Brains.

If you know me at all, you probably are aware of how maddeningly obsessed I am with the “Zombie Apocalypse.” Almost to an unhealthy extent, as I have a established my zombie escape plan down to truly neurotic levels of meticulousness. Drop me in a gun store right now and I’ll be able to select the best anti-zombie weaponry. Or a Walmart—I’ll tell you what to pick up in the pharmacy, outdoor, and foods section. Of course this is topic for another post but rest assured that I am actively training for the apocalypse. My friends think I spend hours in the gym every week because I want to get ready for several triathlons this summer, but in fact I am doing cardio and weight training so I can one day crush a zombie’s skull with my bare hands, or out-run it if that doesn’t work. Or out-swim it. Or out-bike it.

And let’s be clear. Everyone who has truly studied the ramifications of the zombie apocalypse must honestly fantasize about it happening. Why wouldn’t you? It has the potential for the greatest adventure known to man. You get to rebuild society anew. And in the zombie apocalypse, it’s socially acceptable to smack your nasty ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend in the face with a shovel (assuming they are a Zombie). I’m frankly shocked that zombie movies don’t include one scene where the survival party gives each other congratulatory high fives because the zombie gods have answered their prayers, permitting them to solder a machine gun onto a hummer and drive it through a shopping mall.

But, my fellow zombie-phile friends, I have bad news. The zombie apocalypse will officially never happen, and it’s our fault because we can’t stop talking about it. The zombie apocalypse has been sabotaged by “Da Ali G” effect. What is “Da Ali G” effect? Well, “Da Ali G Show” was Sasha Baron Cohen’s road to stardom, where the now uber-popular characters of Borat, Bruno, and Ali G were born. Unfortunately the show’s growing popularity was its final undoing, as it became impossible to do improv pranks on unsuspecting people if they recognized his characters from TV. Another classic example of life imitating art. I could go all academic on your ass, and take this opportunity to discuss how this is a classic example of the lifecycle of cult culture media slowly being accepted into hegemonic myths in society. Or I could just tell you which shotgun I recommend for zombie fighting (The Spas-12 combat shotgun. Duh. Haven’t you played Call of Duty?)

Let’s get back to the point by going to Delaware County, Ohio: http://thenationshealth.aphapublications.org/content/41/10/E53.full

This quaint Ohio hamlet has been doing zombie apocalypse training in response to growing interest in pop culture to the zombie apocalypse, not to mention the goddamn CDC releasing tips! Newsflash…the zombie apocalypse doesn’t happen if there is a response plan complete with trained soldiers and CDC workers to contain the epidemic. If the federal government AND Derpville, Ohio are prepared you can bet Chicago is covered too. So, sorry my fellow Chicagoians.  28 Days later? More like 6 hours and a couple of mad scientists blown up by Navy Seals. Boooooring.

I guess I’m back to wanting aliens to invade. At least there’s still a chance I’ll get to punch an alien in the face.

This is going to be one of those posts that’s written more for my edification than your entertainment, but you’ll understand why it’ll be good for me to document this. So here goes.

I’m not a fan of “New Year’s Resolutions.” Something about it doesn’t jive with me, mostly because resolutions are rooted in you “resolving” to do something you probably should have been doing in the first place, i.e. “My New Year’s Resolution is to lose some weight.” It’s admirable that you are taking steps to self-improvement, but really the motivation is just catch up. That being said I’m not “resolving” to do anything.

I’m setting motherfucking GOALS.

Now in retrospect, I should look back at 2011 with my soon-to-be 2012 mindset. Last year I saw the world as an oppressive ogre, like some rat-bastard Nazi whose full time job was to constantly kick me in my balls. To be fair, at the time I was mired in student debt, about to finish a graduate program with no prospects for work, and terrified at the notion that I would end up living at home in my parents basement—a fear that was somewhat rational after sending out approximately 500 job applications with my only response being an advertisment for Viagra every now and then. Since Jan 1, 2011 and now, I’ve basically done a lot of shit. If I had to give last year a theme it would be something like shut up, keep your head down, and pay your goddamn dues.

In 2011, I finished a 2 year Master’s program in 1 year with a near perfect G.P.A. I also managed to find a great job in the middle an economy that’s so bad, Canadians are sneaking into the US to immigrate to Mexico. Additionally, I conquered—survived what I think is a very rational fear of falling to my death by jumping out of airplane strapped to a smelly California hippie.

Exhibit A

I managed to go from a fat popeyes chicken eating couch dweller to a triathlon GOD. (There might have been exagerrations on both sides of that statement). But to go from getting winded after a half mile jog and not even knowing how to swim, to finishing Sprint Triathlon’s without feeling like I’m about to collapse and die on the finish line is something to be proud of. Getting to that point took roughly 8 hours a week of gym time, and it’s been that way since February of 2011. I haven’t let up yet and I’m looking forward to pushing myself further. My goal for 2012 is to answer the question, what’s the most strenuous activity I can do without dying?

