When I am King: More Demerit Badges

When I am King...

Boy Scouts will get better merit badges.

This is a continuation of my previous Demerit Badges diatribe. Anything worth saying is worth saying again. And again. Until you run out of material.

Last time, the merit badges of Television and Couch Potato focused on important skills that scouts learn and use at home. These skills will benefit the scouts as they grow into men and take on the mantle of laziness and sloth that our society expects.

Someone famous could have said, "We are defined not only by our actions, but also by our interactions." This time, we highlight badges that the scouts can achieve in the real world, as they interact with peers, adults, and strangers. These badges represent the best that scouts can be in a confusing world.

Geek

Getting out in the wilderness and exploring nature is what scouting is known for. But a well-rounded Boy Scout can be so much less. This merit badge will cover the important skills of today’s introverted geek: self-absorption, social awkwardness, and a disturbing attraction to computers.

Requirements:
1. Don’t talk to anyone. If you have to, reply in single. Word. Sentences.
2. Play with computers all day and night. If there is no computer available, pretend there’s one and type on it.
3. Make beeping sounds like a video game.
4. Pretend you’re a robot car for a week.
5. Learn pi to 28 places.
6. Meet with a merit badge counselor and stare at them awkwardly for the entire session, without saying anything.

Related Awards:
Computers, Binary, Anti-Socialism

Helping the Old Lady Cross the Street

Since the beginning of the Boy Scout program, the act of assisting an elderly woman across a busy street has represented the most important elements of what makes a great Boy Scout: kindness, selflessness, and annoying level of nosiness. This merit badge will focus exclusively on this fundamental skill of scouting.

Requirements:
1. Find an old lady. Find a busy street. Bring the two together. This is most easily done by leading the old lady to that street, but some scouts may wish to do it the other way around (this requires the Traffic Cop chit and a whistle).
2. Guide the old lady into the street. Some old ladies may be unwilling. The scout may need to take her hand or, in some situations, handcuff her to you (this requires the Tough Cop merit badge).
3. Guide the old lady safely across the street, getting her hit by no more than 2 cars or trucks. If the old lady is hit by more than two vehicles, you will need to start over, probably with a new old lady.

Related Awards:
Traffic Cop, Tough Cop, Dodgeball

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Necessity is the Mother of invention. Laziness is the Father.

Money doesn't grow on trees, but is harvested from fertile banks.

No arrest for the wicked.

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be a bug.

When I am King: Demerit Badges

When I am King...

Scouting achievements will be more realistic.

My son is a Boy Scout, following in the great family tradition of - wait, I wasn’t a Boy Scout. No, he's obviously interested in camping and the outdoors because his family - wait, we hate camping (somehow the combination of sleeping outdoors, in the cold, near either people that are too loud or animals that are too hungry has never appealed to us). Perhaps he's just attracted to the open and liberal social attitude of the Boy Scout organization, a bastion of openness and acceptance in the reality of today's evolving societal and family norms. Or perhaps not.

Okay, search me why he's doing it.

One of the thing that drives the scouts is the skills that they acquire as part of advancing rank, in the form of “merit badges.” This badges are awarded to scouts that learn particular skills and can demonstrate their proficiency to the troop leaders. There are merit badges that range from First Aid to Nuclear Science. You can learn about animals in Mammal Study and then learn how to hunt them down in Rifles.

But I feel, looking through the list of badges, that they are all rather dated. Sure, there are badges on Computers and Robotics, and the traditional Hoop and Stick Games badge was finally retired in 2007. But the current badges do not represent those characteristics of our society which we hold most dear. Where is the Shopping badge? Or the Wasting Time Online badge? And without badges such as these, how can a scout hope to succeed in a society that has come to expect such behavior?

When I am King, Boy Scout merit badges will better reflect the attitudes, values, and achievements of our society. No longer will the scouts produce men of quaint but dated character. Scouts will become shining examples of all that we respect in the world.

Here are a couple of badges that I’m working on:

Television Watching

The Television Watching merit badge introduces a boy scout to this core activity of our society, where he will learn to lose his time, his mind, and his life.

Requirements:
1. Watch television non-stop for 10 days.
2. Describe absolutely nothing that happened in the world during that period.
3. Name three ways in which commercials benefit society. [Retracted]
4. Meet with a merit badge counselor during a commercial break. Fail to meet their eyes, staring instead into the distance with a listless, glazed expression.
5. Be able to hum at least 15 theme show songs and 35 ad jingles.

Related awards:
Couch Potato, Obesity, Teenager

Couch Potato

Taking the time to relax is an important element in a fulfilling life. Extending that time to the exclusion of all productive activity is an art form that can only be appreciated by its active pursuit.

Requirements:
1. Do nothing
2. Get nothing accomplished.
3. Don’t meet with your merit badge counselor. Doing so would prove that you have not yet mastered this skill.

Related awards:
Television Watching, Eating, Sleeping

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Parenting

On the proper raising of children, with respect to the literature provided therein

And so it was, on that seventh day of July, in the year Two Thousand Eleven, that The Book (heretofore referred to as The Book) was given unto a child. And, Forsooth!, the wisdom and mysteries of the ages passed to the next generation. And there was great rejoicing.

Last night, that I realized that my oldest child was perhaps old enough to appreciate the wit and sagacity of that ancient and revered tome, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. One of the greatest things about having kids is trying to force-feed them the same content on which your own misguided life is based. Usually, this ends in disinterest on the part of the kid and great sadness and self-doubt on the part of the parents. Time and disappointment will prove whether this time the decision was merely flawed or completely stupid, but for now it seems like the right thing to have done. Like hopping over barbed wire instead of walking the extra 20 yards to go around a fence.

Douglas Adams’s books are some of my favorites, and are required reading in my chosen field (itinerant geek). The Hitchhiker's Guide series is the perfect combination of humor and science fiction, where by “science fiction” I mean it has a completely irrelevant and nonsensical plot. And by “plot” I mean, well, I don’t care. It’s just funny, dammit.

I should point out that The Book is, I believe, a massive apologia for the PC game, Starship Titanic. The game was written after the massive success of the Hitchhiker’s series, so in true Adams form, he had to go back in time to write the books to make up for the game in advance. So to have the right feeling about the author, you should really enjoy his works in the order in which he produced them: the game first, then the books. That way, you’ll end your relationship with him on a good note. Or, like me, you can read the books first, then play the game, then read the books again to wash the taste of the game out of your brain.

In any case, I hope I’ve just just added another Douglas Adams fan to the planet. Or at least another person that knows that the answer is 42. It's always 42.

Independence Daydreaming

Today is July 4th, a day of special significance here in the U.S. It's a day on which we go to barbecues, drink too much, set off small explosives in dry climates causing untold fire damage, and generally celebrate what it means to be an American.

It's supposedly also the day on which we declared our independence from the evil overlords, our good friends in England.

(That day was also significant because it was the last time that any committee came to any decision on anything, a feat much greater in significance than the actual declaration of independence. Bureaucrats the world over rejoiced this act, then went back to debating important matters of process and lunch menus).

