Quest for the Golden Amulet

Heartsmashingbonecrusher son of
Kickassheadstomper. Warden of the Distant
Mountains, and Beater of Ass

In a land of myth and a time of magic. When the ancient gods were petty and cruel, and they plagued mankind with suffering. The land in turmoil cried out for heroes...

We find two such heroes standing together in what could be their final battle. Back to back, Fedrin the Brave and Heartsmashingbonecrusher the Dwarf, now find themselves surrounded by a horde of snarling menacing orcs. Their foes will be satisfied by nothing other than blood and death. Could this be the last stand of our two heroes?

"I hope not," says Fedrin. He swings his sword at the first of his foes.

The weapon impacts with the orc, but the creature remains standing.

"That's not fair," says Fedrin. "How many hit points can this guy have? And how much is a 'horde' anyway?"

The horde facing our two heroes is of an indeterminate number. There are too many for our heroes to count.

"I hate it when you do that," says Heartsmashingbonecrusher. "I am going to count them."

The dwarf tries hard to spot the enemy's number, but fails in his attempt to count.

"How could I fail?" said Heartsmashingbonecrusher. "It's just counting?"

The dwarf is horrible at counting, especially in the midst of a battle. Also the dwarf has no ranks in Spot. However the small warrior may now take his turn to fend off the menacing horde.

Heartsmashingbonecrusher raises his crossbow and fires.

The bolt sails way over the heads of the orc hordes and disappears somewhere in the distance.

"Why the hell would you use a crossbow?" asks Fedrin.

"I already used my movement to make my Spot attempt."

That is when the dwarf remembers that in this instance we agreed Spot could be used as a free action, similar to all the talking that Fedrin and Heartsmashingbonecrusher are allowed to do, despite the obvious waste of time it takes to talk.

"Well, its still a good opening move. Now I didn't waste my movement by closing the distance between me and the orcs," replies Heartsmashingbonecrusher.

"They're only ten feet away. You wouldn't have wasted anything, and you suck with a crossbow. You're not even proficient in it. Why do you even have one?"

"I'll pick up my proficiency at my next level. I like having a ranged weapon for times like this."

"Times like this? Wouldn't you think it might work best if every attack we made counted for something? We're facing an undetermined amount of orcs, thanks to someone I won't name..."

That is when suddenly more orcs appear from the skies riding wyverns. Their spears gleam in the morning sun as they take aim at our heroes.

"You can't just do that!" says Fedrin.

That is when the elf remembers that it is okay, because the wyvern riders will not be able to move or attack until the next round of initiative takes affect, and that he should shut up or next time it will be hell hounds.

The orc who Fedrin swung at with his sword takes a swing of his own. He brings his razor sharp axe down hard on the Silvan headed elf, but the weapon misses as Fedrin is too quick to be hit by the slower orc. Then the next orc steps up to take his chance...

Fedrin Lawnmower the Brave,
Keeper of the Flame, wielder of
the Blade of Jeremy

"Seriously," said Fedrin. "We are going to go through every orc. Can't they just attack as a 'horde' instead of one at a time?"

The elf realizes that if that were to happen their attack modifiers would be more than he or his dwarven friend could possibly handle. They would be slaughtered in an instant.

"Okay," replies Fedrin, "but can you at least tell us how many there are."

"I'm getting a soda," says Heartsmashingbonecrusher. "Does anyone else want one?"

The dwarf receives a divine message that tells him to also get the bag of chips in the cupboard and a bottle of water for the great being in control of his destiny.

"Destiny?" says Fedrin. "We are going to be freaking overrun with orcs and this thing hasn't even started yet. Why is it that whenever we finally start Heartsmashingbonecrusher suddenly needs a drink."

The elf has a feeling that everything will be fine if he just calms down goes with it.

"I heard that," said Heartsmashingbonecrusher. "I need something to drink so my throat doesn't dry up. I also got the chips and your water."

The dwarf experiences a sensation of thankfulness and love as if the divine is smiling down on him.

"Can we get on with this?" asked Fedrin.

The next orc steps up and takes a swing at Heartsmashingbonecrusher. His jagged and rusty sword raises high in the air and comes whistling down with deadly purpose. The blade finds its mark, but because of the dwarf's armor it has little effect.

"I love wearing armor," says Heartsmashingbonecrusher.

"Except that time in the river when you drowned," says Fedrin.

"That wasn't because of the armor. I was carrying too much stuff."

"You're the only one who follows Encumbrance rules," says Fedrin.

As the two heroes are fighting amongst themselves a dragon appears and begins burning the orc hordes with his fire breath. The heat is so intense, it feels like the burning of a thousand suns. The elf knows now why he should have had more faith.

"Again with the dragon?" says Fedrin. "Why does there always have to be a dragon?"

"It is in the title of the game..." says Heartsmashingbonecrusher.

"No," says Fedrin "this is the last straw I'm done with this. Let's do something else, I don't care. How about a video game, Magic, freaking Stratego for all I care. I'm sick of playing the same storyline over and over again."

The elf feels the overwhelming urge to explain his statement.

"What I mean is that there is a dragon. Next there will be a wizard or a necromancer who needs something, a spell or an amulet. We'll have to go on a quest to find it, there will be at least one tavern brawl along the way. We'll find out that the amulet has actually not been stolen from the wizard, but that in fact we are stealing it for him and it turns out he is going to be a d%ck. Its the same thing over and over and over again. Read a new book or at least think up something different. Call me when you do. I'm outta here."

