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Posts for the date of Friday, March 22, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 1:35 PM |
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Sitting by my door is a real magnifying glass. Outside is the sun. What is it that makes me want to combine the two to make fire? There’s a part of me, hidden not so far beneath the surface, that makes me want to light things on fire with the magnifying glass.
Some may think it’s a sign of mental illness. As if I’m sitting around the house looking at matches and paper, fighting off an intense urge to burn down the neighborhood.
Not so. What I want to do is run up to the store and buy some army men. The green plastic kind that used to be the cornerstone of any self-respecting boy’s toy collection. I want to line up an intense battle on the sidewalk and allow one side to harness the energy of the sun to lay waste to their enemy.
With a quick focus of their giant lens, the technologically advanced army turns their foe into a giant, bubbling mass of green goo.
With great knowledge comes great power, especially if you are a green plastic man forever frozen into a pose that depicts your status in the army. Mine sweeper? That’s what you are. General? You get binoculars. Infantry? You have five choices. One: Standing and shooting. Two: Running. Three: Kneeling. Four: Crawling. Five: Sniping.
There’s no hope for advancement. No hope for promotion. Your life is defined by your body posture. Your job is predefined. There’s no complaining in these ranks. Your only hope is to have a benevolent god-like child to be the master of your fate, and to be chosen as the forces of good. Otherwise, you end up a bubbling mass of green goo.
Whatever happened to army men? I thought they’d make resurgence after their supporting role in Toy Story. But not so. Kids today, I suppose, don’t have toys that require imagination. You actually have to play with army men. A modern child needs a toy that plays with itself. With a predetermined back-story.
Army men only had a basic back-story. They are military men. Nothing else. Whatever happens is up to you.
What will literature look like in the future if kids don't know how to play? Sigh.
Maybe I put too much stock into the importance of green army men. But, they were the ultimate toys. They work inside, outside, in the bath. They were ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. No remorse, only fierce fighters.
Crap. I have to go. The third infantry is on the move and Charlie Company needs to set up the Ultra-Violet Ray of Death. Our very lives depend upon their success.
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Posts for the date of Thursday, March 21, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:35 PM |
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Hey! Ho! Let’s Go!
Before I bore you with the mundanities of my life and, believe me they are many, I wanted to thank a certain Troll King for reassuring me about nuclear weapons. I still don’t like the idea, but at least I know that the government says “We’ll use nuclear weapons” the same way an 18 year old says, “I have a massive schlong.”
I went to apply for Gertrude's Social Security card today. A year ago, this wouldn’t have been all of that odd of an experience, except when the federal agent asks you when you’d like your child fitted for the tracking chip. But these days, when everyone is a potential enemy of the state, it was surreal.
The office is in a non-descript suburban building. Three floors high, so as to not impede the view of the wealthy suburbanites who want to see the sky. Those suburbanites who want to ignore the fact that there is life outside of their tiny parcel of land they pay illegal immigrants to maintain.
When I was walking to the building, I felt the same way I feel when I go to the bank. A simple act. Nothing more than turning in a form, smiling and leaving.
Walking through the door I was greeted by a security officer. One who, by the looks of it, would be more secure seated at the counter of a Krispy Kreme. His shirt alone took more fabric to manufacture than my entire outfit.
I was searched, including emptying my pockets. It dawned on me, as he was looking at my six dimes and the scrap of paper containing twelve letters which were important at the time I wrote them, but now seemed to be a cryptic code.
I expected Mr. Security agent to ask, “LG PEP ON GR PEP? And what the hell does that mean Mr. O’Brien. If that is your real name. Huh? What are you trying to pull? I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to strip.”
He jovially looked over my belongings and told me that Denise would be with me shortly.
And she was. Happily. Hardly the type you’d expect to work at a federal building.
But that’s the thing. It’s a federal building, of sorts. I was standing in the middle of a representative space of my government, my country. It had never dawned on me that anyone would want to harm anyone within 100 miles of me.
Of course, that’s what people think every morning in Israel before people start exploding. There’s a moment of peace, with coffee and the morning paper, before average people think, “I wonder who will explode today?”
But, apparently, people do want to harm these kind federal workers. There was a sign on the wall that read, “It is a federal offense to kill, kidnap, forcibly assault, or intimidate an federal employee while they are representing the government.” Or something like that. It had never occurred to me that anyone would want to harm Denise for any reason.
But two things occurred to me about that sign. 1. Isn’t it always some sort of offense to kill someone? Regardless of whether it’s a state, city or federal crime, it’s a crime. And a bad one, at that.
