Update on the Cody/Dean deal:

Both have apologized in a manner I found to be honest and genuine. While gauging the honesty of someone who would do something like that is dicey, it’s really the best I could hope for. That and their having learned a lesson. As my dad put it “A valuable lesson was learned at a very cheap price.” That is to say that if I was a relentless dickhole, I had the right to go after them for infringement and try to get money out of them. As it stands, their bosses, wives, friends, co-workers, and everyone else they knew found out about it, and while that doesn’t benefit me directly, it does essentially limit their options to a)apologizing profusely to everyone connected to their lives and promising not to do it again, or b) faking their deaths and moving to another country to try and start a new scam.

So I have the feeling that it’s a solved problem. And I don’t feel the need to make things any worse for them. So it’s all done. I have been asked by the webmaster of the Star Trek site to request that my readers please stop going over there to make fun of that site. Honestly the site itself had nothing to do with the plagiarism, so it is kind of wrong to hold them accountable for one member’s actions.

Anyway, that’s all there is to that. On with the stories…

As much as I bitch and complain about the ineptitude of anything run by the United States Government, I am still slightly baffled when it rears its ugly head. Like watching a dog get its head stuck in a fence several times in an hour, you start to wonder what purpose an entity has that is incapable of learning from failure.

For instance, I went out to vote early at the city hall in November. I walked a mile or two and found the building, went inside, got the obligatory cavity search (no charge for that one), and noticed that there was a line of people that wrapped around the entire interior of the building. Three times.

I asked a nice lady with a gun “So…how long is the wait in line?”

“Oh, it’s moving pretty good. Shouldn’t be more than two or three hours.”

For the record, three is 50% more than two, and quite a difference. So I walked to the front third or so of the line and asked someone how long they had been waiting. 4 hours.

I know voting early is important and we all need to do our civic duty and all of that happy crap, but I nearly knocked the doors off the hinges on my way out. Sara wasn’t too happy with my decision, seeing as how I didn’t even have a job and really what else did I have to do.

“I’m going to try again on election day” I said

“You know that will probably be even worse, right?”

“Well then, I guess Tyrannosaurus Rex will have to get elected without my support.”

“Dustyyyyyyy…”

The thing I don’t understand is that the past few presidential elections have had a ridiculous turnout, but no one can figure out how to put enough computers in enough places to keep it from being a gargantuan fustercluck. Of course, there is also the segment of my fair city that thinks that it was only difficult to vote because “the man” was afraid a black guy might get elected and was therefore doing everything in his power to suppress the black vote.

Trust me. The government does not need to do any extra work to make things a pain in the ass for the taxpayer- black, white, yellow, purple, or green. They are good at making simple tasks impossible. And exceedingly good at getting your money.

I went to the post office a couple of days before Christmas because I am anticipatory like that. Usually there would be a line at most post offices this close to Christmas, but the post office by my house is wedged right between Homelesston and Crackville, so not many people go there. I am not really scared of the homeless or drug addicts as much as I am annoyed by them, so I don’t care. There was a line of about a dozen people with boxes and stuff all waiting for the lady at the counter.

Yes. THE lady (singular) at the counter (with THREE more stations next to her, all empty. Behold the efficiency of a United States government institution).

“Maybe the others are on a break or something” I thought, trying to give the benefit of the doubt.

20 minutes later and not having moved an inch, the guy behind me said absently, “Remember when they used to have that clock up there that counted down the hours and minutes until Christmas? Wonder what happened to that?”

“Budget cuts, I guess.” I said. “Probably had to sell it on ebay to pay bonuses.”

The girl in front of me then said, “Why do they only have one person working?”

I got all sarcastic and thankful that none of my friends were there to be embarrassed by me. Something had tripped my dickswitch and it’s like using a can-opener with a cat in the house. There is really no stopping whatever is going to happen.

“Well, I mean, you can’t really blame them, can you? How were they supposed to know when Christmas was without their clock? I mean, it’s not like it comes around the same time every year or anything. Sometimes it’s in May, I remember once it was actually on Halloween. Boy, the confusion…”

Laughter followed, along with a dirty look from postal employee. Maybe angering a postal worker isn’t the best idea in the world.