"Fedrin, come back," says Heartsmashingbonecrusher. "Well, we can't play with just us. I'm going home too."

The two heroes are suddenly overrun by the orcish hordes and simultaneously consumed by dragon fire, because they are both jerk-offs. The end.

Dropping Some Eaves

GTL: Games, Thrones, and Laundry

I was on vacation last week at the Jersey Shore (The real Jersey Shore and not the appalling televised version.) However, while I was relaxing on the sands I was fortunate enough to overhear one of the most entertaining book summaries of my life. So I submit for your entertainment: Game of Thrones as explained by the Italian-American gentlemen sitting next to me at the beach.

"So Sheila, got me this book... you know that HBO show... Crown of Thorns... Throne of Swords... something like that. Whatever, we don't have HBO but we heard it was good. I tell you this book is the most confusing thing I've ever read. There are so many damn characters I have to reread pages like two or three times to remember who everyone is."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've heard that was good though..."

"Oh it is. I can tell you I knew this was going to be a good book when I got to this part where this kid was climbing on the castle, and he's a good climber, but he's climbing this castle and he sees the Queen banging this guy, and this guy ain't the king. So he's climbing, like really high up, and he sees this in the window and then he almost slips, but the guy who was banging the Queen catches him. So he's hanging out the window holding onto this guy and this guy is like, 'You know who I am?'

"The kid does, because he knows that's the Queen, and the guy turns and looks at her and is like 'The things I do for love,' and then he throws the kid out the window."

"No sh*t."

"Yeah, and you know who the guy was with the Queen? It was her brother. He was fricking banging his sister, man."

"So he just killed that kid?"

"Nah, but they try to kill him again. This guy comes into his room while he is still out cold from the fall and tries to kill him. His mother, who is another queen, tries to fight off this guy who has a knife, but then the guy totally gets ripped to hell by the kid's direwolf... that's like a really big dog, like bigger than a fricking horse."

"Sounds like a good book."

"Yeah, the only one I can't figure is the one king's bastard, Jon. I just don't know what that guy is about. He goes off to stand guard on this giant wall, where he trains be like a warrior, but he can't ever have sex again."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, but when he is training, the one instructor guy tells him that he is arrogant, and its true. You don't really think about it, but he says to Jon like, 'You're arrogant. All these other boys are the sons of farmers and poor people.' They'd never touched a sword before they went there, and this Jon character was trained by his father the king. He's the best fighter but its easy to beat a bunch of shmucks who never knew how to fight before.

"I can't figure this Jon character out. I don't know if he is going to be a good guy or a bad guy. I haven't finished the book, but I don't know how he's going to turn out."

"Is it a good book? Forgetaboutit."

"But its a good book?"

"Fricking good."

"Maybe I'll pick it up."

That is about where the conversation ended and moved to other topics that interested me less, like sports. I write this not so much because I found it amusing, (I did,) but because it only further illustrates a point I made in a previous blog, nerd culture is becoming more mainstream. I never thought the day would come when I overheared a conversation about a high fantasy book series talked about in voices closer to that of Tony Soprano than Eddard Stark.

If my two beach neighbors had glanced over at anytime during their conversation they would have found me with a grin wider than my face. Somebody should tell MTV that the Jersey Shore is little more nerdy than they may think.

Slaying the Hornet

A Visual Approximation, (Except our
foe was bigger, faster, was wielding a
kitchen knife, and was anti-semetic.)

"Dad, we have a hornet's nest in the beach house," I heard my friend Chris say over the phone to his aforementioned parental figure. "Shawn, saw several of them in the kitchen."

"I saw two, maybe even the same one twice..." said Shawn.

"He saw a couple," he said again.

"One, maybe two," I said.

"Yeah there is a whole nest in the house," said Chris over the phone.

This was how my visit to the shore began, a complete exaggeration, but none of us could be sure of that at the time. All we knew was that there was a big, pterodactyl-like hornet trapped in the kitchen area of the beach house, and it had fallen to us three to slay this mighty beast, like a questing party of old. The only complication was that I knew very little magic, Chris could not swing a battle axe to save his life, and Shawn was a lousy healer.

First, we circled the house in search of a nest of some sort, but failing that we knew we had to confront the problem head-on.

"Do we have any wasp spray?" asked Chris over the phone. I watched as Chris' face fell at the answer. "It's under the sink in the kitchen."

"In other words, we have to get by the hornet to kill the hornet," said Shawn.

That was how moments later I found myself volunteered for the recovery and reconnaissance mission. I stood before the closed wooden door that separated the living room from the kitchen area. I opened it with the caution of a man opening a bomb casing, and gazed inward. I saw nothing.

"Don't let that door come open," said Chris. "Don't let that door come open. Don' let that door come open!"

As I continued my inspection of the room in front of me, the door continued to creak open until I was standing fully in its frame. In the distant part of my mind that controlled rational thoughts I knew I should not have let the door drift that far, but in the moment I was too enthralled with finding our foe and any signs of what might be his relatives.

"It's by your f*cking leg," yelled Chris.

"Your kidding," I heard Shawn say from behind me.

