Another insane week in energy. OPEC trimmed another 2 million barrels per day, but did anyone care? Not so much. Frankly, this thrills me. I’m giddy over here. OPEC is angry about falling prices, OPEC cuts production, prices fall $3.50 yesterday and $4 today. I feel like Shaq on stage at a Miami nightclub. “Kobe, how’s my ass taste? OPEC how’s my ass taste?” I’m not even going to dignify their “news flashes” any more. From now on, they will be called supply ‘cutes’ as they are clearly not worthy of the name ‘cuts’. The 600 pound gorilla in the room remains demand, but it’s looking more and more like the rest of the room is empty: there’s just King Kong.
Speaking of King Kong, it is official that Brock Lesnar is the biggest star in the UFC. Though they were only his first three fights in the organization, he was the most purchased PPV name in the organization’s roster. Apparently the economy isn’t so bad for Zuffa, as Lesnar’s last fight, where he took the title from Randy Couture, was the 2nd biggest UFC event ever. Even more importantly, of the 10 most purchased PPV events of 2008, 7 of them will have been UFC events, assuming the card on the 27th qualifies, a lock given the talent on that card.
Speaking of that card, we’ll be watching it, most likely at the parents’ house. Possibly the first UFC card with a legitimate three main events, this is the second most talent to ever compete at one event on North American soil, only behind this year’s debut of Affliction. Forrest Griffin defends his Light Heavyweight title against Rashad Evans, Quinton Jackson faces the man who beat him twice, Wanderlei Silva, and is looking to earn a shot at getting his belt back, and Minotauro Nogueira defends his interim Heavyweight title against Frank Mir, with the winner meeting Man-Bear-Pig Lesnar in 09.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Zombie killing goodness
It’s official; I am geeking out over here. I just got Left 4 Dead for my 360, and I followed the purchase with an Xbox Live account. k1nggame, if interested. I know, you didn’t know there were still people with the system without the account. They were few, and are one fewer today.
Anyhoo, the game is absolutely ridiculous. Just nasty. You and up to three friends are survivors battling the endless zombie hordes. And I mean endless. Gone are the days of Resident Evil 2 oh-my-goodness-there-are-five-zombies-in-the-room. Try 50, including several freak zombies (more on them later). You mow through the sprinting spawn with machineguns, pistols, and shotties blazing. Sprinkle in a few pipebombs and Molotov cocktails for good measure and you have yourself a party.
The wargy is nice, but where the game really shines is the cooperation needed to survive. Where other FPSs are basically living embodiments of the “Army of One” mantra, in L4D standing alone will only lead to you dying alone. You simply cannot face the hordes by yourself, it isn’t possible. A huge part of success is built into saving your friends when they get pinned under one or more of the undead horde, and believe me, someone will get tackled and mauled. Actually, everyone will, but the difference between victory and defeat is whether those happen at the same time or not. Your bud gets knocked down you gotta clear em off and get em up.
Beyond the game of get-me-up is the simple need to cover each other, back-to-back. When you’ve got 20 zombies running at you from each direction and your shotgun only holds 8 rounds, a friend is a good thing to have. Three friends is even better.
Now, all this blood-letting joy so far is wonderful but limited. What really tacks on the next level of visceral goodness is the Versus mode, in which you can join the throngs. There are five “exceptional” zombies in the game, and you get to play four of them, though three with regularity. First is the Boomer, a fat, explosive, bile-spewing mass of ugly, whose bodily fluid attracts the horde. My least favorite to play, he can get the damage done but is too slow and unwieldy to be a party. Next is the Smoker, an ugly corpse with a tongue that shames that of Venom of Spiderman lineage. Basically he snipes with it like Scorpion in MK, dragging his victim toward him and away from his teammates. Of the three usual suspects, the Hunter is by far my favorite. Basically the zombie manifestation of the title-character of the Thief franchise, he stalks silently and then pounces on one of the survivors, ripping and tearing at their flesh. Without assistance, being pinned beneath one is death.