It is my country's independence which I wish to celebrate today. I'm thinking about some of the things that Americans can be thankful for, which could not have happened if we hadn't cast off the yoke of monarchical oppression and donned, instead, the yoke of democratic stalemate that has dominated our political scene ever since.

Here are some of the things that I am thankful for, which could not have happened without our teenage rebellion:

Driving on the right: This confuses me every time I’m in England, the way that everyone is driving on the wrong side of the road. Thank the founding fathers that we don’t have to do it here. Besides the sheer ridiculousness of the habit, it would totally mismatch our cars, which are manufactured with the steering wheels on the left. I'm convinced that this change has saved countless lives and allowed us to be the much lazier drivers that we are.

The weather: Some U.S. states are cold, some are hot, most have varying weather (except Hawaii, the lucky bastards). But none of the states have weather quite as miserable as that in most of England. Who knows what our weather would be like if we’d remained part of the kingdom? Probably something more like Seattle, except without their three days of Summer.

Criminals: Australia, a penal colony (insulting in both purpose and name) inherited the criminals of Jolly Olde England (much jollier for having gotten rid of the convicts). The same thing may have happened to us, which would have been awful because our prisons are already filled to capacity.

Coffee: Say what you want about tea, but there’s nothing as satisfying in the morning as a strong cup of coffee. Tea’s okay every now and then, especially when served with scones or those little tiny sandwiches (how small or their mouths in England?). But on July 4th, we established a democracy upon the firm foundation of coffee. And Starbucks franchising opportunities.

Oh, Canada: Without our stalwart presence below Canada, that ridiculously large land mass would come crashing down on the helpless Caribbean islands and fragile spine of Mexico and Central America. But beyond this important physical support role, our great nation also acts as an important filter between Canada and Mexico, limiting the flow of illegal immigrants coming up from below and illegally reasonably-priced prescription drugs from above. Without these United States, these nations would quibble about these border disputes instead of leaving the quibbling to us. Quibbling is our national pastime, one of the founding principals of the country. Why else would we have established the quibble-maximizing two-party system that drives our elections and daily political discourse?

Language: Many visitors to our country make the same simple mistake: that we speak the same language as those in England. It may sound the same (minus the stuffy accents, ‘cause we’re all jus' common folk here), but it has enough critical differences that make our languages as different as, say, American English and Canadian, eh? In particular, we changed elements that made the language just too darned difficult, like the extraneous ‘u’ in ‘colour’ and the regular use of large words that nobody would ever really use. English would never have achieved the world-wide usage that it has today without these important changes. And without that important adoption of our language, we'd travel even less than we do today, because understanding other languages is just really, like, hard.

These are some my favorite things about our free and independent nation. What are yours?

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Use an egg carton instead. Wicker is useless at protecting the things.

If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen and call 911.

Limitation is the sincerest form of flattening.

It is better to give than to receive IOUs.

When I am King: Warning: Smoking is Gross

When I am King...

Anti-smoking campaigns will be more effective.

Once again, Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me alerted me to the critical news of the week. I rely on the podcast of that show for all of my information about current events, this time about

the new warning labels required on cigarette cartons. Apparently, the government, not satisfied with pithy quips like, “Can cause birth defects” and, “Has been known to cause cancer in just about every living organism” decided that it was time to make the message clearer, going for a more folksy, “You Will Die” message in the new labels.

I applaud their intent: every smoker is obviously so happy with their life choices that they need these little reminders of their impending doom. In fact, I’m jealous of the fun they get to have with every new pack, wondering what the picture and caption will be. The prizes and games on our cereal boxes pale in comparison.

But I disagree with their approach to the problem. It simply won’t work for this reason: everyone that would quit the habit because it can kill them already has (either by choice or by death). Everyone that’s left is either not getting the obvious message or just doesn’t give a damn. Making the labels more graphic will just stiffen their resolve like a toddler being asked to please not throw a tantrum in front of the nice lady from Child Protective Services.

Now you not only have a society full of smokers, but one full of grossed-out, pissed-off smokers.

The problem has always been in the messaging. Telling people that they might die eventually because of it, or that others have died from it doesn’t hold a smoking candle to the allure of teenage rebellion. And it doesn’t do much for the person weighing that risk against the difficulties of quitting an addiction.

When I am King, there will be a more effective marketing campaign to get smokers to quit. The ads will just point out other people in your chosen community. Parents who smoke will be shown that their kids are smoking, and teenagers will learn that their parents smoke. Both groups, horrified by the prospect of being lumped in with the other, will finally have some real motivation to quit.

One other approach the FDA could try is to make the labels as frank as possible, like “This cigarette will kill you,” and then backing up the threat by lacing it with poison. Not only will this be truth in advertising and an excellent disincentive to others that see the warning, but it will also reduce the smoking population, one by one. I’m not actually arguing for that approach, just saying that it would work better than the ones taken so far. But perhaps killing the target demographic is not what the marketing folks had in mind.

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Forgive and forget
to not punch them.

First come, first served.
So always arrive fashionably late to a cannibal's party.

Familiarity breeds contempt, but strangeness breeds infrequently.

Every man has his price, but every woman knows the manager and gets a huge discount.

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Live each day as if it were your last - in bed, wheezing, filled with sadness and a deep sense of regret.

If time is money, I'll have seconds.

To err is human, to forgive divine, to blame is usually the best option.

Those who cannot remember history are condemned to repeat it incorrectly.

When I am King: Affairs of State

When I am King...

Escort services will be provided for all.

I was horrified, like everyone else, at the Weiner Affair of the past week. That is, I was horrified by the public reaction of shock and surprise. His actions seemed perfectly normal to me. Especially for a, er, member of Congress.

Taking the picture of his anatomy: odd. Tweeting the picture: stupid. Screwing around (or trying to do so) after being married for such a short time: sad.

But the act of looking around while being married seems like the act of a sane person; he’s just scouting out the territory ahead.

Think about the process of getting a job. It’s always easier to find a job when you already have one. You are negotiating from a position of strength, without the feeling of desperation that occupies your mind if you really need the job offer. Quitting first and then hoping you land something is simply not the best way to go about it. Much better to look around while you don’t need to and to find the best opportunity, and make a reasoned decision about whether it’s worth leaving your current job for the new one that’s being offered.

(Of course, this last bit always breaks down, because that new job always looks better than the one you’re currently for the simple fact that it’s new. New beats old, always. Until you get there and realize that it’s not new at all; it’s just different. But at least the change in cafeteria food adds variety.)

Regardless, this is a proven technique for finding the next job - why shouldn’t it apply to relationships as well? It’s the same principle at work - people are more attractive when they’re in a relationship than when they are not. Someone that’s in a relationship has the proof point to offer that someone felt that they were good enough to hang out with. It may not be a very high bar, but it’s at least a sanity check that you’re not completely incapable of getting a date. And you’re probably not a serial killer, unless you’re just biding your time or are also a procrastinator.

Beyond this initial check, there’s just the confidence that being in a relationship brings. It’s like the job negotiation; you have a fallback position, so you aren’t depending on this new opportunity to pan out. This more relaxed approach to negotiation helps in closing the deal. Without it, your desperation will seep from every pore and you won’t have a chance.