Now you add these ingredients together, toss in a little older age wisdom, and a shot of Malört and the result is that I emerged from 2011 with probably the strongest work ethic I’ve ever had, and the ability to focus on things more intently than I ever have been able to before. I think all the coffee I have been drinking these past couple of years has colluded into one giant genetic mutation, and now I am filled with JamesFranco-tosterone. I can banish distractions with the focus of buddhist monk…and I can….uh..well dammit. I lost my train of thought when I went to go check Facebook just now. What was I saying? Look, I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface of my potential, so in 2012, I’m going to double down and try to do twice as much shit! Here we go!

This list will forever be known as:

Jones Bad Ass Mother Fucking Honey Badger Claw Your Face Off With It’s Spikey Honey Badger Balls Goals for 2012 List.

(PYROTECHNICS! EXPLOSIONS! BALD EAGLES! AMERICUH! FUCK YEAH!)

The List:
Learn PHP – I don’t know why I haven’t taken it upon myself to learn some basic programming. PHP would be uber-useful in my job, managing this website, and getting more freelance work. I just need to quit being a noob and start hitting the books.
Complete an Olympic Triathlon – Yeah. Whatchu know about Olympic Triathlons hater?!
Join a Masters swimming group – On campus there is one of these clubs and rumor has it they can turn you from a slow donut-eating pile of trans-fat into a BEAST. I’m going to link up with them in the new year.
Beat my goal of 1:30 on a Sprint Triathlon – I came so close in Champaign but I failed because I sucked penitia on my bike. Just need to work harder this year and I’ll hit it.
Drink a little less – Clearly if I’m accomplishing all of this stuff, I’m boozing like any responsible American. BUT drinking a lot has a tendency to railroad my productivity. Let’s back off the going out weekend mentality a hair so I’ll be able to get up early to take pictures of sunrises, swim in the lake, and not spend a Saturday playing Call of Duty because I’m hungover.
Update this website – I say that every year, but this site will get a bit of a facelift (aesthetically and content-wise). It’s nice that since I’m no longer looking for a job, I can actually devote those hours to writing again.
Travel – I will be seriously disappointed in myself unless I get some more stamps in my passport this year. I haven’t been abroad in over a year, it’s time to get it together and start exploring. I hear North Korea is beautiful at this time of the year.
Play some music in front of people – Thanks to a nice little raise at work, I bit the bullet and bought a sweet new acoustic-electric guitar that I’ve always wanted. I’m nor sure what this goal entails but if I imagine at some point I need to do this. I’m hoping it’s on top of a skyscraper in a lighting storm.
Learn the art of BBQ – I’ve been cooking, like….a LOT. My Christmas list to Santa consisted of a couple shirts and everything in Martha Stewart’s kitchen. With my newest edition of a bad ass crockpot, it’s time to master an art of cooking that every man should be able to do well—BBQ.
Finish my book – This one actually might not be so hard. I hinted that there was a Destructive Apathy book on the works and I’m insanely close to being done with the first draft. I’m hoping to have this ready in early spring.
Read more – Since I’ve finished grad school I can actually read again—like for fun and not reading dense books on media theory and design conventions. I have a ton of books on my wishlist, so if I can get through a dozen or more next year I’ll be pretty happy with myself.
Write a play – I’ve had some musings on this for a bit, I’m hoping to get this book writing project done and then next year I should get another one out there.
Perform in a play – It’s been almost three years since I was on stage, and I think a small part of the reason I moved to Chicago in the first place was to do stuff like this. I think its time for me to do this again.
Photos! I need to take more photos, and incorporate them into the site more. Can I sell photos at coffee shops, art shows, state fairs, Wal-Mart? I don’t know but I should look into it. Some of my shots are damn good in my not-so-humble opinion.
New photo techniques I want to try: Tilt-Shift, HDR, cut-out shape Bokeh, night photos. I’m even tempted to sign up for one of those Groupon helicopter tours around the city just so I can get some sweet shots. If I can find someone with a nice rooftop access to the Chicago skyline, that would be steller.
Decide on PhD – So this is a big one. I literally think about this every day, trying to weigh all of the factors involved in returning to school, and spending 4 more years studying. You know it’s serious because I’ve made a list of schools in a Google doc. It’s not helping that I’m working someplace where I am in the minority because of my lack of education (only having a Masters degree). I think up until recently I would have been too intimidated by the challenges of earning a PhD, but I truly believe that I can perform at the level needed to earn it. I just have to decide on when. 2 years? 5 years? I need at least a year minimum prep time to begin, and I might need longer since I don’t have any real teaching or research experience. I’ll have to make decisions soon because I have a lot of work to do.

Let’s bring on 2012!