The fourth playable beast, more of a rarity to portray, is the Tank. Getting to be him is a rarity, which is fitting since it is momentous. He rocks it like a hurricane. Like against the office linebacker, the poor suckers never had a chance. You need a steady stream from the whole party to take down this silverback from hell. No truth to the rumor that it’s based on Brock Lesnar.
The final special zombie, who you can’t play, is the Witch. One on one means hasta la vista. You can’t beat her alone, unless you find something to climb quickly. In balance with her vicious attack (only the Tank is worse) she is the least aggressive of the undead. She sits there, crying like a child, until she is awakened. When she gets up, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Few game feelings are quite as satisfying as driving the survivors into the reach of the Witch with a well coordinated attack. Watch them fall as you pin them down one by one, their screams ‘singing in the rain’ of flying giblets of gore. Stanley Kubrick, eat your heart out.
Or perhaps a zombie will…
Anyhoo, the game is absolutely ridiculous. Just nasty. You and up to three friends are survivors battling the endless zombie hordes. And I mean endless. Gone are the days of Resident Evil 2 oh-my-goodness-there-are-five-zombies-in-the-room. Try 50, including several freak zombies (more on them later). You mow through the sprinting spawn with machineguns, pistols, and shotties blazing. Sprinkle in a few pipebombs and Molotov cocktails for good measure and you have yourself a party.
The wargy is nice, but where the game really shines is the cooperation needed to survive. Where other FPSs are basically living embodiments of the “Army of One” mantra, in L4D standing alone will only lead to you dying alone. You simply cannot face the hordes by yourself, it isn’t possible. A huge part of success is built into saving your friends when they get pinned under one or more of the undead horde, and believe me, someone will get tackled and mauled. Actually, everyone will, but the difference between victory and defeat is whether those happen at the same time or not. Your bud gets knocked down you gotta clear em off and get em up.
Beyond the game of get-me-up is the simple need to cover each other, back-to-back. When you’ve got 20 zombies running at you from each direction and your shotgun only holds 8 rounds, a friend is a good thing to have. Three friends is even better.
Now, all this blood-letting joy so far is wonderful but limited. What really tacks on the next level of visceral goodness is the Versus mode, in which you can join the throngs. There are five “exceptional” zombies in the game, and you get to play four of them, though three with regularity. First is the Boomer, a fat, explosive, bile-spewing mass of ugly, whose bodily fluid attracts the horde. My least favorite to play, he can get the damage done but is too slow and unwieldy to be a party. Next is the Smoker, an ugly corpse with a tongue that shames that of Venom of Spiderman lineage. Basically he snipes with it like Scorpion in MK, dragging his victim toward him and away from his teammates. Of the three usual suspects, the Hunter is by far my favorite. Basically the zombie manifestation of the title-character of the Thief franchise, he stalks silently and then pounces on one of the survivors, ripping and tearing at their flesh. Without assistance, being pinned beneath one is death.
The fourth playable beast, more of a rarity to portray, is the Tank. Getting to be him is a rarity, which is fitting since it is momentous. He rocks it like a hurricane. Like against the office linebacker, the poor suckers never had a chance. You need a steady stream from the whole party to take down this silverback from hell. No truth to the rumor that it’s based on Brock Lesnar.
The final special zombie, who you can’t play, is the Witch. One on one means hasta la vista. You can’t beat her alone, unless you find something to climb quickly. In balance with her vicious attack (only the Tank is worse) she is the least aggressive of the undead. She sits there, crying like a child, until she is awakened. When she gets up, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Few game feelings are quite as satisfying as driving the survivors into the reach of the Witch with a well coordinated attack. Watch them fall as you pin them down one by one, their screams ‘singing in the rain’ of flying giblets of gore. Stanley Kubrick, eat your heart out.
Or perhaps a zombie will…
Monday, December 15, 2008
Bush is a freakin ninja
Perhaps we've been wrong all along. For eight years now we've assumed Dick Cheney was pulling the strings and Bush was the marionette. Perhaps things have changed in the last few years, and when he was elected Bush but a student, but now he is the master. Whichever it is, it's impossible to deny the ninja skills.