In fact, this is such a proven technique in life that Weiner may have had this as his strategy the entire time. Maybe he was having a hard time meeting women, so he got married to make the whole thing easier. So it wasn’t a colossal screwup or a temporary infidelity; it was all part of the plan. The only mistake was that he got caught, somehow not realizing that tweets can become part of the public conversation (see my earlier comment on “stupid”).

What’s unfortunate here, besides the fact that this person was elected as a trusted representative of anyone’s interests but his own, is that a proven technique for effective negotiation can have an impact far beyond the current deal on the table. If your boss hears that you’re interviewing, you may not have a job to return to. Or in the case of Mr. Weiner, you may soon be hearing from your to-be-ex-wife’s lawyer. Clearly, we need a solution to address the underlying social issue.

When I am King there will be services available to help. For example, if you are unemployed you can hire a temporary employer prior to interviewing. It may not be a real job (since you’ll be paying them instead of getting paid by them), but it will force you to get suited up every day to get in the mindset. More importantly, the service will lend that air of credibility in the interview that arriving in your bathrobe and slippers fails to do.

You will also be able to hire someone to pretend to be in a relationship with you. Escort services exist today that can fulfill a similar role, but these pretend relationships are typically shorter and more physical than the service being proposed. Our services, which will consist of supplying cute couples pictures, answering the shared phone, and providing alibis, can last for as long as you need them. Depending on your capabilities, or on how low you set the bar, you may only need a weekend. But if your standards are higher, or if you have just embarrassed yourself in front of the entire country, you may need the service forever.

When I am King: Trips with Kids

When I am King...

Strollers will be banned.

I spent last weekend at Disneyland, for reasons that I won’t go into. Suffice it to say that raising children does not result in opportunities for exciting travel and exotic nightlife.

Besides the obvious joy of spending two days and evenings standing in line with thousands of my very closest friends and overpaying for bad food from perky cashiers, the highlight of the weekend had to be the transportation contraptions for the children.

It turns out that Disneyland is where all children are. The place is overrun. It’s like the Gulag for little political prisoners. I thought my kitchen had an ant problem, but it’s nothing compared to the kids scurrying around Disneyland.

My strongest memory of the experience was of the many strollers. They were everywhere, These handy inventions allow parents to drag their kids to places that they’re too young to appreciate. So where evolution and common sense trains us to know that anywhere the kids can’t get to on their own is not somewhere they need to be, strollers allow us to take them anyway. These wheeled contraptions also serve as modern pack animals, allowing us to store necessary provisions like sodas and snacks to keep us fattened up and further unable to hand-carry these items.

All of this is fine - if people want to bring their infants and toddlers to places that they aren’t old enough to enjoy and won’t remember in 2 weeks and generally make the experience awful for the whole family, that’s up to them. I don’t mind the kids. It’s the strollers that I want to destroy.

Strollers are mobile tripping hazards. They’re like the shoes in the entryway, the toy cars in the kids rooms, the sleeping dog at the top of the stairs. And they’re constantly on the move, shoving their way through the crowds like a miniature Italian driver. The only person not tripping on them is the kid in the driver’s seat. This is probably the real enjoyment that kid has; he can’t enjoy any of the fun rides, but it must be a kick to keep seeing adults jumping out of his way and falling over his moving throne.

Strollers are like the shopping carts of the homeless, filled with recyclable containers and the mostly important possessions of the parents (plus the children). But at least the homeless have the decency to use carts that aren’t tripping hazards; you can heard and see those things rattling toward you for miles. Strollers sneak up on you and stick their front wheels in front of your sneakers before you know they’re there.

Then there’s the other approach taken by parents of children that can walk but can’t be trusted: leashes. These clever devices attach to a harness on the kids and allow they to walk with their parents without the parents having to go to the effort of actually reaching down to take their hand. They’re just like dog leashes, except for the choke collar. Ostensibly, the leashes allow the children the freedom to walk on their own without letting them completely escape. But in practice they’re used very differently. You typically see them being used by people that seem too tired to walk around and are using the energy of the children to help; the kids are straining at the harness and helping propel their parental blobs forward. The other way I’ve seen them used is like fishing tackle - when the parents want the kids closer, they reel them in and land them like a forty pound trophy fish. All they’re lacking is a barbed hook; maybe there’s a catch and release law in effect.

The leashes share a similar tripping characteristic with the strollers. But where the strollers perform their job with the front wheels jutting out in front of your feet, the leashes do so by stringing a trip wire at knee height across a wide distance. On a good catch, a leash can net three or four adults at once.

When I am King, these tripping hazards will be banned. Ideally, we’d return to the sane approach of only taking the little tykes to places where it wasn’t a complete hassle to transport them; if they can’t walk and they’re too heavy to carry, try spending that day at home instead. It’s why television was invented. And duct tape.

But I realize that some parents will insist on carting the little creatures around, so we’re working hard on replacement solutions. For example, there is now a surgical procedure to attach wheels to their feet. So when they complain that they just can’t walk another two miles to that ride with the two-hour waiting line, you can pop the wheels on and drag them.

There are also backpacks available for easily carting children around. These have existed for ages and provide a great solution to the problem, but fights against the tradition that we have of not exerting any effort. So my ministry will make available a Sherpa service to assist you in carting your brood around. Getting young children around the theme park or even the local Walmart can often seem like climbing Mt. Everest, so we’ll provide the appropriate resources for these excursions.

With these new inventions, you’ll be able to take more trips with less trips.

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Beggars can't be choosers. Besides, making good choices is probably not their forte.

Behind every great man is a great woman. Behind her is the guy's wife, and boy is she pissed.

The best defense is a good offense. And gun turrets.

Better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Save the cursing for when the candle spills hot wax on you.

Cheap and Easy

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And now, back to your regularly scheduled weblog...

End of End of Days

I had another blog entry written and ready to go in the likely event that I was taken up with the rest of the Deserving on Saturday’s Rapture. Here it is:

Hey Everyone,

If you’re reading this, it must mean that the Rapture happened and I’m now in a better place and that, well, you’re not. But hey, it’s not that big a deal. I mean, you still have burgers down here, and I’m not sure we even have cows where I’ve gone to. And how much harp music do you really want to hear every day?

Anyway, please enjoy the rest of eternity. Perhaps reading my book
will help pass the time and help you forget that you just weren't quite good enough. Or maybe it was just a clerical error; it was a really big project getting everyone together, try to have a little sympathy if they messed up on some of the details.

But alas, ‘twas not meant to be. It looks like I was left behind.

I’m sure they meant to take me, just like that girls in high school that meant to call me. And the women in college. And my wife. It’s just that people forget, right? And so do Gods, apparently. I mean, he made us in his image and all.

So here I am, wondering what to do with the rest of my life. Everything I’ve done to date was leading up to that single moment when I got to take the back exit and get away from all of life’s obligations. Now I have to actually do my job, pay my mortgage, communicate with my family - will the torture ever end?