I froze. I stood stock still, like a man dead in the sights of a T-Rex. If I don't move maybe it can't see me.

"It's by your leg. Close the door!" repeated Chris. "Oh God, it's coming in."

I was still standing stock still when I heard the screams from behind me followed by the rapid movement of feet. The last thing I heard was the slamming of a bedroom door as my two fearless companions locked themselves safely away from our insectoid foe.

Once I finally got my legs moving again I continued to the kitchen sink. I bent down and rifled through the cupboard and found the insect spray. I picked it up and shook it. It was empty. I now found myself alone and facing a house of hiding places and one angry hornet.

At least I confirmed that there was no nest. Unfortunately, that only meant we were facing one hornet who had probably been trapped for days without food or water. That meant it was disoriented, angry, and desperate. I have dated a few women like that and I would not want to have found them hiding in that beach house either.

Then I saw it. Our foe took wing and escaped into the adjacent and empty bedroom off the main living room. I slammed the door as quick as I could. With tentative caution I continued my inspection clutching the empty bottle of wasp poison like a man would clutch an empty gun in a zombie movie. I searched the bathroom area quickly just to make sure that there were no nests or other hornets. Finally I made my way back to the shelter of my friends and knocked softly.

"Who is it?" asked Chris.

"It's the hornet," I said. "I was hoping I could interest you in home insurance... Would you get out here!"

"Where is it?"

"I think it went in the other bedroom," I said as my two friends stumbled out of their shelter.

"Are you sure?" asked Chris.

"Yes."

"That's the best thing that could have happened. We just won't use that bedroom."

"Wait," I said. "It is only one hornet and you're going to let it kick us out of a bedroom? C'mon, we're humans. We are the top of the evolutionary ladder. We dominate this planet..."

"Insects might disagree," said Shawn.

"Maybe, but insects didn't invent something like this." I held aloft the can of insect spray.

"Great you found it." Chris took the can from me. "Its empty."

"Yeah I never said it was full," I said. "At least there is no nest. I checked the kitchen and the bathroom."

"We should go to the store to get more spray."

"I say we all just take a shoe and go in together," said Shawn.

"No, if we head to town we can gather supplies," said Chris.

"Like health potions and maybe the +2 Sword of Insecticide?" I chimed in.

"Why don't you look up on the Internet how to kill hornets in your house," said Shawn.

Chris went to the computer and came up with a few articles mostly describing the plight of desperate women and single mothers who were at their wits end in battling hornet home invasions. One suggested hair spray, the other suggested finding a man. Since the later seemed liked an unlikely possibility we went with the former. Chris headed into the bathroom to see if we had any hair spray.

Meanwhile, I got a bright idea of my own. I went to the fridge and found a grape popsicle and began mashing it down into the small neck of an empty water bottle.

"What are you doing?" asked Shawn.

"I am building a trap," I said. "If we can get the hornet to fly into the bottle after the sweet smelling grape popsicle than I can just screw the top back on and trap it in there. Once we have him trapped we can just throw him out of the house. Problem solved."

"Adam," said Chris as he came back into the living room. "I thought you said you searched the bathroom. Look what I found under the sink." Held up another can of insect spray.

"I never said I searched it well."

"What's that?" Chris asked.

"A solution to our problems." I finished my sticky and grape flavored trap and bent down to the closed door leading into the occupied bedroom. "Cover me." I opened the door and slid the water bottle into the room, closing the door as quickly as I could.

"Now we play the waiting game," said Chris.

"The waiting game sucks," I said. "Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos."

"What does the label on that spray say?" said Shawn."

"It is a violation of Federal law to use this product in a manner inconsistent with its labeling. Never use indoors. If on skin or other clothing, take off contaminated clothing. Rinse skin immediately with plenty of water for 15 to 20 minutes. Call a Poison Control Center or doctor for treatment advice," read Chris.

"I'm sure that doesn't apply to us," I said.

"I am kind of feeling this is like Independence Day," said Chris. "Yeah we can nuke the bastards but at what cost to the environment. This may be a last resort sort of thing."

"Check the trap," said Shawn.

I opened the door a crack and peeked in. "Nothing."

"I also found pump hair spray and aerosol hairspray." Chris held the cans aloft.

Shawn took off his shoe. "I say we open the door and go in."

"Maybe that is our best bet," I said after peeking at my empty trap once again. I picked up a discarded cardboard box and rolled it up into a flat bat and tested its strength with a few quick whacks. "I think you should use the aerosol hair spray. You'll have better range."

Chris tested both. "The pump drys faster but I'm not getting that close." He chose the small can of aerosol hair spray, as I opened the door.

"I feel like I am in a Mickey Mouse cartoon," I said.

We all gazed into the room, our respective weapons at the ready, scanning for any sign of movement. There was nothing, but still we held our position. Minutes passed and passed and still none of us moved from our rooted positions outside the door. Finally, when there were no clear signs of hornets, insects, or ex-girlfriends, we did the only thing we could think of, we started throwing things.

As I peered into the room a white-clear plastic object sailed past my head. It lightly struck the blinds, but nothing happened.

"Shawn, did you just throw the cap to the bottle-trap I made?"

"Yeah it was the first thing I found."