So when he said he only wanted to play to win, to bring another World Series to St. Louis, we believed him. When he said that he had enough money and he only wanted to be Cardinal for life, we believed that too. Because that’s what Stan Musial would say. I nervously spent the past few days checking Twitter for updates during this contract negotiation, but deep down I assured myself that we wouldn’t lose our franchise player. Because he’s like Stan the Man. He wants a legacy more than a few extra million dollars. That’s what we were told.

But every man has their price. The Cardinals offered him 9 years and $200 million dollars. It’s an insane amount of money to pay a man to hit a small white ball with a stick. Still others have made more. The Angels made a better offer, at 10 years and $250 million dollars. It’s a lot more money, and who in their right mind could say no to a quarter of a billion dollars for playing baseball?

We hoped Pujols could. That’s what Stan the Man would do. He of course played in a different era of baseball. An era before baseball executives eager to outspend each other, free agencies, and sports agents. Maybe Musial would have thought about playing somewhere else if he had been a free agent and the money was put in front of him. I don’t know. What I do know is that Stan the Man played perhaps the most prolific career of any single baseball player with one team in the history of the game. He played every year from 1941-1963 for the Cardinals with the exception of 1945—where he took a year off of baseball to serve in the Navy during World War II. In that time he was an All-Star 24 times, and won the World Series 3 times and was selected as the league MVP 3 times as well. His reputation off the field was that off a modest, humble, and decent human being. The most well-known example of his integrity came after a mediocre 1960 season. Going in to the 1961 season, he gave back $20,000 of his $100,000 salary because “he didn’t think he had earned it.”

When was the last time that happened in professional sports?

Sure times were different back then. And maybe that’s part of the myth we all subscribed to. Today, cynicism is our new currency—replacing our old tender of idealism. Politicians lie. Corporations are evil. And greed drives everything. And even though baseball is a massive corporate industry, at it’s core, the game itself, is pure. You get 9 innings to determine who the best team is, and that’s it. On the field there are no salary negotiations, arbitration, or contracts. There are 3 strikes. 3 outs.

Cardinals nation is grieving right now. Not because we are afraid we won’t be competitive next year without #5. We will.

And not because Pujols took a better offer over us. Who could say no to a quarter of a BILLION dollars?

It’s because Pujols was baseball’s last chance to prove that not everything about our beloved game is about the bottom line. We believed, that maybe he would be different. In a time where hope is met with doubt, our news cycle showing us nonstop words and images of tragedy and depression, we look elsewhere for inspiration. Like Baseball.

It’s really just a silly game isn’t it? Hitting a little white ball with a stick and running around in a circle? But to some, it’s a religion, and it’s history—it’s dogma helps baseball fans apply the faith it teaches us in our lives off the field. How else could you explain Pujols’ 2011 Cardinals? A team that was 10.5 games back at the end of August, who clawed their way back to win the wildcard on the last game of the season, who then survived 5 games against the World-Series-favorite Phillies, who beat the division champion Brewers to make it into the World Series, where they played perhaps the greatest World Series game ever, where they staged a historic Game 6 comeback, and then managed to steal a game 7 win to claim their 11th World Series title in franchise history. The line between baseball and religion can get as muddled as the 3rd basepath David Freese careened through, eager to meet his celebrating teammates after his incredible 11th inning walk-off home run in that legendary game 6. Say what you want about faith and baseball, but I believe that was a miracle.

That’s baseball.

Pujols is perhaps one of the greatest ballplayers to ever wear a uniform, and a decent human being off the field who has given St. Louis more than it has ever asked for: 2 World Series titles, 3 pennants, and 7 playoff appearances. This new chapter in his career doesn’t belittle the contributions he has made.

But we can’t help be heartbroken. Feeling betrayed, perhaps not so much with Pujols, but to a larger extent with ourselves. That this myth we subscribed to is now patently false.

By signing with the Angels, Albert Pujols has shown that there can only be one Stan the Man. There probably won’t be another one like him again. That’s why his statue will always the biggest, standing firm on the courtyard leading into the holiest cathedral of the game, in the middle of the best baseball town in country.

Go Cardinals.

Yet—this is by far the most bizarre solicitation I have ever received. One of two things is happening here. Someone has constructed a truly genius, meta piece of artwork that scholars will debate about for years, OR this might be the worst thought out, most pathetic attempt at advertising since the printing press was invented. I have a masters degree in this field and even I can’t make sense of it.

(Note: I blotted out the phone number to protected the mentally challenged)

wtf?

(click to make bigger)

I realize this is a bit hard to read so I’ll explain what’s going on here. Well…I’ll explain what the text reads. I can’t explain the intent behind this thing.

I believe the top of this says

“Eye class found”

Below that title on the black and white photo of what appears to be a lighthouse, it reads:

God’s Church God’s House
Psalms 23
Supplying all your needs by Christ jesus all spiritual needs

Lawyer-counselor-attorneys(sic)-legal needs-marriage-sexual healthcare-cleaning house-car repair needs-pest control needs

Think of something you need call us at: _________________________

—————————————————————————

Note for those who are unfamiliar with Psalms 23 it is:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

Thoughts?