The first thing to do, obviously, is to prepare for the next Rapture, just in case there’s a chance to hitch a ride next time around. You never know when these things are going to happen, Superior Beings being the busy people they are and all. The memos just don’t get around in time. You don’t want to be excluded from the party just because you didn’t see the invite, right? So it’s best to be prepared. Here are some tips for staying ready:

• Stay packed: Remember that carry-on bag you packed on Friday? Keep it packed. You might switch out the book you packed, because you were probably in the middle of it and you’d like to finish it. Besides, the library probably wants it back, now that you’re still on Earth and all. So switch it out with something timeless and long, like Anna Karenina. Or an encyclopedia; you never know if there might be a quiz on facts on words in the range of Ce to Di when you get up there. If you don’t pass the test, it’s an awfully long way back down.
• Keep your eyes on the skies: If you see crowds of people wafting up into the clouds, that’s probably a sign that it’s time. Either that, or jetpacks have made it to the consumer market, finally, and commuting will get a whole lot more fun.
• Watch your weight: In case there’s a weight limit, you want to make sure you’re under it. The Bible was very sketchy on travel details, but it can’t hurt to play it safe.

Alternatively, your continuance on Earth might indicate that you simply aren’t cut out for the Rapture thing. Maybe preparing for being one of the Unchosen is more appropriate. Here are some tips for sticking around on this mortal coil a bit longer:

• Unpack: You ain’t going anywhere for a long time, and you’re going to need that toothbrush. Brimstone has a habit of sticking in the teeth.
  
• Return your library books: It was okay to tell yourself that you didn’t have time to return that stack of overdue books when you were preparing to be lifted up into the clouds for eternity. But now that you’re here to stay, you’d better get them back to the stacks. Those librarians can make your life Hell on Earth.
• Hydrate: If the Rapture actually did happen and these are the End of Days, then it could get a bit hot down here. Drink plenty of liquids; it’s so easy to get dehydrated in the fires of eternal damnation. You’ve already lost your soul; you don’t want to also lose your health.

Rapturous

Apparently, the world is coming to an end tomorrow. And I’d just gotten used to the place.

It seems worth spending a few minutes preparing ourselves. I mean, the world only ends once. Here are some tips for how to deal with The End:

• Brush your teeth. There’s nothing like starting on a long journey and realizing your breath stinks. And who knows when you’ll see a tube of Crest again?
  
• Put a lot of food out for the dog. Hell, just open the rest of the bag out onto the floor. We’re going to be gone for a while.
  
• Make sure the stove and coffee pot are turned off. Check them twice. Three times. You don’t want to worry about that for the rest of eternity.
  
• Bring comfy shoes: We always want to look our best, but nobody looks good when they’re hobbling along for miles because of the blisters. And you don’t want to break a heel in all the kerfuffle.
  
• Pack light: The Bible has never been clear on the baggage rules. Will we be able to check bags? Does the first bag cost $25? Is there enough room in the overhead, or do we have to take up precious leg room for our carry-ons? Better to pack light and avoid the hassle. Leave the parka at home and bring a windbreaker instead.
  
• Take those pills: We don’t know what the travel accommodations will be like, so if you’re at all prone to motion sickness, it’s best take your pills in the morning. Besides, they might help you sleep. It could be a long journey.
  
• Bring something to read. Long flights with no entertainment are so tedious; don’t risk it.
  
• List your accomplishments: Just in case there’s an opportunity for an upgrade, you might want to list out all of the good things you’ve done in your life. Just for a reminder (they probably know already). If they do have a rewards program, these will probably be your points. And you don’t want to travel in coach if you don’t have to.
• Get some good sleep the night before. It's always more fun to travel when you're well-rested.
  
• Lock your door and sit on the curb. Like the stove, don’t wonder whether you remember to lock it. And go outside to sit on the curb and wait. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if they stopped by to get you and you didn’t hear them because you were in the bathroom? Don’t run that risk.

That's all I can think of. I need to go check the stove and coffee pot. See you tomorrow.

When I am King: Ups and Downs

When I am King...

Buildings will only have single stories.

Elevators are such wonderful spaces. They take people who enjoy a personal space between themselves and others roughly the distance that a bullet travels, stuff them in a space just large enough to raise tender veal, and make them ride together on a journey of awkwardness. We stare at the numbers clicking by, we stare at the floor, and we stare at the doors, willing them to open on our floor so that we can finally run to our cubes and breathe heavily into the paper bag that we keep there for that purpose.

Meanwhile, we’re all in a hurry, and the time spent in that stall with no toilet is wasted. It’s as if you’re hurrying down the hall and then pause, motionless, for a couple of minutes. It’s probably a helpful tactic when being chased by a motion-sensing reptile, or when having a seizure, but is otherwise useless. So many things need our immediate attention, but we’re stuck in that place just because of our need to move in the vertical direction.

When the doors open somewhere along the way, they stay open for just about ever. When you’re about to do something really desperate like verbalize your impatience to your fellow travelers, the doors begin slowly sliding closed. Then someone on the outside hits the Up button and the waiting game starts again.

The only defense we have against open doors is the Close button. It’s right down there next to the Open button, with a very similarly illegible icon. So we casually jamb our finger on the button and wait for the doors to respond. And wait. And wait.

The thing is, the inventors put the button there to make us feel like we were doing something. But they didn’t want the elevator to actually have that functionality. Either through cheapness, or an inherent pride in the workmanship of the Open feature, they decided to abandon the Close feature at the level of the button. You can push it all you want - those doors will close when they’re damn good and ready.

The elevator close button is the placebo of the mechanical transportation industry.

On some advanced and expensive elevators, the button is hooked up, because it’s considered tacky and cheap to simply have it sitting there with nothing behind it. Unfortunately, these elevators hook it up to the Open function, which explains why pressing the Close button makes it seem like it takes even longer than it does otherwise. Those doors remain open as long as we hold the Close button.

Sure, we could take the stairs and avoid all of this hassle, but then we’d just be made aware of how out of shape we are, and who needs that extra guilt?

When I am King, buildings will only have single stories. A second story is like a sequel: a pale imitation of the first, produced just because they figured they already spent all that time and money with the first one, they might as well do another one. Single stories will eliminate the awkwardness of the elevator experience and give us back the time that we would have spent standing too close to other human beings, so that we have more time to post status messages and emails to friends that comfortably far away.

If you really want to take the stairs, there’s always the gym. And if you miss the elevator, you can always ask a group of strangers to follow you into a toilet stall.

What it looks like	How it works

Sunday Comics: How Elevators Work

How elevator controls look:

to the user	to the elevator

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

A penny saved is a penny earned, but if you're counting the pennies, you're screwed.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Just take the damn thing.

Where there's a will, there's a way
to contest it.

Two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do.

When I am King: Friendless

When I am King...

I will have no friends.

I got several notifications from LinkedIn this week which reminded me how much I hate these emails. It’s not that I mind reconnecting with people, or being connected to them. It’s not that I mind them contacting me. And it’s certainly not that I have too many friends: geeks are naturally anti-social creatures and can use all the friends they can get.

However, I do object to the assumption, in these emails and on these social sites in general, that everyone is my ‘friend.’ They are not my friends: I hardly know them. If we’re counting friends, I’m pretty sure I can depend on my wife and my dog (depending on whether I helped out around the house that day). And of them, only one of them could possibly send me a ‘friend’ request on the computer (I don’t give my dog our account passwords. You never know what havoc they’ll wreak while you’re out for the day).

