I've always admired honesty

In my readings on the internet, I came across the site survive2012.com. It is dedicated to convincing people about the impending doomsday on Dec 21, 2012 (7 years, 9 months and 1 week away from the time of this writing). Before you think that this is just some typical internet quackery, take a moment to consider some of the finer points of the site. The author is trying to write a non-fiction book about the obviously grave conclusion we're currently facing, and the third chapter is titled 'Unicorns.' But aside from the quirky unicorn love, his introduction also offers this quote:

'In the search for answers I have decided that starting with evidence and then developing theories is the wrong path. There is unlikely to ever be enough definitive evidence, and if there was, scientists and academics are the best qualified to do so. So I have begun with a theory, based on instinct and obviousness, and am now trying to gather enough proof to convince the majority of humans that are sane, regular people.'

Aside from the confusing sentence in the middle, and the overall confused logic of the passage, one has to admire the author's honesty. It is admitted right in the introduction; the ideas and the site are absolute trash. It's amazing the extent to which people can function successfully --as it appears in this case quite successfully, the published web-page and all -- yet be complete idiots. It's hard for me to believe that the author, if presented with the quote above, could explain the logic behind it. It's just stupid, and there's no reconciling it. All the amazing potential of the human mind, and this person chooses to spend it on admitting how dumb they are.

Yet even in the face of this admitted lunacy, I really want to believe that unicorns will be carrying me to heaven. I really do.

on losing at cards

You'd think that when you're a big movie star, your friends might intentionally lose to you at cards. They don't. In fact, it appears that instead of currying favor and allowing you to win, they enact their jealousy by absolutely crushing you and making you feel small and insignificant. But it's okay, because you're the main character in a movie and they're just bit parts. And gin rummy is completely based on luck, anyway.

on becoming a movie star

I can't say it's particularly glamorous. In fact, becoming a movie star, as far as I've experienced it, involves lots of standing around waiting for people to prepare a scene, while you're occupied trying to ignore the nagging sense of self-doubt that says you have no business being in a movie. Maybe if I get some hot tail from it, I'll feel better about the whole thing.

once a loser, always a loser

I've never fancied myself much of a basketball player, but I have to admit that I've tried. I've wanted to be a self-respecting basketball player, flaunting my ego and confidently stepping into pick-up games, for quite some time now. Yet I'm faced with an unfortunate series of facts: I'm short, I have small hands, I have about a 4 inch vertical, and I frequently get lower back pains simply lying in bed, not to mention my skill at the game of basketball.

That said, I've decided that the one aspect of the game that I can excel at is jump shooting. (Well, not exactly 'jump' shooting, but simply 'shooting,' as it would be a misrepresentation of my leaping ability to call it otherwise). Anyway, my goal is to be able to put the ball into the basket from a distance. As such, I have periodic bouts of real intent and verve, going to the local hoop at least 5 hours a week to simply toss the ball at the rim. The end result is that - well - I get a lot of lower back pain. I'm currently in one of these moods. (If you don't believe me, ask my lower back). The weather has gotten better and the Warriors recently acquired Baron Davis; my basketball interest is at a momentary peak.

So here's the scene under discussion today: I'm at the local playground bouncing the ball off the rim as vigorously as ever. And then some little punks show up, and challenge me to horse. By 'little punks' I mean 10-12 year-olds with dirty clothes that their parents obviously picked out for them and are unimpressive, to say the least. Perhaps some people would find charm in their obvious indifference toward their outward appearance, still locked in that tender young age when 'impressing girls' is a negative thing, but I'm not one of those people. You say 'little kid' and I hear 'little monster.' As far as their basketball skill is concerned, let me say this: If I were in gym class, I would pick them last (and I say this knowing full well the perrenial pain of the last-picked). It would not take a pro scout to evaluate which of the players on display today would be a greater help to a team. Not just because I'm taller or post-pubescent, but because I have some semblance of form when shooting the ball and I don't double dribble on every second bounce of the ball in my hands. And I dress with the awareness that other people might look at me.

The next part of my story is hard for me to talk about, so I'm going to move quickly through it. I lost the game of horse.

Now, I don't intend to make excuses here or quibble over the punks' liberal reinterpretation of the rules. ("That was my practice shot!" Come on, enough with the hustle, kid. You gotta practice before the big game). I may be bitter, but I can accept that I lost. What I have a harder time accepting is that I'm a grown man who lets trivial things bother me - like the fact that two young boys, with relatively no basketball skill whatsoever, as well as all the sexual experience of the local library's children's literature section combined, can beat me at horse. That part is pretty sad.

the beginning of my double life

If you are a hot married woman, and you want to have an exciting affair with me, send me an e-mail. I realize there's no picture available. I'm hoping that the mystery will turn you on. If you're undecided as to whether I'm worth cheating on your husband with, feel free to check back here to see how my life is going, and to decide if I'm really hot-affair-material or not.