Instead I’m going to cuss-bruise you with a bunch of angry swearing because I don’t have any goddamn internet! I’m actually writing this in Word since it’s hard to post on WordPress without that whole connectivity thing. (Edit—internet restored, so I am able to publish…obviously)

Why don’t I have internet? Comcast.

Below is an open letter to them that I wrote in a blind rage.

Dear Comcast,

Sometimes you make me cry. Just today I was angry enough to headbutt myself. I guess I just feel like you don’t care, even though we talk so much. I remember fondly the day, almost two years ago when you first came to my apartment. I was young and eager to get on the internet, you promised that you could help. You promised the world Comcast.

Instead I’ve had nothing but headache. The love has fizzled from our relationship. For the second time in a month I’ve called you because the internet doesn’t work. I figured when you bumped up my bill, I would get better service. Instead, I think it’s just gotten worse.

So I couldn’t get online and I called you. Except I didn’t speak to a human being. I had to navigate through a phone tree just to speak to the right robot for internet support. Then you told me that I had to wait 3 hours to speak to a human being. You were nice enough to put me in a queue when I allegedly was to speak with a human, instead of making me listen to several hours of shitty music and ads. Before I even could connect to someone you made me listen to about 2 minutes of something or another about Xfinity. I honestly wasn’t paying attention because my anger was boiling like the interior of the sun. Maybe next time you could fix my problem first, before you think about selling me something else. It kinda rubs me the wrong way. Ya get what I mean?

When I finally spoke with you, you told me that the problem was probably my fault. You had the audacity to ask me if I want to add a $2.99 insurance on my account to protect against service fees? And I got really angry, because basically you want me to pay you $3 to avoid paying $30 every now and then because you actually CHARGE ME when you come out to my apartment to fix your own broken shit! I have to admire your industrious thinking. You found a way to make money off your service being so horrible. That’s impressive. Usually businesses lose money when they suck at everything, but not you guys. It’s like you just divided by zero. Well done.

Then you said we’ll come over to look at your broken internet but only during an awkward time window. You were shocked when I told you that you had to come over after 5, even dismayed even when I explained that your service visit wasn’t important enough for me to take time away from my job. I was also a bit shocked when you acted as if my work hours (roughly 9-5) were rare. I’ve done some research and I think a 9-5 work day is more common than you think. You know Comcast, another funny thing about my job—I often have meetings scheduled and when that happens I often settle on a time, not a 3 hour window. It’s been a pretty common practice since….well the invention of the pocketwatch a few hundred years ago. You saying, “I’ll show up whenev,” doesn’t really work for my busy schedule.

Speaking of my time, please don’t ask me to “participate in a survey after this call” without an incentive again. You could give me a discount on my next bill, or free In-Demand Brazilian fart porn for life. Just something to give me a reason to stay on the phone with you any longer than I absolutely have to. You think I wake up in the morning and I say to myself, “I hope I get to help Comcast with their quality control or market research today!”

I guess you assume that since I’m a Comcast customer I must enjoy wasting time on the phone with you. What else do Comcast customers do?

Now look Comcast. Let’s not beat around the bush here. I would go somewhere else if I could. Problem is, you spend millions of dollars lobbying congressmen to pass laws that allow you to monopolize the internet service provider market. I’ll get off my soapbox (that free-trade soap came in) in a second here, but I think the fact that you just don’t seem to care about me anymore is evidence enough that sometimes big corporations are a horrible idea, and monopolies should be broken up if they suck whale butthole as hard as you do.

If only I could leave you. But alas in my zipcode I have no other option. Thanks for that Comcast. All I want to do is see other people and you drive them all away from me.

Well I’ve had enough. I’m moving in about 6 months and I’m not taking you with me. I might see AT&T, RCN, or Verizon. Who knows. I just want to explore my options. You understand right?

Ah…fuck it. I know I’m going to get stuck with you no matter where I go. Damn you Comcast.

-Jones

It read:

Dear Jones,

A happy Monday morning to you and go fuck yourself! This is a mean-spirited ass-o-gram email to remind you that you graduated college 4 years ago and you are officially old balls as you are becoming dangerously close to your 30’s.

Click here on this row of pictures to see how much more successful and mature all your former classmates are. Literally all of them are making more money than you and are like ten steps above you in their career. Good thing you spent a couple of years doing theatre and getting a liberal arts bachelors AND a masters. You’ve paid them both off already right? Nope. Well here, this will cheer you up….check out this picture of your engineer friend on his new boat with his unnaturally hot wife. It’s a goddamn BOAT for Chrissake!