Outside of the house, I do have some friends. But mostly I have colleagues. And social acquaintances. And business acquaintances. And networking contacts. And people I met at conferences. And friends of friends. And people I met in a bar last night. And other people I met in the bar later last night when I was face-down on the floor. None of these people are what I’d call ‘friends’.

Friends are people we are close to. We grew up with them, or we roomed with them, or we spent too many years sequestered in the same cube at faceless corporations with them. In other words, friends are the people who have the dirt on you, the really nasty stuff that you don’t want anyone else to know. You keep these friends close because the alternative is worse. Everyone that’s not in that category you specifically want some distance from so that they don’t find out the dark secrets that could make you befriend them.

When I am King, social networks will be more honest. You will not get email telling you that someone says you’re a ‘friend.’ Instead, there will be more helpful information, like:

John Johnson has indicated you are:

• a remote acquaintance.
• someone he’s heard of.
• another human being.
  
• a person with a neat name.
• someone whose contact information he wants to acquire.
  
• someone he’d like to spam with a random headhunter email completely unrelated to your interests and experience.
• someone who might know the answer to their homework problem.
• someone who left a face-print on the floor of the bar last night.

We may not end up accepting connections with these people, but at least the relationships will be more honest if we do. And who knows? They could even someday become really good friends, unless you manage to keep all of the embarrassing personal secrets off of the social site accounts to which they now have access.

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Good things come to those who wait tables.

Haste makes waste. Donuts make waist.

Honesty is the best policy, but the premiums are unaffordable.

If we were meant to fly, we'd have wings. If we were meant to be too fat to fly, we'd have wings with ranch sauce.

Sunday Comics:The Easter Story

The real reason he left his tomb that Sunday morning.

Epiblog: The Rest of the Story

No jokes today; just a quick and completely self-serving note about a story I wrote a few weeks ago (The Day of Rest). I decided that it was more of a standalone 'story' than my typical pieces, so I wanted to try to publish it somewhere in addition to my blog. It turns out that writing for my blog and publishing books has taught me zilch about publishing stories. Where to send it? Who publishes humor? Online or print? Do I have to use Comic Sans font?

In the end, like we do for all of life's many mysteries, I searched the web for answers. My search came up with humorpress.com. They have a humor story contest every couple of months. I'd never heard of them before, but they had the words 'humor' and 'story' in the contest title, so it looked perfect.

I just got word yesterday that my little story won 1st Prize for February/March. Here's the ribbon to prove it:

Or if you need more proof, check it out on the winners' site on humorpress.com. You'll recognize my story on that page by the part that has my name on it. Unless there's someone else with my name, which would be even more bizarre than my winning this contest.

When I am King: What's the Worst that Could Happen?

When I am King...

Doctors will predict the worst possible outcome for their patients.

Whenever I go to my doctor, I try to envision the worst-case scenario for my latest injury. For a neck issue, I went with paralysis. For my shoulder, I opted for amputation. And I make a habit of telling my doctor that I’ll see her the next time my body falls apart, unless I’m dead.

My doctor seems to find these predictions alarming and rushes to assure me that the surgeon is not going to amputate, or that my cold is not lethal. But I find it comforting to know the worst that can happen and to verbalize it. Sure, I probably just have a sore throat - but what if it's an early indicator of Bubonic Plague? Or what if that slight headache really is a brain tumor?

The optimist would say that you should look on the bright side. See the positive aspects of any situation and hope for the best. I do consider myself an optimist. To me, the glass is always half full. But I wouldn't drink it because it could be laced with cyanide.

My method of hoping for the best is to realistically consider the worst. Then things can only get better from there. And if things are as bad as I predict, I have the satisfaction of being right, which always feels good.

For example, maybe amputation is an extreme outcome for a sore shoulder. But what if the injury takes a long time to heal? Or what if it requires surgery, which can have risks and complications? These would be unfortunate to one simply hoping for the best. But in my world, they’re not so bad compared to hauling out the bone saw and hacking off the limb.

When I am King, doctors will clearly outline the bleakest possibilities for patients. For example, your doctor might say, “You appear to have a cough, Mr. Jones. This may just be the cold that is going around, but it could also be the beginning stages of any number of terminal diseases. You should put your affairs in order just in case. See you next time, unless you’re dead.”

Sure, these consultations might be a bit of a shock at first. But imagine, after each illness recedes, how wonderful you’ll feel just to be alive. Until the last one, of course. Your doctor will eventually be right about the worst case scenario, which will give them that satisfying "I told you so" feeling. That'll be nice for them.

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Love is blind. This explains why it feels like it keeps whacking you with its cane.

Misery loves company. Especially this one company I used to work for.

Nature abhors a vacuum. So does my house.

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Time wounds all heels.

Forewarned is forearmed, but oblivious is elbowed in the gut.

If you can't beat them, join them to a chair with duct tape. Then beat them.

Money is the root of all evil. So money does grow on trees; you just have to dig for it.

Au Pair Programming

In a former life, I wrote a piece called Crystal Methodology about several important programming methodologies. Time has passed and new practices have risen from the primordial programming soup. I'll discuss one of these newcomers today:

Au Pair Programming

Based on the popular Pair Programming technique, where two programmers work together, au pair programming also centers around a paired collaboration.

In the classic Pair Programming approach, both programmers assume different roles, with one writing the code (the Driver) and the other reviewing (the Observer or Navigator). In Au Pair Programming, there is only one person responsible for the actual engineering work (the Programmer). The other member of the team (the Au Pair) facilitates the work by taking on other activities that the Programmer has no time for, such as keeping the work area clean, fetching coffee, and taking care of the children (these may be actual children or, in the case of a management au pair, the employee minions of the manager). This even division of labor allows the Programmer to focus solely on the task at hand, enabling excellent productivity since they do not have to worry about superfluous tasks they don't enjoy anyway, like human interaction and showering.

The Au Pair may occasionally chime in with ideas of their own, in which case they are referred to as the Backseat Driver. These ideas are generally ignored and dismissed as the Programmer takes on their other role of the Jerk.

Ideal pairings are still being worked out in this new approach. Some Au Pairs have been French schoolgirls, although more successful pairings have used interns.

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Blood is thicker than water. But give it a good scrub and the cops will never know.

Charity begins at home. Or so my kids told me when they begged 5 bucks off me.

Cleanliness is next to godliness. But it's even closer to annoyingliness.

The early bird catches the worm. So sleep in, unless you like worms for breakfast.

The Day of Rest: Remix

A picture is worth a thousand words, so my cartoon last week on this subject only covered about half of what I had to say. Here's the complete story:

This story won
1st prize on
humorpress.com:

The Day of Rest

God came in to the office one day. He hadn’t been there in a very long time. Being omnipresent meant being everywhere at once, except at the office. He found it too stifling.

The place was deserted. He walked around the building for an hour, the only sound his sandals scraping the linoleum. Finally, as he rounded the corner toward reception, the front door open and Peter entered, in shorts and a t-shirt with the slogan “Soul Survivor.”

Peter stopped abruptly. He hadn’t seen the Boss in millennia. One of the attractions of his job was very little management oversight.