Regardless of where you stand on his politics, no normal president could have dodged a shoe like that. This needs further investigating.
Regardless of where you stand on his politics, no normal president could have dodged a shoe like that. This needs further investigating.
Monday, October 27, 2008
OPEC = weak
OPEC announces 1.5 million barrel per day cut, crude falls 3.50.
Let’s hear it for the artists formerly known as a cartel.
Let’s hear it for the artists formerly known as a cartel.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Economic Meltdown
Today as I drove through town, nearly half the stores were closed. The streets teemed with the unemployed; it was if 1/3 of the city was just walking around, 100,000 with nothing to do but loiter. Scarier still, people looked hungry. Like all they wanted was to work, and all they needed was a job, any job at all, so they could get food for their kids. Truth is, there was barely enough food on the store shelves, thanks to the drought in the Midwest, and people with jobs could barely afford it. I couldn't believe how bad the economy had gotten.
Of course, none of this happened. Well, not since the Great Depression was at its worst in the 1903’s. Since then, we haven’t had a really scary economic crisis. In lieu of actual suffering, now we make up our crises so we can over-react and buy the swill the media sells. We are a cowardly lot, and one that loves the drama.
The economy is in a recession. That’s a fact. A financial panic? Absolutely. An “economic meltdown?” No, not quite. Actually, not even close, though I ripped that tag directly from a headline. Unemployment is up to 7%, headed for 8. It will probably even hit 9. Of course, no one mentions that during the economic boom of the 90’s, most of Europe still had unemployment from 10-11%. That’s how bad unemployment is now, only 20% lower than Europe’s in the good times. So let it be written, American capitalism is a failure!
Actually it’s not. True, the stock market is down 40%. As Ronald Reagan said, "Never confuse the stock market with the economy." Though he and I have some different ideas about economic policies, he was right; they aren’t the same. The market moves in minutes and hours, and even in seconds. The economy moves in months and years, and even in decades. So with the huge drops in the market, you might expect some huge fundamental change in retails sales the month that preceded the crash. You’d be right, and today everyone “oohed” and “ahhed” at the 1.2% drop in September. That’s right, just over a 1% drop from the biggest consumer spending September in history and people think the end has arrived. For every 100 big screens that would have sold, one didn’t. For every 1,000 shirts that would have been sold, only 988 were bought. Oh, Lordy, kill me now.
We are not in the midst of a plunge either to mercantilism or to communism. We’re okay. Something around 90% of the country made the same amount of money this month that they did last month. Heavens to Betsy. Americans are still rich. Americans are still fat. Americans still run the world. Any one who says differently is selling something. More specifically, selling a newspaper.
Of course, none of this happened. Well, not since the Great Depression was at its worst in the 1903’s. Since then, we haven’t had a really scary economic crisis. In lieu of actual suffering, now we make up our crises so we can over-react and buy the swill the media sells. We are a cowardly lot, and one that loves the drama.
The economy is in a recession. That’s a fact. A financial panic? Absolutely. An “economic meltdown?” No, not quite. Actually, not even close, though I ripped that tag directly from a headline. Unemployment is up to 7%, headed for 8. It will probably even hit 9. Of course, no one mentions that during the economic boom of the 90’s, most of Europe still had unemployment from 10-11%. That’s how bad unemployment is now, only 20% lower than Europe’s in the good times. So let it be written, American capitalism is a failure!
Actually it’s not. True, the stock market is down 40%. As Ronald Reagan said, "Never confuse the stock market with the economy." Though he and I have some different ideas about economic policies, he was right; they aren’t the same. The market moves in minutes and hours, and even in seconds. The economy moves in months and years, and even in decades. So with the huge drops in the market, you might expect some huge fundamental change in retails sales the month that preceded the crash. You’d be right, and today everyone “oohed” and “ahhed” at the 1.2% drop in September. That’s right, just over a 1% drop from the biggest consumer spending September in history and people think the end has arrived. For every 100 big screens that would have sold, one didn’t. For every 1,000 shirts that would have been sold, only 988 were bought. Oh, Lordy, kill me now.