Sighing I did the only thing I could think of. I found a nearby penny and threw it too at the blinds on the far side of the room. As we ran out of those, pennies turned into batteries, and batteries turned into a bottle of suntan lotion, and then a football. We accomplished nothing, but at least we felt like we were.

After several more minutes of waiting we finally ran out of things to throw and were forced to physically enter the room. We checked the walls, behind the door, and even the closet. There was still no indication of our target.

"Maybe it got out," said Shawn as he indicated the cracks between the air conditioner and the wall. "I bet it crawled out through there."

"How sure are you?" asked Chris.

"5% sure," said Shawn.

"Its probably by the windows," I said. "It would go toward light."

"We would see a shadow," said Chris. "Or hear it buzzing. It might be on the bed?"

"Maybe..." I tapped the back wall with my makeshift weapon. Nothing happened. I slammed it down hard on the bed nearest us and something black and angry flew up from underneath the folded comforter. I would like to say we fought valiantly, but that would be a lie. The truth of the matter is that we screamed and all of us fought like frightened school girls to get back out into the relative safety of the adjourning room. Personally, I dove head first back into the living room making a leap that would have qualified me for the Olympics under most circumstances.

"Its a fuzz," said Shawn finally. "Its just a black fuzz."

We all peeked our heads back into the room and sitting there, innocently and harmlessly, on the sheets was a small black fuzz.

"I'm telling you it got out," said Shawn.

"Then you sleep in here tonight," said Chris.

"Let's check the windows. Pull up the blinds... Shawn," I said

"Why me?"

"Because you're closer," I stepped behind him.

"Fine." My friend bent down and grabbed the shade pull-string in one hand. As he moved backward he slowly raised the shades on one window and then the other. "Nothing."

"There it is," yelled Chris.

Shawn came running at us and we all scrambled back out of the room. We reappeared a few moments later to find the hornet walking along the rim of the plastic blinds. It was watching us from the safety of the crack where no shoe could reach it.

"Hit it with the hair spray," said Shawn.

Chris stepped hesitantly forward, noticeably regretting his choice of weapons.

"I'm going to stand back in case he charges out," said Shawn to me.

"What!?! He's charging!" said Chris and he came running back into me.

"No," I said. "He was talking about you. Now go hit him with that spray."

I watched as Chris moved slowly toward his target. When he was at the most extreme range of his weapon he fired and the hornet took flight. Another scrambled panic and we were all back outside the bedroom again.

The hornet landed on the other window and the next thing I knew a stream of killer insect poison lanced out toward him and covered the window. Unfortunately the hornet had already disappeared back into the safety of the blinds.

"What happened to last resort?" I asked.

"I saw a chance," said Chris holding the bottle of Ultra-Kill Wasp & Hornet Spray. "I took it."

He put the spray down and we again found our foe nestled in the corner of the window. Chris sprayed him again with the hair spray, and then again, and then again. Each time the winged fiend seemed to get heavier and drowsier. After more than a few moments of dousing him with the feminine hair product we watched as he slipped and fell to the glass surface of the window.

"Finish him," we said to Shawn.

He moved in with his sandal held at the ready and struck like lighting. In a surprising burst of speed the hornet took off, Shawn stuck again with his other sandal, but lost both weapons in the attempt. Now unarmed he retreated back toward us, but our enemy did not get far. It collapsed to the ground spinning in place with heavy wings. I could tell he was starting to get really angry.

"Get him, Adam," said Chris, and I moved in with my cardboard weapon. At the last moment I hesitated, and instead decided to go for a more definitive strike and lifted my foot. One single smash and I could end the whole ordeal. I could be the hero who took down the monster, like David and Goliath, like Luke and the Death Star, like Peter and the Wolf (I think that analogy works...)

I slammed my foot down hard, but my hesitation was all the hornet needed. As my foot came down it took flight again. I screamed and shoved Chris and Shawn out of the way as I fled back to safety. For good measure I slammed the door behind me and grabbed onto the insect spray like a life raft.

"Now we don't know where it went," said Shawn.

"I almost died," I said.

Chris opened the door, his hair spray at the ready. We caught a fleeting glimpse of the menace as it crawled back under the blinds of the nearest window. Then, we waited, and waited, and waited.

"Go tap the blinds," said Chris handing me a long beach umbrella pole. "See if he's up there."

I walked into the room and bent down to look under the blinds. As I did I saw a very confusing sight. Outside the window a hornet like creature took flight and flew back into the sunlit day. I tapped the blinds, lightly at first then more insistently when nothing happened. I bent down again to peer under and I saw sunlight. The closer I inspected the more I realized that the back-top window pane was open at the top.

"I think its gone," I said. "I think it got out."

"How sure are you? Like 5%," said Chris.

"Like 100%," I said. I banged hard against the blinds to illustrate my point. In our struggle against the foe we must have slid the back pane open with our repeated shoe and stick blows. The hornet saw its chance and escaped back into the wild. "It's gone."

"As long as its out of here, I don't care where it went," said Chris. "Are you sure?"

I used the long pole to detach the blinds from the window. They fell off to reveal a completely hornet free environment and a large opening of sunlight streaming in.

"Okay," said Chris. "I'm convinced."

"A little anti-climatic," I said, "but at least its gone." I slammed the top window shut and we all let out a sigh of relief.