Look, here’s a picture of your maniacal ex-girlfriend. Remember when you thought she actually might have been watching you sleep through the scope of a sniper rifle when you first moved to Chicago, causing you to have nightmares and put dummies in your bed and sleep in your bathtub? You might have overreacted a bit. Regardless, she’s doing GREAT now. Wanted you to know.

Since you broke up with her you’ve moved on to someone else right? Everyone else in this list of your former classmates has settled down. Remember that girl you had a huge crush on in college? Here’s her profile. Her last name is different and she has four goddamn babies now. Four. Looks like you lost your chance with that one. But that’s okay because you’ve settled down, haven’t you? No? You’re still playing video games in your underwear and drinking warm busch light like you were 20? Wow. Dude. I’m disappointed. Remember when you graduated college and were positive you wouldn’t be doing exactly what you are doing right now at exactly the age you currently are? Hey. Make a prediction for what you are doing in 4 years. I’ll send you an email then just to remind you how patently wrong you are going to be in a few years.

Hey buddy. Sorry to be so hard on you. Single life is probably kick ass. I bet you are living it up in the city and swinging that big ole penis of yours around like it’s a flesh-covered fishing pole and bringing in more sex-crazed supermodels back to your downtown condo than you have time to count. Just like the movies!

Wait wait wait…you’re telling me that you aren’t ACTUALLY doing this!?! The closest you come to being a swanky bachelor is going to shitty bars in Lincoln Park because your married friends want to go “dance,” and screaming at women above music playing loud enough to rupture your spleen, just so you can get a phone number that you never want to call because you feel like a complete scumbag for asking in the first place.

Hows that going by the way? Ah…ending those nights with crying like a little girl, sleeping on top of several half-drank bottles of Boone’s Farm, and reassuring your your friends that “IT’SS SOOKAAYY IFF II DIESS ALONE!! ITSS SOKAY!”

That’s uh….

Jesus.

You need to talk to someone. Maybe you should stay off LinkedIn for a while.

I’m sorry I emailed you in the first place.

Sincerely,

LinkedIn

Beauty and the Beast

Nice guys finish last....

The narrative that was:
The Beast is a misunderstood outcast of society. He isn’t an evil ogre, but rather victim of a spell cast on him by an evil witch who he accidentally pissed off. He gets marooned in his castle, and is transformed from a dashing prince into a wolfish looking monster. His only hope for salvation is if he can make someone fall in love with him, a task made nearly impossible by his new appearance. If he can convince someone to fall in love with him before the rose wilts, he will break the curse. By showing his warm side, he manages to convince the beautiful Belle to fall in love with him, only after protecting her from the evil Gaston and the angry mob who travel from the village to murder him for being different. We learn that true beauty comes from within, and just because people look different doesn’t mean you should treat them any differently.

The narrative that wasn’t:
Look Gaston isn’t a nice guy by any means. He tries to pick up Belle with using the powers of seduction that you would find from a typical Jersey Shore cast member—basically flexing his muscles and fighting other guys until she comes around to him out of fear. The Beast on the other hand picks up Belle using a different technique, and it’s not showing her his sensitive side. For starters, Belle doesn’t fall in love with him. She succumbs to Stockholm Syndrome, a psychological disorder common in hostages where one begins to sympathize and later fall in love with their kidnapper. It becomes accelerated in Belle’s case because not only is she held captive by the Beast, she is terrorized with verbal and physical abuse the whole time. Only in Disney would this be acceptable. In the real world, the Beast goes to motherfucking jail for several felonies. And this is just what the Beast does to Belle. Let’s not forget all of his servants turned into china and furniture that he constantly terrorizes. Yes, the Beast IS unloveable. For a good reason—he’s a violent criminal maniac. And somehow Gaston is depicted as the bad guy? Look, I don’t know about you but if I had a choice of having my daughter marry a guy who kidnaps and abuses women, or “The Situation,” I’m choosing the Guido asshole. At least the laws he breaks are usually misdemeanors.

Star Wars (The Original)

“Thanks for your money!” - George Lucas.

The narrative that was:
The evil galactic empire is evil because they are evil. You know they are evil because they are  totally oppressive and dress like the Nazis and oppress the entire galaxy with evil because they are bad. The rebels are good because they don’t dress like Nazis and embrace all cultures and alien races. They are fighting the good fight to save the galaxy from the tyranny of the evil empire who is very very evil.