We are not in the midst of a plunge either to mercantilism or to communism. We’re okay. Something around 90% of the country made the same amount of money this month that they did last month. Heavens to Betsy. Americans are still rich. Americans are still fat. Americans still run the world. Any one who says differently is selling something. More specifically, selling a newspaper.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
A tree falls…
The old axiom asks “if a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a noise?” This is not so much an honest question as a general pondering of reality and how we perceive it. As a rationalist I have little faith in theories of perceived reality. Of course the tree makes a noise when it falls. This is a matter of the laws of physics, not the presence of humans.
We humans are interesting in our concepts of our own importance. Other creatures don’t think (for all we know) in terms of philosophical ideas concerning the ‘big questions.’ They think “maybe we should get away from that lion.” Only we have the arrogance to dare to question reality in terms of us defining it. Our reality defines us, not the other way around. I do not have wings, regardless of what I think about my arms. We believe we can transcend reality simply by refusing to accept it.
Then again, perhaps our arrogance does have some basis in reality. We bend our planet to the point of breaking to make ourselves more comfortable. While humans certainly aren’t the only creatures to change their environment to better suit themselves, the scale of said changes makes any comparisons blatant fallacies. A bird picking up fallen twigs to make a home is simply incomparable to our cutting down acres and acres of forests to build suburbs. Towers built by termites are like sandcastles, not skyscrapers.
Even with all of our amazing accomplishments, we overestimate our impact. Earth will be around long after the bricks of our civilization are dust carried by the wind. No being has after impacted our planet like we have, so efficiently tapping resources from thousands of feet below the surface. But we are not forever. Nothing physical can be. And when the last human remnants are odd shaped mounds, when whatever kills off all of us and all other complex life on the planet has run its course, life will begin again, even if at the most basic level.
We humans are interesting in our concepts of our own importance. Other creatures don’t think (for all we know) in terms of philosophical ideas concerning the ‘big questions.’ They think “maybe we should get away from that lion.” Only we have the arrogance to dare to question reality in terms of us defining it. Our reality defines us, not the other way around. I do not have wings, regardless of what I think about my arms. We believe we can transcend reality simply by refusing to accept it.
Then again, perhaps our arrogance does have some basis in reality. We bend our planet to the point of breaking to make ourselves more comfortable. While humans certainly aren’t the only creatures to change their environment to better suit themselves, the scale of said changes makes any comparisons blatant fallacies. A bird picking up fallen twigs to make a home is simply incomparable to our cutting down acres and acres of forests to build suburbs. Towers built by termites are like sandcastles, not skyscrapers.
Even with all of our amazing accomplishments, we overestimate our impact. Earth will be around long after the bricks of our civilization are dust carried by the wind. No being has after impacted our planet like we have, so efficiently tapping resources from thousands of feet below the surface. But we are not forever. Nothing physical can be. And when the last human remnants are odd shaped mounds, when whatever kills off all of us and all other complex life on the planet has run its course, life will begin again, even if at the most basic level.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The American Way
On a lazy Sunday morning, after taking the dog out for a morning hike/bathroom break, I settle on the couch to surf the channels for a few pre-breakfast minutes. Fortune smiles on me and I stumble upon Die Hard on A&E HD, a cable movie channel that shows a large number of awesome, though edited, feature films.
As a believer in free speech I prefer owning the unedited versions of everything I purchase, but there is some fascination for me in viewing something I’ve seen a million times in a restricted form. It’s always interesting to see what gets cut.
Stumbling into the film just as Hans and his squad are busting up the Christmas party in the Takagi building, I was not at all surprised when the chest of an up-close topless woman was blurred away. Now, we all know the preference in American media for violence over nudity and even profanity, but the coming moments were pretty stunning by even our standards.
In his office, Mr. Takagi refuses to cooperate with Hans in opening the electronically coded piece of the corporate safe. After a countdown, Hans looks Takagi in the eyes and shoots him in the face, with a large amount of blood exploding out the back of his head and covering the glass door windows behind him. As the audience, we hear the gun fire, see Takagi’s head jerk backward, and blood cover the windows in front of the camera.