“G-good morning, Your Almightyness,” he said. “What, er, what brings you here on a Sunday?”

“WHERE IS EVERYONE!, ” God thundered.

It wasn’t that He was mad. It’s just the way He talked. It was awkward watching movies with Him because He always knew what was going to happen and insisted on telling you. And then nobody else in the theater could hear the show; He was just so loud.

“Well, sir, they’re all off today.”

“OFF?”

“Yes, sir. Day off. At home. Practicing the harp. Meditating. That kind of thing. I just came in to grab something from my office on my way out. Sheila from accounting is having another lawn-bowling party this afternoon.”

“WHY?”

“I don’t follow you, sir. Why the bowling? Well, it’s really the only thing to do up here, other than the harp. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that actually, sir. We’re having a bit of a morale-”

“NO, YOU NINNY. WHY ARE THEY TAKING THE DAY OFF WORK?”

“Well, because it’s Sunday, sir. We’re always off on Sunday. And Saturday, ever since that strike about the un-divine working conditions back in the 40’s.”

“WHAT DOES SUNDAY HAVE TO DO WITH IT?,” God bellowed.

“It’s the day of rest, sir. It’s in honor of you:
‘On the seventh day, God finished his work. And so he rested on the seventh day.’
I don’t think the repetition is quite necessary, although it’s still better than that section with all of the ‘begats’. Anyway, we take Sundays off because you did. It’s a day of rest.

“REST? REST?!!!! SUNDAY WASN’T A DAY OF REST FOR ME. YOU TAKE SIX DAYS TO CREATE EVERYTHING OUT OF NOTHING AND SEE HOW FAR YOU GET. DO YOU THINK YOU’D BE DONE WITH ALL OF IT IN JUST SIX DAYS?”

“But sir,” Peter asked, backing up slightly to put a little more space between himself and the Creator. “You’d done it all by then. The book says you’d created light. Which, by the way, is a pretty excellent feat, if I may say so. How did you even know what it was you wanted? A real visionary, sir. That’s what you are.”

“GET ON WITH IT!”

“Right. So on the second day, there was the firmament. To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure what that word means. It’s like ‘irony’; I think nobody understands the word, though everyone seems to use it. Which I find ironic.”

“PETER!”

“Then there was the waters, and the lands, and the stars and moon. Then you went ahead and made all of the animals and then Adam and Eve.”

“STILL REGRETTING THAT DECISION. NO END OF BOTHER, MAN IS. AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ABOUT WOMEN. I’LL NEVER FIGURE THEM OUT.”

“You said it, sir. Anyway, that’s it. Then you rested.”

“THAT’S IT? I CREATE THE PLACE AND THE PEOPLE AND THEN I’M DONE?”

“Well, … yes. At least that’s what it seems like. And that’s what the book says. I mean, it’s not like you then needed to create aliens. So that pretty much wrapped it up, right?”

“NOT HARDLY! HOW FAR DO YOU THINK CIVILIZATION WOULD HAVE GOTTEN IF I’D STOPPED THERE? WHAT ABOUT ARCHITECTURE? ELECTRICITY? MACHINERY? LITERATURE? OR A REALLY GOOD BEARNAISE SAUCE?”

“I guess, sir, that I thought all of those things were all natural byproducts of mankind. Once you’d created them, they’d eventually come up with good ideas on their own.”

God looked at Peter. Peter withered, thinking of pillars of salt.

“IDEAS, YES. GOOD ONES? MANKIND INVENTED THE ELECTRIC PEPPER GRINDER. AND THE SPORT OF DRIVING IN CIRCLES FOR 500 MILES. YOU THINK THEY CAME UP WITH THE REALLY GOOD IDEAS?”

“No, I guess not. But what about the day of rest? The scripture is very clear on this.”

“IN ADDITION TO EVERYTHING ELSE I CREATED THAT WEEK, I APPARENTLY CREATED TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS. IT’S JUST PLAIN WRONG. ON THE SEVENTH DAY, I DID NOT ‘REST’. ON THE SEVENTH DAY ‘I DID THE REST’. I WAS VERY CLEAR ABOUT IT AT THE TIME.”

“Got it, sir.”

“GOOD. NOW GO TELL EVERYONE TO PUT AWAY THE HARPS AND GET BACK IN THE OFFICE. TELL THEM IT’S GOOD FOR THE SOUL.”

“Well, sir, it’s just that everyone sort of enjoys that extra day off. Gives you a chance to re-charge those wings, if you know what I mean.”

God looked at him.

“PETER.”

“Yes, sir?”

“DO YOU LIKE IT HERE PETER?”

“Uh, sure, sir. Although, now that you mention it, there are a few-”

“DO YOU LIKE IT UP HERE, PETER? BECAUSE I COULD CHANGE THAT FOR YOU.”

“Ah, yes. I see that sir. Yes, sir. I love it. It’s heavenly.”

“I THOUGHT SO. NOW GET BACK TO WORK.”

“Yes, sir. And might I say how very wonderful it’s been seeing you in the office again, sir. It has been such a-”

God looked at Peter. Peter withered again.

“Goodbye sir. I’ll just go round everyone up.”

“YES.”

Peter jogged back out the front door, which slammed shut behind him, leaving God alone in the foyer. In the distance, a water cooler kicked on.

God said, “I HATE MANAGEMENT. WHY DID I EVER CREATE MANAGEMENT?,” and went in search of the coffee machine.

When I am King: Brochure Thing

When I am King...

Medical pamphlets will be more fun to read.

“It’s terminal.” These are the most horrible two words that your doctor might say to you, handily beating the runner-up, “rectal bleeding.”

My doctor didn’t actually say either of these winning phrases, but he did hand me a brochure last week that talked about how my shoulder problem was typically an issue with older, postmenopausal women. The brochure showed pictures of several such sufferers in beds. Obviously, either their shoulder pain or their advanced age made it impossible for them to get out of bed and change out of their nightgown. But I suppose that they’d retired thirty years ago and had nothing to do all morning but think about how their children never called and what kind of soup they’d like for lunch.

It’s not that I mind having injuries. I figure it’s part of being alive, especially in the high-risk, body-thrashing programming career that I’ve pursued for my entire adult life. And I don’t mind getting older because it’s better than the alternative.

But I do mind being mistaken for being even older and of the opposite sex. For one thing, I’d look awful in those nightgowns the old women were sporting.

The problem is the brochures. Handing you a pamphlet on your disease is the doctor’s way of telling you, “So many people have this problem that we mass-published thousands of these to hand out. So quit your whining, you baby.” It’s also a way for them to get out of actually speaking to you.

And these little booklets do help. Just looking at the pictures convinces me that I’m not doing that badly because I feel a whole lot better than the people in the pictures look. But they don’t make me feel very good about whatever I’ve contracted; the pictures of body parts and the clinical descriptions of maladies go a long way toward making me feel like I’m actually sick, instead of just suffering a temporary setback.