The narrative that wasn’t:
Don’t get me wrong, Star Wars is a cultural treasure, but it doesn’t mean dick when you compare it to real life nationalism and foreign policy. We should back up (which means citing some of the things we learned from the bullshit Star Wars prequels), and look at how the Empire formed. The Emperor himself, might be an asshole but he remember he was elected to the office through legal means. The republic decided that the best way to fight the army of the Trade Federation was to operate under a dictatorship. And you know what—-chances are that under the dictatorship, the goal of preventing invasion from the Trade Federation is probably effective. Think about it—what is a better defense, a ragtag group of various states trying to fight as one army, or a unified army under the command of one guy. Say what you want about how bad the Empire is, but space is pretty goddamn vast, and if fictional cannon got crossed and the Borg decided to invade imperial space Darth Vader would stick a few hundred Star Destroyers up their robot asses. Furthermore, the Empire is now secular, whereas before they bowed to the religious clerics of the Jedi religion. Sure the Emperor is a pious man with his devotion to the dark side of the force, but only in private. In public policy, the Emperor is as secular as Norway. In the history of mankind, far far away and much more recently than the Star Wars, we have had governments that operate on the will of the religious elite. Well…we did. Mostly all of them have transitioned to secular governance. And you know what, it’s damn good for us and even better for the Empire. Think about all the religions that weren’t represented by Jedi leadership? You think Wookies, Hutts, or Ewoks practiced Jedi? I bet they felt excluded.

Which brings me to my next point. What if in the United States a group of dissidents decided that they didn’t want to put up with the American government anymore and decided to overthrow it using violence and scare tactics fueled by religious devotion, just like the rebels and the Jedi? Well my friend, there is a word for those kinds of people. Terrorists. Why is blowing up the Death Star any different than blowing up a building in Oklahoma City? Or setting up camp on a planet in Imperial space and claiming the government can’t have it back any different than trying to secede from the US on a farm in Texas? Were the thousands of people who were killed on the death star by Luke Skywalker’s religiously motivated act of violence all bad? Were there any kids on the Death Star? I bet you a bowl of Wookie pubes the politics of a galactic empire are significantly more complicated than good vs. evil.

A Christmas Carol

Pictured: Scrooge's Facebook profile photo

The narrative that was:
Ebeneezer Scrooge is an old crotchety fucktard who bleeds cockroaches and spreads misfortune on everyone he interacts with. The whole island of Britain thinks he’s a bloody rat-bastard. He’s the world’s worst boss as he dickishly berates Bob Cratchett for trying to use the furnace in the middle of a harsh English winter and despite pleas from his earnest nephew to spend the holidays with him, he grumpily spends his Christmas in isolation only to be harassed by three ghosts that show him what a cock-waffle porksword he has been. He goes back in time with the ghosts to truly understand what lead to him becoming such a magnificent douchebag, and he learns he must change his ways or else he will die alone and hated.

The narrative that wasn’t:
Look, Scrooge WAS a mean old cock-bag who treated everyone like their very existence was an inconvenience on him. But the story barely glosses on how he got there. Scrooge didn’t exactly have an easy life. We learn when the ghost of Christmas past sees Scrooge as a child that he was abandoned by his parents at boarding school, and his sister(his only relative that ever displayed ANY affection towards him) died shortly before he entered adolescence. Getting raised as an orphan and seeing a sibling die are….somewhat stressful things for children to experience. Scrooge probably spent the rest of his adult life battling with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder because of this. Despite this, he beats the odds and works his ASS off to make a name for himself, and begins a lucrative career in finance. His motivation to make money is probably based on a fear of not being able to take care of himself (which he experienced as an orphan). Things are going good for Scrooge as he hits his late 20’s, then out of nowhere his attention-starved wife leaves him (probably for another man). Scrooge awakes that Christmas to find he has no wife, no family, and no friends. He truly is alone in the world. He then spends the rest of his life battling chronic depression, mostly by immersing himself in his work to stay busy. And let’s be clear about something here. Scrooge didn’t exactly have access to resources to treat his mental health issues. This is Victorian England. Their most advanced understanding of medicine relied on chance more than anything. You think you are going to sit down and talk to a therapist, educated in modern psychology, when the only cures for sickness are “cutting it off,” opium, and “blood letting”? Fuck no. Speaking of therapy—-the most maddening part of the story is that Scrooge is magically cured through “tough love.” Look, getting scared by a ghost as a remedy for curing depression is about as effective as pointing a gun at someone who is unhappy and demanding they smile. The ghost Scrooge really needed was a professional therapist who would spend the next several years meeting with him about all of the trauma he has experienced in the past 60 years of his life. Bah Humbug.

James Bond

I’m just assuming I’m less likely to be sued by MGM for this photo.

The narrative that was:
James Bond—an international man of mystery travels across the globe seducing unimaginably  beautiful women and driving the most exotic cars that product placement can buy. He investigates and dismantles global terrorist organizations as he saves the entire world from sheer destruction mission after mission. There is no hero like James Bond.