The fact that this is unedited is a little disturbing, but it is the juxtaposition with what follows that truly captures the moment. After a mishap, John McClane is upstairs, berating himself. “Why didn’t you save him, John? ‘Cause then you’d be dead, too,” followed by blurred mouth, and silence. The missing word, for those of unfamiliar with the film, is asshole.
A moment later, staring across the street into a lit apartment, a woman is undressing at a great distance. Though barely visible, even in HD, there is a blurred circle over her lower body. You’d think I needn’t explain what makes up the missing picture, but you’d be wrong. This is not some lurid shot removed for the sake of the children, but a barely discernible image from some fifty yards. The director edited the scene with distance and darkness, and we didn’t need a digital cloud to get the job done.
As a recap, the audience has now seen a man’s brains blown out in direct view, followed by the removal of a not-that-bad-of-a-word and the blurring of telescopic nudity. Graphic violence: check. Bad word and almost nudity: no check. This is the censor’s equivalent of nailing Capone on tax evasion.
I thought I was okay with the status quo in American media, but I’m just not sure I can accept it any longer. It’s just childish to be offended by one and so nonchalant about the other. I’m not arguing for on-screen sexual acts, but could we at least pare down the gap in the double standard? Either lessen the nudity controls or crank up the violence ones. We may need to examine our values as a society when we view a bad word as worse than an execution right before our eyes.Side note: after completing this post and doing a couple chores, I came back and caught the end of the movie and the beginning of the next, Analyze This. I loved seeing Karl get shot at the end of the former, blood squirting and body heaving, and then watching Paul Vitti (Robert De Niro) interrogate somebody with the censors on overdrive. Any De Niro mafia performance comes with its fair share of F-bombs, and the absence of his catch word makes for high comedy, especially when their removal comes immediately after a brutal killing.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Cultural Arrogance
I had a conversation/debate with a family friend the other night when the concept of cultural superiority came up. Now the politically correct answer is all cultures are equal, but we know this isn't true. I believe all people all created equal, but by this belief I must exclaim that not all cultures are so, as many groups do not recognize this right.
When I say our culture, I mean the greater American Culture, the macroculture of our nation, if you will. I never claimed our culture was the best, simply that it was superior to many. She disagreed, arguing no culture was superior to any other.
She then went on to argue that many women take great security in the burka, and that we have no place to assist a culture in getting rid of it. She then defended monarchies, and said we had no right to suggest democracy was superior. She stated a free press was not necessarily better than a government controlled one.
I am not kidding.
I said ours was superior; she said that was arrogant. I said fine, and superior. No, just arrogant.
I no longer respect the opinions of this individual. I mean it: her thoughts are trash to me, and I'll waste no time giving them time or energy. The First Amendment is the line in the sand. If we stand for, fight for, die for anything it should be the rights of speech, religion, and the press. We can debate much of the rest; bearing arms, wiretapping, torture, presumption of innocence, abortion, the death penalty; I can find arguments for both sides of any of these topics off the top of my head. Some things are simply facts, one-dimensional truths.
Our culture is better than one where a woman raped in a mall is the offender for being in public alone. Period. Voting for office is better than having someone born king or queen, lord until death. Period. Guaranteeing an individual the right to select their own faith, or none at all, is better than forcing a religion upon the masses on pain of death. How can a nation claim to have its population be of a certain religion if the people have only one choice? If all are a faith by force, then none are that faith by choice.
How naive can an individual be? Is this the level of idiocy people have devolved to? I don't even have to tell you to which party this person belonged. Other members of this group should be embarrassed, the same way I am by the bigots in my party.
I'm not saying American culture is better than French culture. Nor do I look down upon the Germans, the Italians, the Brits or any other group that stands for freedom and democracy. I don't know who has the best culture in the free world, if any one nation does. But I don't have to choose, because I have the choice to enjoy them all.
You see, what it comes down to is I hold these truths to be self-evident. I believe every human being is entitled to certain, inalienable rights. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. The right to be free from oppression. These are not just words. They are the heart and soul of what is right in this twisted, violent little world of ours. They are all we can agree on, what we must agree on.