When I am King, medical brochures will be more upbeat. They will teach about the problems and possible cures, but with a whimsical and positive tone that helps patients feel better, even as their bodies are falling apart, piece by piece. Introductory phrases like, “Everybody has spleen disorder!”, “Osteoporosis: today’s hot disease for hipsters of all ages!”, “If you can read this, you must be okay!”, and “Everybody dies!” will help the inspire the readers to read on. Pictures of happy, young people playing Frisbee from their walker, acting as King Lear while wheeling an IV stand, or putting attractive makeup on gangrenous patches will help the patients feel young, healthy, and optimistic, even as the nurse is reaching over to unplug their life support.

Life is a journey to a distant destination. We should do what we can to enjoy the journey itself, because from the way the old women looked in that brochure, the destination sucks.

Sunday Comics: The Day of Rest

Things I Believe: Thoughts for Friday

Discretion is the better part of valor. But it's the most critical part of cowardice.

Don't punch a gift horse in the mouth.

It takes one to know one. But it doesn't take anything to know nothing at all.

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and the world laughs at you.

Double Time

People have mentioned that I bear some resemblance to CNN's Anderson Cooper. I personally don't see it. Other than the fact that we both hang out in sport coats, live life on the edge, and are world-famous television personalities, I can't see the similarities. I had CNN send me a headshot of Mr. Cooper so that I could compare it to one that I had lying around (note: Mr. Cooper is on the left):


Besides the fact that he highlights his hair with gray to get that distinguished look I've been perfecting over the last several years (although he seems to have overdone it a bit), he clearly doesn't have the same intrepid reporter feel that I inherently exude. But he tries.

Nevertheless, it seemed worth pursuing the following possibility, since the public might see the pair of us differently:

I am hereby applying for the role of Anderson Cooper's Stunt Double. Celebrities have used stunt doubles ever since the demise of Isadora Duncan (which also resulted in a general trend away from long scarves and convertibles, whose popularity had previously run neck-and-neck). It is now quite common for famous people to use doubles for everything from movie stunts to charity appearances to tedious relationship conversations. The use of doubles has freed up these important people for more critical things in their lives, like sleeping in.

With Mr. Cooper's propensity to put himself in dangerous situations, from the protests of the Middle East to the stampeding cows of Wisconsin, it is clear that he would prefer not to give up the riskier side of his job. But he would surely like to be able to be in more places at one time, enabling him to be both in the newsroom and in the field. So I am applying to be his inverse stunt double. He can continue to do the stunt work required of his job, and I'll take on the awesome responsibility of all of the other stuff that he could do. Sitting in the newsroom, being interviewed for the Jon Stewart show, eating expensive meals at fancy restaurants: these are all of the things that he would surely like do more of, if only he wasn't so busy risking his life to report the news. With my help, he can do it all.

Why stop at Anderson Cooper 360, when he could have Anderson Cooper 720 instead? There's a revolution one could believe in.

I'm currently waiting to hear back from Mr. Cooper's people. This process would probably happen a lot faster if his people included an inverse stunt double to handle this kind of administrative detail for him. Meanwhile, I'm practicing the moves requisite for the position: smiling, shaking hands, eating expensive food, and adding more gray to my hair.

Things I Believe

A person is known by the company he keeps. Especially the CEO.

A picture paints a thousand words. But they're really tiny and hard to read.

A rising tide lifts all boats. Then it smashes them on the rocks.

Crime doesn't pay. But the perks are awesome.

When I am King: Phoney Business

When I am King...

Phones will be phones. Internets will be Internets.

A few months ago, after incessant marketing spam from AT&T, I ‘upgraded’ to UVerse. I had been a happy DSL customer for years. Without cable TV, or the desire to get it, didn’t see the reason to change my ISP service. I had a phone. I had the Internet. I was set.

Cold calls couldn’t dissuade me. Especially the one where the guy asked about my current TV plan:
“I don’t have TV.”
“Right, but how do you get TV now?”
“I don’t get TV.”
"But how do you get TV channels?"
"I don't."
[pause]
“Er, thank you sir. Good night.”

And they never called back. Obviously, a customer without TV coverage is not worth having. Maybe they detected my inherent inability to pick up on social trends, or my failure to see all of their UVerse ads on TV. Or maybe they figured a lack of cable implied a lack of income and I’d soon be living on the outside of my foreclosed house, anyway.

But I am, above all, a cheapwad. So when I finally saw an ad that convinced me I’d pay less for my phone+Internet through UVerse, I went for it. I had to wade through all of the online pages that tried to get me to buy TV coverage first, of course. It was like going to a department store for a pair of sneakers and having to wind through the aisles of jewelry and makeup and bedding along the way. “You don’t want th TV+Internet+phone package? Well, how the Internet+phone+TV package instead?”

Finally, I managed to get the service I want: UVerse for cheapwads. Phone + Internet. Period.

And it was cheaper, at least for now. And it basically works.

But today, I called home in the middle of the day. And I got the response, “The subscriber you are trying to reach is not currently in service.” Called again, same response. Which nearly rules out my wife having an affair, unless the guy is really good at sounding exactly the same every time he answers the phone.

Subscriber? You mean my house? I didn’t realize the house had subscribed to anything. I just thought it was a house. With a phone.

Then the reality of UVerse hit me: I now have a VOIP phone. That is, a phone on the network, instead of on a phone line.

This makes sense in general: phone traffic over the Internet. It enables all kinds of services that appeal to cheapwads like me. But somehow I find this particular use of it a tad ridiculous:
UVerse comes to my house through the phone line. It's basically DSL with branding. So I traded out my phone service so that they could put my phone on the Internet service that they provide through my phone line. And now my phone doesn’t work. The phone line still works fine. And if I still had regular phone service, the phone would be ringing. But since it’s connected through their hardware and software along the way, it’s masquerading as an out-of-area cell phone instead.

It really makes me want to try out their TV service for an extra $50/month.

When I am King, phone lines will be used to make phone calls. Phone lines can also be used for other purposes, like carrying network traffic and restraining children at the dinner table until their broccoli is finished. But if there’s a phone, by gum it’ll be plugged into the dang phone line.

And TV? I don’t care how you get that. I’ll still be too cheap to pay for it. I get my TV through the Internet.

A Belated Valentines Wish

Happy Valentines Day.
To show you how much I care, I bought you a card for $4 written by a stranger, plus some candies that taste like chalk.
And some dead flowers.

Won't you be mine?

When I am King: Gameskill

When I am King...

Video games will train our children.

As a new owner of a fancy phone, I’ve been doing a lot of research into phone applications (I’ve been playing a lot of games). One of the games I’ve been losing my life to is Angry Birds, a game in which you launch birds at pigs.

Launch birds at pigs.

It struck me, when I first started playing the game, that game designers have simply given up on the whole “plot” thing. I could imagine the meeting when the company tried to define the vision of the game: “There are these pigs, right, and they take these, um, eggs. And, let’s see, the eggs must have come from some birds, right, and they birds would be pretty angry, and … Ah, screw it. Let's write some code.”

But as I’ve sunk more of my nonexistent spare time into the game, I realized that there is actually a deeper level on which the game operates. It’s not about plots, and stories, and characters, and all of the traditional elements of an engaging fantasy world. Instead, it’s about life skills.

Think about it: you learn to precisely target the birds at the enemy to destroy them and their defenses. You sow terror in the pig community in the hopes of getting the eggs back. You wreak havoc and revenge upon every pig you see, advancing levels only when you have killed every pig in sight. And you do all of this with minions that are happy to die for the cause.