2. Is it possible to passively assault someone?
It’ seems that everyone is concerned about safety these days. Even Dominoes Pizza. I received a flyer in the mail recently that stated that Dominoes is “Fast, Safe and Friendly.”
Safe? Of course. These are the pizza people, not the mafia. They bring me hot, cheesy goodness. Why would they want to hurt me? They are the harbingers of cholesterol. If anything, I should ask them why they didn’t stop me from ordering.
“Fast, Safe and Friendly” made me feel as though I was going to order an escort. They don’t hang out all night, carry diseases and hey, they don’t insult your perverted ways. “Yeah, I’d like the Big Helpin’s Special. Make that a blonde and a brunette with . . . oh, leather.”
Or maybe all their drivers wear condoms at all times. Who knows?
When I got home, I had to make a merge file. A large one. Quite boring, but a necessary evil. As I was typing, I noticed one name.
Don Torok. I figure he’s either an Orc or a Klingon. Either way, I’m never going to piss of Mr. Torok. Torok! Choy Chu!
I don’t know. It was a pretty normal day. Nothing happened. Nothing. Except that I’ve started a music project entitled “The Art of the Hey.” It will contain only songs that feature the word “hey.” Fun.
I am officially boring. Which would explain why I’m obsessed with Snozzleberries.
A good snozzleberry in the morning, and one at night, really eases the mind.
Hey! Ho! Let’s Go!
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 1:12 PM |
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The snozzleberries taste like snozzleberries!
I'll be back later today with an actual update. Sorry for the back up. I've been doing this thing called "work". I built an online store. That was a lot of work. Oy!
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Posts for the date of Monday, March 18, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 5:12 PM |
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Random thought theater today . . .
First of all, a follow-up on my depressing rant from Friday. No, I don’t feel any better. I feel worse, actually. My kids are too damn cute to grow up in a radioactive world. They don’t need third arms!
But, I was considering humanity and its capacity for destruction and creation. It seems we have an odd dichotomy. We discover an amazing technology and we try to figure out how to use it to destroy things. I’m waiting for the day when we can use a calculator to kill people.
Technology should be used to make our lives better. Easier. It should answer questions and open new doors. It should raise questions. It should entice and engage the intellect. Instead, if we don’t use it to download porn, create first person shooters (the only kind of video game I’m good at. Should I be concerned?) or, to use the most over-used phrase of the last decade, “weapons of mass destruction.”
How do we exactly define “mass destruction.” At one time incendiary devices, like dynamite could cause mass destruction. Look at Dresden during WWII. Not a single weapon of mass destruction used there. Yet, the city was leveled and hundreds of thousands of people died. Whose idea was it to improve upon the science behind that? “Hey George? These gazillion megaton bombs are cool, but we need more!”
Where does mass destruction begin? This whole war on terrorism started with commercial airliners. Are they weapons of mass destruction? No . . . I guess not, so 3,000 isn’t the magic number.
Cruise missiles, clearly aren’t, since we use them regularly. It seems weapons inspectors and politicos focus on germ warfare, biological warfare and gas canisters. But . . . it doesn’t seem that nerve gas can kill more than a cruise missile. Maybe it’ll kill slowly . . . but, mass destruction?
It seems to be human nature to want to kill as many people as possible.
I've always said the most dangerous discovery man ever made was fire. When it was discovered, people used it for warmth, comfort and to make their meat taste a little better. Eventually someone discovered that fire burned people and could be used to extort their will out of others. Then it was discovered that homes could be willingly destroyed with it. Luckily, it sat dormant for many years. One day man discovered he could contain the fires in a little capsule that propelled metal into other bodies. But even that was not enough. Man needed to kill on grand scales. So, he captured the power of fire in a cylinder and dropped it on others. Many hundreds could be killed that way. But even that was not enough. Man eventually figured out the power in the energy of fire. He split that power and was able to discover that he could kill hundreds of thousands at one time, and poison their land to boot.
So what is mass destruction? Mass murder usually involves more than two people, so shouldn’t we hold weapons to that criterion?
Hell, a person could probably only kill one other person with their hands in a reasonable amount of time, so all weapons cause mass destruction. Plus, if you look at the lifecycle of any weapon, over time . . . mass destruction.
For that matter, why does mass destruction involve death? Could we not also include bulldozers, cars, wrecking balls and two-year-olds as weapons of mass destruction?
Can’t you see it? Our enemies send a gaggle of irritable two-year olds to invade us. We take pity and take them in. Within a year, the two-year olds have torn our favorite books, taken our CDs out and scratched them all and put their lunch in the VCR because it looked hungry.
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