When I say our culture, I mean the greater American Culture, the macroculture of our nation, if you will. I never claimed our culture was the best, simply that it was superior to many. She disagreed, arguing no culture was superior to any other.
She then went on to argue that many women take great security in the burka, and that we have no place to assist a culture in getting rid of it. She then defended monarchies, and said we had no right to suggest democracy was superior. She stated a free press was not necessarily better than a government controlled one.
I am not kidding.
I said ours was superior; she said that was arrogant. I said fine, and superior. No, just arrogant.
I no longer respect the opinions of this individual. I mean it: her thoughts are trash to me, and I'll waste no time giving them time or energy. The First Amendment is the line in the sand. If we stand for, fight for, die for anything it should be the rights of speech, religion, and the press. We can debate much of the rest; bearing arms, wiretapping, torture, presumption of innocence, abortion, the death penalty; I can find arguments for both sides of any of these topics off the top of my head. Some things are simply facts, one-dimensional truths.
Our culture is better than one where a woman raped in a mall is the offender for being in public alone. Period. Voting for office is better than having someone born king or queen, lord until death. Period. Guaranteeing an individual the right to select their own faith, or none at all, is better than forcing a religion upon the masses on pain of death. How can a nation claim to have its population be of a certain religion if the people have only one choice? If all are a faith by force, then none are that faith by choice.
How naive can an individual be? Is this the level of idiocy people have devolved to? I don't even have to tell you to which party this person belonged. Other members of this group should be embarrassed, the same way I am by the bigots in my party.
I'm not saying American culture is better than French culture. Nor do I look down upon the Germans, the Italians, the Brits or any other group that stands for freedom and democracy. I don't know who has the best culture in the free world, if any one nation does. But I don't have to choose, because I have the choice to enjoy them all.
You see, what it comes down to is I hold these truths to be self-evident. I believe every human being is entitled to certain, inalienable rights. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. The right to be free from oppression. These are not just words. They are the heart and soul of what is right in this twisted, violent little world of ours. They are all we can agree on, what we must agree on.
Friday, May 30, 2008
The Patriots
No, not the football team, I mean the real deal. The men, and, to be fair, the women, who carved these United States. Not the land, the borders, or the money, but rather the ideas. Or should I say ideals? For rather than throwing off the yoke of an empire, it was these that made the American Revolution truly revolutionary.
I just finished David McCullough’s masterpiece John Adams. No words I put to paper here could ever do it justice. The book is easily one of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced. What happened over the centuries that killed whatever it was that fueled these great individuals? In addition to the titular character, we have Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, and, the most awesome of them all, George Washington. Do we have anybody who could even hold a candle to any of these men today?
In addition to the incredible story of an amazing man, John Adams is, at its heart, a love story. The incredible relationship he had with his wife, Abigail, in inspiring. His complete intellectual and emotional equal, she was always his best friend and most trusted adviser. McCullough's ability to capture this love, and its importance to the man who wrote what became the precursor to our Constitution, is masterful.
I’ve always been a glutton for the American Revolution, and this quenched my thirst for it in a way no near-starved man could ever appreciate. At the same time, it rekindled the fire for more. I can’t help but think of the copy of 1776, also by McCullough, sitting on the bookshelf in my spare bedroom. Can a mind salivate? I say yes.
I just finished David McCullough’s masterpiece John Adams. No words I put to paper here could ever do it justice. The book is easily one of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced. What happened over the centuries that killed whatever it was that fueled these great individuals? In addition to the titular character, we have Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, and, the most awesome of them all, George Washington. Do we have anybody who could even hold a candle to any of these men today?
In addition to the incredible story of an amazing man, John Adams is, at its heart, a love story. The incredible relationship he had with his wife, Abigail, in inspiring. His complete intellectual and emotional equal, she was always his best friend and most trusted adviser. McCullough's ability to capture this love, and its importance to the man who wrote what became the precursor to our Constitution, is masterful.