We turned our attention back to our thoughts of the beach and the vacation ahead. The ordeal had taken an hour and a half of our time, but the memory will live on. We will always remember how we (sort of) vanquished our dragon and (sort of) proved our bravery in the face of sudden and horrible danger. We never gave up, and we could sleep more soundly because of it, at least Chris and I could. Shawn had to sleep in that bedroom.

The Celebral Cortex

Side Prediction: In the future, we are not going to
understand the fashion sense of our children.

Continuing from where I left off in my last blog, in a world where TV is a more personal medium and where there is greater accessibility to creative equipment, and the means to distribute those personal creations, I have to wonder what will become of those wonderful glittering stars and starlets that we are so used to obsessing about. This leads me to my next point in our little theoretical journey through the future...

PREDICTION 4. THE DEMISE OF CELEBRITY

I am going to start off this blog by saying that I hate celebrity. Now I am not saying I hate all celebrities, in fact there are some pretty cool ones out there. What I really hate is this obsession that our culture has developed with an elite set of individuals, which we allow to dominate the news. "Oh we lost how many troops in Afghanistan today, it doesn't matter because Paris Hilton bought a new dog." (I will not even go into my disgust at the talentless celebrities who are celebrities for no other reason than the fact that they know how to drink and work a video camera while in the bedroom.) In fairness, I am sure this is not a new thing, but I have to wonder if Rock Hudson and Cary Grant found themselves hounded by cameras and reporters with every step they took. There is no doubt in my mind that it has gotten worse.

However, in a future world where anyone can pick up a camera and make themselves a movie star or a sound recorder and make themselves a hit singer, can celebrity survive? I do not (hope)think so, mostly due to the fact that celebrity culture is built upon business and corporations. As much as many of Hollywood's elite would hate to admit that their own status rests in the hands of production companies, that is the way the industry tends to work. After all, if you cannot get hired to start in the big movies or be on the label to make that hit single, no one is going to call you a celebrity. Yet if the entertainment industry becomes more decentralized among independent artists and filmmakers producing and distributing their own art this removes the power more and more from the hands of big business. It is logical to then believe that the status of celebrity will start to decentralize as well. I mean in a future where movies, music, and TV have become so easy to produce and distribute I have to wonder how important the status of celebrity will be. If everyone in the world is suddenly truly capable of being famous does that make anyone famous anymore? Will the Oscars and Emmies become more like those participation trophies you receive at the end of the Little League season when you were a kid?...

Probably not. After all there is the element of fantasy that goes along with the obsession of celebrity. The idea that offers people a sort of release from life. People obsess about celebrities because they want to be them and they want to forget about their own humdrum lives. This is a truism of human nature. We envy and fantasize about the things we cannot have and the people we cannot be. Yet, even this argument brings us back to the bigger picture. In a world where there is social media, cheap and quick access to production technology, and humanity's driving artistic nature, why can't we all become celebrities if we want to be?

Speaking solely as a writer, with technologies from spell check to blogging to eBooks and everything in between, we have already begun to see the world of publishing explode. There are now a whole slew of ways to self publish and promote yourself as a writer. The days of Thoreau sitting in a log cabin by candle light are long gone. (Heck, if Snookie can write a book how hard can it really be, right?) We also need to take into account that technology and our access to it grows exponentially every year. Not only does it become better, but cheaper. So in fifty, twenty, or even ten years I can foresee a time when anyone who wants to make a song album can use equipment found in their room that will match the quality of anything we hear today on the radio, or use a green screen and editing software to make a movie at match for any Hollywood blockbuster today.

Side Prediction: Coming for the Fall 2086 Season:
The World According to Paris Hilton's Brain

This new wave of Post-Indie (Because Indie is not even "Indie" anymore, just ask George Clooney,) material will also serve to cut drastically in the profits of production companies, which means a huge drop in profits for the artists, actors, writers, directors, etc. Currently, production companies pay celebrities millions of dollars because in turn they expect to make billions of dollars from the consumer. If the consuming stops, (or at least lessens to a trickle) not only will celebrity salaries begin to drop as well but the celebrity life-style. If companies can no longer afforded to pay actors and singers their unreasonable and outrageous salaries for two months of work than that actor will no longer be able to afford those fancy cars, huge homes, or throwing those parties that would put Andrew Jackson to shame, (and if you don't get the reference read a history book.) As we all know (and as Paris Hilton certainly knows) money is one of the key aspects to the celebrity fantasy, but if singers, actors, and all the rest are no longer making the big bucks will the fantasy be able to hold? More to the point I think we will find out very quickly how many people are in it for the money and how many are in it for the love of the craft.

Now I am not saying that there will be no more famous people. There will always be people who amaze us or who we wish to emulate. There will always be people who are extremely talented, but with a more decentralized entertainment system I think we will see the demise of celebrity as a cultural phenomena. After all, when I think of the people I truly admire and truly enjoy meeting, they are not the untouchable upper-strata of the silver screen. No, they are the lower levels of the entertainment industry who continue to trudge along because they truly love what they are doing, most of which are local artists and writers who have not forgotten how lucky they are to be doing what they love.

As a sort of disclaimer, I do not believe sports stars would be really affected by any of this. Mostly, because in order to be a professional sports player you have to have a highly developed skill set and compete in an already rigorous vetting process to attain the professional level... and to be honest I really do not believe that that there is any professional player that I would consider a celebrity (despite some of their outrageous behavior).