Angry Birds is training the next generation of suicide bombers.

This might be too subtle to catch at first. Then you get to the level where you launch the bomb bird at the bus full of pig children.

And while this could be construed as disturbing on some level, the fact is that our children need to develop life and career skills. Gone are the days when responsible parents would send their children out to harvest the crops, milk the livestock, and slaughter the family pets. And children learning a manufacturing trade in sweatshops is a dying tradition. Even the coal industry, a natural for minors, is sealed to the little tykes. So where are kids supposed to pick up the crucial experience that can carry them into their brief adulthood and us into our retirement?

Meanwhile, most kids spend every possible waking hour playing video games. What better way to train tomorrow’s adults than by teaching them through this engaging and interactive medium?

When I am King, all video games will teach important life skills. We’re part of the way there today, with such educational opportunities as performing hits for the mob, massacring aliens with heavy firepower, and jumping over crates to collect coins. But we could go so much further with a little more focus on the critical elements that our society revolves around:

• Investment bankers could be raised on games that teach how to bankrupt the economy while spending government bailout grants in performance bonuses.
• Budding politicians could be taught important talents such as looking determined, promising undeliverable goals, and outright lying.
  
• All kids could learn the fine art of begging, as a backup when the other alternatives don’t pan[handle] out.

The time that kids spend playing will make them more qualified for these and other critical roles in our society. When our children can learn a trade in their leisure time, it's time to cut funding for education, because that's what governments do.

Things I Believe

He who hesitates is lost. You can tell because he's looking at a map.

It's no use crying over spilled milk. Acid, however, is worth a complete breakdown.

Let sleeping dogs lie. But torture the cats for the truth.

Many hands make light work. But electricity makes lights work.

When I am King: Fast-Forward Progress

When I am King...

We will all have a fast-forward button for life.

Recently, a friend requested the ability to fast-forward through certain life events. It's possible that he was kidding, but since he was talking to the future monarch of our society, it seemed worth considering.

The problem with life is that it doesn't always not completely suck. There are some periods you go through, like grief, healing from injuries, and standing in line at the DMV, that simply take time and anguish. Wouldn't it be great if you could just mentally check out during these times and wake up later when they were all over?

Some lucky people don't have this problem; they clearly checked out years ago and won't be coming back anytime soon. But for the rest of us, why must we suffer these episodes?

Life offers its own fast-forward system already. It's called "getting old." This is the process by which everything seems to happen faster as you get old. A year in school to a kid feels like forever, but a year on the job thirty years later rockets by like a duck through a jet engine. This is a natural reaction to aging. Our body realizes that as we age there is simply more going wrong, so making everything seem faster will make it all better somehow. It's the same reason why punk and speed metal are set to fast tempos.

This current system works, so that the downer periods don't last as long as they might. But we still have to go through them. And since the acceleration applies both to awful events and to the few that aren't as bad, we don't benefit from being able to skip the ones that are worse and focus on the handful that are reasonable. It's a coarse approach, meant to get us to the finish line faster, not to make the journey there any more pleasant.

What we really need is a button that lets us select the periods to skip.

When I am King, we will all have a fast-forward button that allows us to skip past things that we don't like. Just hit the button and watch everything speed past until we want to wake up again. So many things in life will become more bearable: debilitating illnesses, workouts at the gym, tedious conversations, traffic, and most TV shows will breeze by, and we can slow down for the things that we really enjoy: sleeping and watching movies.

One of the difficulties that my scientists are still working on is the remote. When fumbling for the fast-forward button, it is all too common to hit the Stop or Eject button instead, and then the show's over.

CodeDependent: The Clothing Line for Geeks

For no good reason at all, I decided that geeks need more T-shirts and that I need to provide them. Fortunately, I don't have to pit my sewing skills against such a high goal; I'll just let CafePress do it for me.

Here's the first such effort, "codedependent" (available in various colors/styles - see the site for the full array):

Things I Believe

Time for more proverbs. Or at least semi-pro verbs:

A friend in need is a friend in debt.

A good man is hard to fine.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. So don't even start or you'll be walking for friggin' ever.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. But not as dangerous as a little dynamite.

A penny saved is a penny earned, but if you're counting each cent, you're screwed.

Little Jokes for Sunday

Sunday is, for many people, a day to ponder the great issues about life and mortality. Important questions come to mind, like Why are we here? Did I turn the burner off before I left the house? And of course, Should I have a sixth donut?

It seems appropriate to provide, on this day of personal reflection, some zombie jokes.


Q: How can you tell the difference between a corpse and a zombie?
A: One is deceased, the other de-ceased.

Q: How can you tell when a zombie's embarrassed?
A: They soil themselves.

Q: Why can't you trust zombies?
A: They're always hatching a plot.

Q: What's a zombie's favorite kind of fruit?
A: Any kind of bury.

Q: How do the dead see?
A: Gravesite.

When I am King: Solving Resolving

When I am King...

New Years resolutions will be more achievable.

I’ve written about this on multiple occasions. But since New Years keeps coming around like a bad hangover (in fact, exactly like a bad hangover), I resolved to make another pass at it.

Every New Years, people feel compelled to come up with resolutions: proposed behaviors that fly in the face of everything they’ve done so far in life. They’re going to go to the gym, even though they’ve belonged for a decade and never crossed the threshold after joining. They’re going to eat a better diet... right after their third Twinkie. They’re going to solve world hunger, even though their personal food consumption makes it physically impossible for everyone else to get enough.

These resolutions do nothing except make us feel guilty. How can one simple statement about eating right counter forty years of habit plus a couple hundred pounds of proof to the contrary? And do we really need to add this extra obligation and ensuing feeling of failure to our already tenuous and unhealthy lifestyle? Wouldn’t we do better to just accept who we are and be happy about it? Or at the very least, we could shoot for something more reasonable and be satisfied with achievable goals. Then we can get back to the dessert buffet.

Typical resolutions come in the form of vague and all-encompassing setups for failure, along these lines:

• I resolve to help the needy
• I resolve to be kind to my neighbor
• I resolve to not get divorced
• I resolve to spend more time with my children
• I resolve to eat healthier
• I resolve to lose weight
• I resolve to exercise
  

When I am King, people will nail down the particulars of their resolutions better, in a more helpful and more achievable fashion. For example, the above resolutions could be better written as follows:

• I resolve to help the needy, unless they haven’t gotten a job yet and are still panhandling.
• I resolve to be kind to my neighbor, unless they don’t move that dead car off my curb.
• I resolve to not get divorced, unless she uses my razor again.
• I resolve to spend more time with my children, unless they become teenagers or I'm really busy.
  
• I resolve to eat healthier, unless dessert looks really good.
• I resolve to lose weight, unless dessert looks really good.
• I resolve to exercise, unless it’s really inconvenient to get to the gym or it interferes with some TV show or I just don’t feel like it.
  

With these kinds of resolutions that everyone can achieve, or at least have a handy excuse for not doing so, we will become a more mentally fit and emotionally satisfied society. Then we can spend our energy on the things that really matter, like dessert.