, confident that it was the last place anyone would look for me.


The End.


It was all very James Bond-like....to me, at least. Hell, I promised you From Justin to Kelly, not The Godfather. What did you expect?


*I've never actually seen From Justin to Kelly, but by all accounts, it is quite terrible and thus an apt comparison.

Episode 3.5, or Something Like That

Work has been a beast lately, an as such, the blogging has suffered quite a bit. I do apologize to all (both) of my loyal readers. Anyway until I come back with something (meant to be) funny, creative, or original on my own, I ask you to direct your attention over to the website of Xpress Entertainment.

This group is putting together what looks to be a killer Star Wars fan-film, complete with an original story, detailed costumes, and real actors - they even landed Jeremy Bullock, who played Boba Fett in the original Trilogy. I've been known to check out a fan-film from time to time (don't act surprised; I've talked before about my unnatural love for all things Star Wars...oh, that wasn't surprise? It was pity? Yeah, that makes more sense) and most are very creative, some are actually pretty good, but very few have anything more than the most basic of production value.

Not these guys, though. Check out the concept art and promo banners. My favorite thing is the fact that the guy playing Chewbacca has his own personal costume. Err, no I take that back, my real personal favorite is the actress playing the part of Aliska Malii-Sin. Hottie!

I also admire how they are pulling out all the stops to avoid infringing any Lucasfilms copyrights. Despite the hours of work and planning that seem to have gone into this, a planned theatrical premier, and DVD release, the folks behind this endeavors don't want or expect to make a dime. They're doing it purely for the love of film and Star Wars.

That's something I can definitely support.

My 4th Grade Sense of Humor

Driving along the other day, I came upon the small town of Beulaville, NC, one of the few signs of civilization in an otherwise sparesly-populated section of eastern NC. I was listening to the radio, thinking about the work I needed to finish up that afternoon, and generally not paying too much attention to this fairly quiet corner of the state I pass through from time to time. But then something caught my eye.

Jumping ahead in the story a little, it turns out that "something" was a homemade plastic banner, tied between two telephone poles, advertising a local consignment shop called "Ann's Wagon." It was brightly decorated, and the writing was done in funky free-hand design. Here is my poor rendition (sorry, I wasn't quick enough on the draw with the camera phone) of the intended effect they were going for with their sign:
Innocent enough. But there's a problem here - the designers of this banner did not take into account the exact location for the placement of their ad. See, the real-life patch of real estate on which this sign hangs also contains a street sign, which produces this effect:
Big difference.

I almost wrecked the car as my brain tried to figure out 1) what exactly an "anus wagon" was, and 2) why on earth this small, conservative, Mayberry-like town would openly advertise such a thing. Was it some type of kinky sex club? A bizarre proctology center? Something involving alien body-probes perhaps?

I had several long seconds to contemplate this riddle as I sat at the stop light immediately adjacent to this display. Only upon the light turning green did I have the chance to shift my perspective and see what the sign really said.

And even though I was a little disappointed to learn that there was, in fact, no anus wagon in Beulaville, the memory alone was enough bring on a good chuckle for the rest of the day.