Similarly, in the future I see that skill and creativity will be what really counts in entertainment, and by leveling the playing field, the truly talented, (and I do not include myself among this rank) will receive the recognition for their work based upon their ability and not upon their status. Those who are famous in the future will be admired in the same way we admired people like JRR Rowling, John Glen, or Colin Powell. They will be people who deserve the respect and adulation not because they are highly paid, but because they accomplish great things. Nor will these people have every aspect of their private lives scrutinized and photographed. They will not have to adhere to some kind of quasi fantasy/reality TV-like life style in order to keep the media interested in them, and I think we all can agree that is a much needed change, for all our sakes.

I do realize that more than any of my other prediction this may just be wistful thinking on my part, but I really hope not. The truth is that even if we progress to a future where entertainment becomes truly decentralized we may never be rid of the idea of celebrity as long as we are still creatures of material desires. This, of course, brings me to my next installment: THE ENLIGHTENED ECONOMY... See you in the FUTURE... future... future.... future...

The Pepsi Amendment

For those of you who haven't heard Mayor Bloomberg of New York City is working hard to pass a law that would forbid the sale of soda products over 16 oz within the limits of the city. The law would apply to restaurants, bodegas, movie theaters, even food carts on the street, and stadium concessions. Now I understand what mayor Bloomberg is trying to do with this law, but I find that I cannot agree with it. I loathe throwing around words like "unconstitutional," "nanny-state," and "Big Brother," but sometimes when certain phrases apply you have to use them even if they are cliche, hackneyed, over-used... forget it. I'm not using them.

I was going to write this blog as a witty proposition to create a new amendment to the Bill of Rights that gave Americans the right to drink as much soda as they would like, but I realized that there is already an amendment that does just that. I am talking about the Second Amendment. (But, hey, isn't that about owning guns?) Stay with me on this one... Yes, the Second Amendment is about the American right to own guns, (and quite frankly I am waiting for amendment 2a that guarantees me the right to own a sword,) but in actuality it is about more than just allowing Charlton Heston to arm himself against the impending Ape Revolution of 2086.

The amendment states, A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed. This means that the amendment itself is really more about the guarantee to the security of a free state with the right to bear arms as a by-product of that. The point being that in a free state, where gun ownership is not only allowed but protected how can the ownership of 32 oz. of soda be any less protected. Its an absurd dichtomy.

Now I am not in anyway diminishing the obvious health care risks of soda. In fact, scientists are now saying that drinking a single 330 ml can of soda each day translates to more than 1lb of weight gain every month, and that studies prove that Americans with type 2 diabetes has tripled from 6.6 million in 1980 to 20.8 million today, with soda as the leading culprit. Even dentists agree that drinking soda eats away at the tooth enamel faster than candy or any other sugary substance. There is no denying that the stuff is not good for you, but that does not mean we should be denied the right to drink it.

Our forefathers put down the Bill of Rights as a charter that not only gave Americans certain "inalienable rights," (I have the right to not be abducted and probed,) but also as a blueprint of American society. Washington and his fellow patriots saw America as a country where we had the choice to do as we like and to take responsibility for those actions not through the enforcement of laws, but through the lessons of freedom. For example the right to gun ownership is not so much about owning guns as it is about the right to choose our actions. If we choose to own a gun we need to choose to be responsible in that ownership. It is the same way that if we choose to purchase fatty foods. We need to have the rights to be responsible, not have responsility forced upon us. Now I am not going to sit here and make an argument for gun ownership, because obviously the comparison between buying a hand gun and purchasing a Big Gulp is not really a one to one comparison.

We restrict gun ownership because we can't have people walking around the streets of New York with AK47's in the same way we restrict cigarette smoking. Both have the potential to harm other people beside the ones who own and operate the items in question, thus to restrict them is to guarantee the rights, life, and freedoms of those who did not make the decision to purchase the weapon or dangerous substance. However, soda has no dangerous by-product. There is no way for others to get second-hand carbonation, or get caught in the middle of a drive-by-sodaing, and I believe that is part of the litmus test for just and unjust laws. After all, a ban on large sodas would only be for the sole purpose of restricting the harm we do to our own bodies, where as limits on cigarettes and guns are meant to protect the rights of those around us. Even Bloomberg's own trans-fat ban used in restaurants protected the life and rights of those who ate at those restaurants. He did not ban the food, just the way they were prepared as there were viable alternatives available to restaurant owners. The difference is between personal restrictions and public protections.

There is also more to this ban that just the mere outrage of the transparent big-government social agenda behind it. They are not banning soda all together, just certain sizes, nor are they restricting the amount of other sugary or unhealthy drinks such as apple juice, milkshakes, or even beer. They are not even banning how many sodas you can buy. Instead, this seems to be an attempt to use the law more as a political statement than as a responsible tool of protection and enforcement. Ironically, I am not even saying that the principals behind the ban are wrong, but anything that restricts freedom on flimsy and misguided abuses of power are wrong. We need to drink less soda, in the same way that we need to eat more fruits and vegetable, so why not make it mandatory for us to do so, or ban cookies or chocolate cake? Why not have all New Yorkers submit to biannual physicals and be required by law to work out for thirty minutes a day? The simple answer is that this is America, and as sad as it sometimes is, we have the right to be fat and lazy if we so choose. Remember that if you make obesity illegal, only the criminals will be obese... I guess, then, they would at least be easier to catch.