A few minutes later, my phone rang. As I was answering it, the lady behind the counter said “SIR. Cell phones are NOT. To be used here.” And waved a finger at me. I wanted nothing more than to wave a different finger back at her, but instead stared at her as if to say “Please say one more damn word about my talking on my phone in here. I will sodomize you with a live raccoon.”

She sighed loudly at my insolence and went about her painfully slow job.

After that, I had to go to the mall. I know…I’m an idiot who deserves whatever he gets. By the time I had waited in traffic for 40 minutes, I had to stop at the Orvis store to find my emotional center (and some barbless #18 nymph hooks). I calmed down and finally got to the mall.

The mall is one of those places Sara occasionally wants me to go with her, and I have yet to say anything remotely like “Sure, hon. That sounds great – let me get my shoes.” Usually it is more like “Have I ever asked you if you wanted to go stand in a cold river and try to catch fish with me? No, because I know it isn’t something you like to do. What scenario has ever existed in which I WANTED to go to the mall? If the mall was the only place in the entire city that wasn’t on fire, I’d probably just start peeing on myself.”

“Okay. You made your point. Well, you’re just a boy, and boys don’t like cool stuff, so stay home and I’m not getting you anything.”

I don’t even like malls when they are closed. I avoid them like an ex-girlfriend. And on this day it was amplified. Just walking through the parking lot I was fighting off the very distinct urge to sprint back to my car and leave a trail of smoking rubber all the way to my house. I opened the door to the mall and saw the throngs of sauntering shoppers, shoulder to shoulder, laden with bags full of crap to give to people and I thought of things I would rather be doing right then.

Being covered with honey and thrown dick-first into a badger den was the winner.

Again I waited in line for the better part of an hour, got my stuff, and ran for the door like I had left a bomb behind. I survived, but barely.

On the way home I noticed something about the bandwidth in my head. I may have described in the past that when I drink, the part of my brain that does math is the first to be affected – if I go to dinner with you (which I am planning on soon) and have two or more beers (which I will have to if you expect me to put out), I’ll be able to calculate the tip. However if we get to the part where we are splitting the bill and I put in a $20 and you hand the guy next to you 3 singles and tell me to take a five and have the waitress make change for a nickel, I just end up putting a pile of bills on the table and sliding them to you like a stack of poker chips. I trust you will figure it out for me in a fair manner. After all, you are expecting me to sleep with you.

Well, in this case I had not been drinking, but the stress of being somewhere I hated so much and being sort of mildly pissed off for half of the day affected the part of my brain where rhetorical statements and insincere salutations live. Scientists call it the Smalltalkybox, but only the good scientists. I had to make a couple of phone calls, and made the following hybrid greetings –

“Hey Jeff, howya’ goin?” Like Jeff was headed to a secret location and I needed directions, but was too nervous to formally ask.

And then this exchange with Keith –

“Yeah, how’s it doin’?”

“Huh? How’s what doing?”

“Uhh. The thing? Nothing. I think my brain has some buildup or something. I have a dusting of stupidity today. So, how you doing?”

“Pretty good. How you doing.”

“Awesome. How you doing?” I asked again. Because, you know, “How you doing” is such a formality that a guy like me needs to ask twice.

“Man, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Maybe I should call you back later and just concentrate on not dying right now.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah. Take a good one er-have it easy.” I said retardedly. I heard him laugh as he hung up.

I got home and had a beer. Sara started to ask me if I wanted to run over to Target with her, but I ran away and hid in the bathtub.

Lots of people I know think I hate the holidays, but I don’t. I am just incapable of dealing with holiday stress. If there was a holiday called Hanukkawesome where the purpose was for everyone to do stuff they liked, I’d be really good at that one and I’d send you a card. But the way holidays are set up, they are good for children and people who are not you.

Hanukkawesome will henceforth fall on June 19th. Take the day off work and do whatever you want to do. It will be the holiday that has you beholden to no one and responsible for nothing.

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