The narrative that wasn’t:
Again—global politics operate differently in real life than in the James Bond universe. For starters, spies might be equipped with the most extensive training, high tech gadgets, and a blank check for property destruction, but you have to be naive if you think they get the power to make decisions about who their country does business with. For example, in the last (and somewhat terrible) Bond movie…our favorite British hero discovers that the Bolivian government has sold out their water supply to an evil contractor who will charge way more than what’s reasonable on poor Bolivians. Now besides the fact that no movie audience really gave a shit what happened to the Bolivian water supply, Bond makes the decision on behalf of the British government to stop the water extortion (by blowing up a hotel in the desert….they seriously aren’t even trying to write scripts anymore). I can believe that James Bond knows how to fly planes, speaks German, Spanish, Russian, Hebrew, Tagalog etc. I could even believe the invisible car, and ring that shatters glass. But the fact that Bond constantly makes decisions without permission completely negates the purpose of his vocation. He is a SPY. His job is to gather intelligence, and then feed it to his government so they can respond. It’s tough shit that in real life Britain has no problem working with a dictatorship that gives them oil interests and easy military staging grounds to disagreeable nations in the area, but that’s life. Bond doesn’t get to make that call.

Pirates of the Carribbean – The first movie (Not the shitty sequels)

The narrative that was:
Pirates aren’t so bad. Some of them are just normal guys like the rest of us. The humorous and quirky anti-hero in Jack Sparrow displays honorable qualities while simultaneously outsmarting the gullible British army. The swashbuckling adventure ends with the evil pirate defeated, the damsel in distress rescued, and Jack Sparrow free to explore the world in his rightly returned vessel, The Black Pearl.

The narrative that wasn’t:

It's okay...it's just a ride.

This. That’s Jack Sparrow getting his ass hung by Britain’s finest. First, let’s understand that pirates aren’t the goofy Disney pirates who crossdress, sing sea-shanties, and drink rum. Instead look at modern day pirates, and imagine what they would look like a few hundred years ago with virtually the same motivation. I’m talking guys that come from a country in such disarray that they have no qualms about putting an AK-47 to the temple of civilian and pulling the trigger without hesitation if they don’t get what they want. That’s what a modern pirate looks like, but those of Jack Sparrow’s time weren’t much different. Most victorian pirates used violence and fear to maintain power.

But for as fearsome as pirates during that time were, they are nothing compared to the British Navy—who historically have been the most powerful the world has ever seen. You know why the entire fucking world speaks English? Because during the time of Pirates of the Caribbean, while Jack Sparrow was sitting around on islands drinking rum, the British were busy planting flags and fighting wars with pretty much everyone. You don’t colonize the entire world with untrained, gullible soldiers. You do it with the most powerful military that had every been assembled up until that time. In the real pirates, Jack Sparrow would have been promptly captured, and put to death by Norrington and you know what? Norrington would have been doing everyone a favor, because killing pirates protects the citizens he was charged with guarding.

I want to do this again. What are some other movies I should consider?

1. My free time is James-Franco efficient. The last time I was in an actual relationship—-back when computers were the size of living rooms, people thought the sun revolved around the earth, and color TV’s were something you read about in H.G. Wells novels,  I was (shockingly) doing a lot of two-person activities. Two-person activities by default usually meant watching Dane Cook movies or some horrible reality show about fashion designers or people who tow cars for a living on Bravo. I can assure you, I don’t do any of that shit now. In my non-attached single man-time I usually am reading, writing, teaching myself how to do something (at the moment it’s been guitar), or some form of exercise. The only one of these I could theoretically share is exercise but that means I either have slow down for my partner (bad), or try and keep up (worse).

2. It’s kick ass for my career. I love my job but I know I will eventually be doing something else. And that something else likely will involve me trying to become Dr. Jones and doing it someplace that isn’t Chicago. Right now, I could uproot myself and go anywhere without having to give two plankton-covered manatee dick’s thought about how that will affect someone else’s life. But if I were tied down—I have a feeling such move would necessitate discussion. Lots of discussion, and even more resistance. I’m not sure if I’m willing to give that up right now.

3. No more arguments about video games. The last time I dated someone I was constantly explaining the sacred covenant between man and video games, forged between God and John Madden on the top of Mount Kilimanjaro over a 16 hour session of Goldeneye (citation needed). Asking me to not play video games is like kicking God in the balls. I’ve never quite understood the logic behind standard female-disgust over this. Everyone has stupid, unproductive downtime activities. Somehow me playing video games was more sophomoric than TV marathons of “Project Runway” and “Scrubs.” If anything playing video games is more respectable than watching TV—because I’m actively doing something! Which sounds more productive to you, watching a TV show about people making cakes for gold-digging orange county housewives, or bending the laws of motherfucking time with ocarina music, solving multi-floor water dungeon puzzles, and shooting sorcerer tyrants in their goddamn face with magic tipped arrow-bullets? Not to mention the fact that since I’m not spending money buying things for another person, I can afford to buy the newest Call of Duty and not have to eat Ramen Noodles as punishment. That brings me to my next point.