Pond of Consciousness: Running

"I wonder if the recorder is going to pick this up... People are looking at me because I'm talking to myself... A little iPod action... I don't want to run... Left, right, left, right, left, right, feeling good... Car... don't kill me... So I'm supposed to record my thoughts... why do they call it stream of consciousness... I guess because of the water imagery, but a stream... I would think thoughts are really more of a pond... Amelia Pond... I mean they are all sort of jumbled up and on top of each other, and sometimes its really more of a conversation..."No, I have a thing. It's like a plan, but with more greatness"... What do I normally think about?... Cute girl... Keep smiling... Why'd I bring this recorder... everyone is looking at me strange...Leg cramp. That's what I get for not stretching right... Why do I run? I mean who was the first person that thought-up running. Were the Romans out jogging, did the Hun's go for a fun run... Hun Fun Run in the Sun with me Mum... why did I make the Hun's British?... Were our ancestor like, "hunting our food and tilling the field is not enough exercise, maybe I'll go out on a run for two miles."... "I'm sorry sir, Mr. Adams can't sign the Declaration of Independence just yet, he's out clocking his 400-meter,"... Well, I'm sure it wasn't Franklin. He got other types of exercise... Old people walking. "Hey Marge, let's go to the park and stave off our impending death for another 48 hours." When I get old I am going to spend my time in front of the TV eating fried chicken... I'm hungry. I want Popeye's... "Well blow me down."...Should I add paragraphs when I'm writing? Does a stream of thought have paragraphs... Fat man on a little bike... It's like the circus is in town... How did they get that beach ball to balance on the thin side of that sheet of paper... Wouldn't it be great if there were dragons... I bet we would have domesticated them like dogs... A Yorkshire Burner... a Doberman Spiked Tail... I guess then we might have them abducting our women and stealing our valuables... "Hey come back with my wife and my HD-TV"... Song change... Damn you, Nelly Furtado. How did you even get on my iPod?... Oh, hello? How are you? That's fine just keep on running by... Should I ask out that cute girl at work... "Hi, would you like to get a drink sometime"... too soon. I've only worked up to polite smiling... I can engage in small talk in like two months... Maybe I'll ask her out for Christmas ... If only there were dragons stealing women. I own a sword. I would be so in... Who walks with an umbrella in the sun... well I guess geisha do... Oh look at the duck... What do you do all day, Mr. Duck. You just sit around, paddle, play in the water, pick on tourists for bread... Ducks migrate. I haven't seen a duck migrate in years... at least Geese migrate, they go home to visit Canada, ay... Hello, nurse. How are you?... Ducks are kind of lazy. They have very few responsibilities in this world, one of which is migration, but they don't migrate... Global warming. I blame Al Gore... Isn't that part of their job requirement. Doesn't that have to be on the resume when you apply for the job of Duck? If I suddenly stopped one of my job requirements, and instead decided that I was just going to paddle around and defecate on running paths, I'm sure I'd get thrown out on my ass... I don't own a donkey... Maybe God should start downsizing the duck position... "I am sorry, Mr. Mallard, but I don't think this position is quite working out for you. I am demoting you to pigeon."... "I am the terror that flaps in the night. I am the winged scrouge that pecks at your nightmares"... "Maneater, make you work hard, make you spend hard/Make you want all of her love/She's a maneater, make you back hard, make you step hard/Make you fall real hard in love"... Almost there... Almost there... Almost... Halfway done... Damn it... Does Superman go running? Does he lift weights? I mean, yeah he's got Kryptonian DNA, but does that make him automatically cut? You can be strong and not have that kind of physique, washboard abs that would make the Situation jealous... man, that was a weird reference... A barrel chest, nice pectorals... I have to assume he works out. Probably like a human would, except he does eighty laps around the world and does twenty reps with... Why do old men have a culture that makes them feel the need to work-out without their shirts on?... So much hair... Nobody needs to a sixty year old graying Wookiee on roller blades... That however... Hello.... No. Nope... Sorry, eww. I really need to start wearing my glasses when I run.... I wonder if he works out with the Flash. Maybe they have a gym membership together? Is there a Gold's Gym on the watchtower... Booster Gold's Gym... I wonder if Chewbacca ever manscaped? Wookiee-scaped? Even dogs have to go to groomers. Maybe he is o'natural... Maybe other wookiees look at Chewie the way we look at French women... Getting tired... Want to stop... Hello, there. Yeah look at me running. I can run for miles more.... new song... Rush... Damn you, Doug!... What do dog's think of the park, or of leashes? I bet they don't even know... "I rove rou raggy"... "You're gonna endanger us, you're gonna endanger our client - the nice lady, who paid us in advance, before she became a dog"... I wish I had telekinesis. It is probably one of the most powerful powers anyone can have. You can do almost anything... Unfortunately, if you get too powerful you burst into flames in the form of a phoenix, and then you have to die every time your writers sneeze or are looking for more ratings... Maybe I should tweet that... I need to tweet when I get home. It's so much pressure. It's like stand-up comedy, but you can't reuse the same material all the time, like Mark Curry... wow random Mr. Cooper reference... Maybe I can tweet that... Almost there... almost home... No, too obscure and no punchline. There is no pizazz... What kind of word is pizazz?... almost there... I bet it's Italian... You are only saying that because it sounds like pizza. I can have pizza for dinner... I'm too old for this... It's too hot... I need to stop... Who is this coming up on me. Oh you want to race, buddy? I'll race you with that gimp leg brace of yours... I'll... okay you win... Good bye... I need milk. I don't want to get milk. I can drink water... I need some bread too... I need to stop going shopping when I'm hungry. I wind up buying three bags of chicken fingers and two rolls of cookie dough... Car!... Run, run run... made it... Final stretch... work it out. C'mon, big guy... Ahhhhh... Ruuuuun.... left, right, left, curb, right, left... Whew. I'm done. Now for pizza. When do I end this stream of consciousness thing? I guess anytime I choose. Shouldn't I try to find something scholarly and profound to end on... No.

The Age of Nerd

It's Geek Pride Day, and speaking of a
geeky Day.... I love being a nerd.

Friday is May 25th, and in case you do not know, it is Nerd and Geek Pride Day. Nerds have come a long way over the past sixty years since the term first entered into popular use in the 1950's. The term nerd was coined by none other than Dr. Seuss in his book If I Ran a Zoo, (which  Matt Damon just turned into a a major motion picture,) but in 1951 Newsweek reported that in Detroit Michigan the term was used to describe someone as "a drip," or "a square,". Being a nerd in 1951 Detroit meant wedgies, and probably not being able to go to the sock-hop on Friday nights or something like. Fortunately, it is now 2012 and the nerd population, along with its vibrancy and appeal is soaring, while, ironically, Detroit... not so much. My point: Nerds Rule.

Wikipedia defines Nerd as a derogatory slang term for a person typically described as socially-impaired, obsessive, or overly intellectual. They may spend inordinate amounts of time on unpopular or obscure activities, pursuits, or interests, which are generally either highly technical, or relating to topics of fiction or fantasy, to the exclusion of more mainstream activities. Other nerdy qualities include physical awkwardness, introversion, quirkiness, and unattractiveness. In the stereotypical high-school situation, they may be either considered loners by others, or they tend to associate with a small group of like-minded people.

Okay, maybe that is not the best definition to try and prove my point, but if you continue reading, the article goes on to say that the term "nerd" has been reappropriated by some as a term of pride and group identity. The article also talks about the evolution of the nerd from the stereotypical glasses-wearing social outcast to... well to people like Nathan Fillion. We are truly living in a Golden Age of Nerdom. Not only are nerds more respected than ever but society itself is developing nerd-like qualities. Think about the movies that everyone is watching this summer, like Avengers and Batman. These are comic book movies, but they will be the highest grossing movies of the year followed by movies like The Hunger Games and possibly (hopefully) Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer, (but more likely by some other movie about vampires which I will leave unnamed.) Still, all these things have their roots in nerd culture, because suddenly being a nerd is cool. Granted, you will probably not see your high school quarterback rolling a D20 anytime soon, and the though the sightings of attractive females in comic book shops are starting to rise, I would not exactly call them a common occurrence. However, thanks to the internet and an explosion of nerd pride our subculture has never had it better.

Partially I believe the acceptance of nerd culture has a lot to do with the general malaise and cynicism that has come to be associated with mainstream culture, propagated mostly through grunge and emo music of the 90's and early 2000's. Yes, it is cool to sometimes pretend to be disinterested and aloof, but it is also boring. Nerds on the other hand seem to be the last people on the planet that are legitimately allowed to get spazzed-out excited over things. First of all, because we -by definition- are not cool, so we do not have to worry about appearing as such and secondly, because we have so much cool crap to get excited over. I mean really when was the last time anyone dressed in costume to go see a George Clooney Indie Film debut (unless you count hipsters, because in my opinion they are always in a costume.) Turn instead to the openings of Harry Potter, Star Wars, and Avengers, where you get a bevy of irrationally excited movie-goers dressed as everything from Jedi to Orcs. Even more to the point, a lot of these movie-goers are not the usual assortment of hard core fans but are people who would not usually claim themselves as nerds. The best example of this is Game of Thrones and Star Trek. Who would have ever thought that Star Trek would become a summer blockbuster or that non-nerds (we call you normies) would find themselves becoming so dedicated to a TV series based on high-fantasy.

We are seeing a transformation where nerd-stuff is becoming cool. I speak from experience as the modern and hip "Cool Nerd" (though I think actually writing that and using the word hip probably just knocked me out of that category and back down to "Lonely Poindexter.") Really people just want to get excited over things. Fantasy and imagination are not traits limited to a sub-culture of the population. Everyone has dreams, and hopes, and the desire to see laser guns blow up spaceships or awesome sword fights or even magic. Being a nerd is really nothing more than not forgetting that at one point you were a child. Everyone threw a towel over their shoulders and called it a cape or swung a stick around and called it a lightsaber, but the only difference between a nerd and everyone else is that for a nerd that time was last week. Its about having fun, having some passion, and most importantly not taking yourself too seriously. After all, I think that's an attitude we could all stand to adopt, a little bit more.

Nerds rock because how can you fault a guy for having this

much fun and being this frelling creative, also check out this

crazy kiwi at his YouTube Channel: Matt Mulholland