4. Despite the women’s suffrage and feminist movement still being relics of the past, I feel like guys still get the short end of the stick on the dating front. When I’m in a relationship I’m always getting shaken down and pimpslapped by Hallmark and his big brother American Capitalism. Christmas, Birthday, Anniversaries, Valentines Day, Sweetest Day, Kwanzaa…you name it. All of which usually result in a lower balance in my checking account. Look—I understand that it’s part of the deal with seeing someone, but sometimes I’d rather spend money on stuff for me instead. That’s not so wrong is it?

5. Dating someone has always fucked with my identity. After a while it isn’t, can The Jones go hang out. It’s always can  The Jones and his lady hang out, as in, a single unit. It’s weird when my friends refer to me and the someone else as one person. I realize this is inevitable sometimes and I don’t want to disparage the destructa’s reading this who are turned on by mildly entertaining rants, but for the love of Oprah’s nipple rings, I need a little goddamn independence here. Last time I checked when you become betrothed to someone they don’t sew you together at the hip (I can’t say for sure…all I know about this has come from books).

After about a dozen or so nights of trudging out to the trixie-infested, 5-dollar-Coors-light, 200 decible-Katy-Perry-blasting-your-asshole-open, douchebag-swamps that marginally pass for bars with JungleBoy and JungleJane (graduated from TheFiance) which always ended with my whiskey-fueled bitch sessions in an after-hours taco restaurant about “HOW I’M GOING TO DIE COLD AND ALONE!”, JungleJane finally told me she was going to sign me up for a dating website whether I like it or not. I reminded her that she’s had 3 years to introduce me to her friends without much success, so technically it’s partly her fault I’m callous and unloveable. Cut to a few weeks later, where we finally did it—only after the convincing from several glasses of JACK DANIELS. An overuse of the creative properties of JACK DANIELS made it a bit of a process.

JungleJane: Okay Jonesey, what are you looking for?
Jones: ABSOLUTELY NO CRAZY WOMEN. Remember the restraining order I almost filed on [REDACTED]?!?
JungleJane: This will definitely scare girls off…(sigh)…Let’s start over. What qualities do you look for in a woman?
Jones: Fine. Besides not being crazy—no girls who read Twilight, no one who complains when I play video games, and preferably someone who wants to bang!
JungleJane: You cannot write the word “BANG” in your profile! How much have you had to drink?
Jones: ENOUGH TO KNOW I’M GOING TO DIE ALL ALLOOOONEEEEE!
JungleJane: Oh my god—just forget it. I’ll write the stupid thing for you.

Clearly we should have approached this process with more science and with less JACK DANIELS. After we authored my profile, my only response came from a girl with the screen name “Lurker”, was explicitly religious, against all forms of alcohol, and her profile was written with a mastery of the English language only paralleled by a 3rd grader who had been snorting espresso-laced pixie sticks. Seriously, I felt like I was reading Snooki’s memoir.

Based on that being my only response, I decided I needed to brew some coffee, throw on some Limp Bizkit, and rearrange the fuck out of this JACK DANIELS soaked description of my miserable existence.

So I rewrote it.

Sitting down, and rewriting it without drinking JACK DANIELS gave me an epiphany. Online dating is the FUTURE! This is technology at it’s finest, folks. I do all my work on a computer, almost everything I own has been purchased on the internet, keep up with my friends on social media, why the hell wouldn’t I use the advantages of technology to make my love life more efficient? Am I going to start walking to work tomorrow, when I have a perfectly good Subaru with butt warmers and an iPod dock sitting in front of my apartment? Fuck no!

I also had another revelation working on this project. The whole point of dating websites is essentially an ad campaign. So if I want to make lots of Match.com babies, I should approach this with my marketing hat on! Don Draper would swear off JACK DANIELS to have access to the data I have right now. I can measure the ratio of “winks” to profile views or “winks back.” I can send messages to ANYONE on this network, so I can get quantitative and qualitative results based on the search terms I select and the messaging I use. From my perspective, this is one big ass, dynamic focus group…constantly talking about ME! My head is spinning right now. I’m painfully single, have a marketing background, and essentially am a copywriter/editor for a living. Why in the name of flying fuck-monkeys didn’t I know about this before?!?!

The only thing missing is an option to embed Google Analytics in this biatch. With that
I would probably have all the data I need to craft the perfect formula for romance. Of course the actual in-person dating element would likely go Amtrak the moment I actually start talking to a woman in real life, yet despite that—I see no reason not to apply science here?

I probably should start a poll. Which is more pathetic…looking for love on the internet? Or trying to use your marketing skills to increase your ROI while looking for love on the internet?

Wow. I hope no one reads this blog anymore. Stay tuned for sure-to-thrill classic dartboard stories. No way I’m getting out of this thing unscathed. Clearly the next step is to bust out my SLR and recreate these iconic photos on my profile. I bet it raises my ROI a bit.

By the way—has anyone seen my dignity? It was last witnessed working at a Taco Bell in Terre Haute, Indiana.