I’ve always been a glutton for the American Revolution, and this quenched my thirst for it in a way no near-starved man could ever appreciate. At the same time, it rekindled the fire for more. I can’t help but think of the copy of 1776, also by McCullough, sitting on the bookshelf in my spare bedroom. Can a mind salivate? I say yes.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Election 08: The Main Event
Let me tell you right out of the gate: I'm excited for this election. I'm a McCain fan. Big time. Absolutely love the guy, and I'll consider it an honor to vote for him. He is one of the three men on my short list for top choices for president, behind only Colin Powell and the governor of California. I know it's not possible-yet-but that could change. After all, he's Arnold, what's to stop him? Back to the topic at hand
Let's be honest though, this campaign isn't about John McCain. A qualified, old, white male veteran is hardly a novel concept for the highest office in the land. Hopefully McCain will win, but he might not. So, in the absolute worst possible situation (i.e. the other party wins) America gets it's first black president, which is also a good thing. I think we'll end up being okay either way.
I don't want Obama for president, but I have to hand it to him. Hillary had every advantage coming into this, and he took it straight to her. She had the money, the infrastructure, the connections. You name, she had it. And he beat her in delegates, states, and the popular vote. Every way you can look at keeping score, he took it to her.
I have a friend working on her campaign, and back in September she was telling me that only McCain would even have a shot against her. Talk about overlooking an opponent. Hillary Clinton came into this election clearly showing the inevitability card, and Obama showed her why they play the games in the first place. Hats off to Mr. Obama. He earned the Democratic nomination. Now it's time for the main event. The Viet Cong couldn't stop McCain, and they were allowed to torture him. We'll see what the kid can do.
Let's be honest though, this campaign isn't about John McCain. A qualified, old, white male veteran is hardly a novel concept for the highest office in the land. Hopefully McCain will win, but he might not. So, in the absolute worst possible situation (i.e. the other party wins) America gets it's first black president, which is also a good thing. I think we'll end up being okay either way.
I don't want Obama for president, but I have to hand it to him. Hillary had every advantage coming into this, and he took it straight to her. She had the money, the infrastructure, the connections. You name, she had it. And he beat her in delegates, states, and the popular vote. Every way you can look at keeping score, he took it to her.
I have a friend working on her campaign, and back in September she was telling me that only McCain would even have a shot against her. Talk about overlooking an opponent. Hillary Clinton came into this election clearly showing the inevitability card, and Obama showed her why they play the games in the first place. Hats off to Mr. Obama. He earned the Democratic nomination. Now it's time for the main event. The Viet Cong couldn't stop McCain, and they were allowed to torture him. We'll see what the kid can do.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
European gas prices
I received this at work. It contains some recent figures on where gas prices are in a few European nations and compares them to what we are paying here in the States. $3.70 per gallon (where I live) is not a lot of fun, but this does help put it in perspective.
U.S. Department of Energy Retail Gas Prices by Country (Table)
2008-04-10 15:59 (New York)
By Terry Barrett
April 10 (Bloomberg) -- The following table provides changes in the retail price per gallon of premium gasoline by country, according to the U.S. Department of Energy.
The average price in the following six European countries is $8.37 per gallon, 135.9 percent more than the United States.
===============================================================
----------April 7 (Diff.)
----------2008 (from US)
===============================================================
Belgium $8.44 ($4.89)
France $8.15 ($4.60)
Germany $8.22 ($4.67)
Italy $8.11 ($4.56)
Netherlands $9.24 ($5.69)
U.K. $8.08 ($4.53)
U.S. $3.55 (n/a )
===============================================================
NOTE: Prices include taxes.
SOURCE: U.S. Department of Energy {DOE}
U.S. Department of Energy Retail Gas Prices by Country (Table)
2008-04-10 15:59 (New York)
By Terry Barrett
April 10 (Bloomberg) -- The following table provides changes in the retail price per gallon of premium gasoline by country, according to the U.S. Department of Energy.
The average price in the following six European countries is $8.37 per gallon, 135.9 percent more than the United States.
===============================================================
----------April 7 (Diff.)
----------2008 (from US)
===============================================================
Belgium $8.44 ($4.89)
France $8.15 ($4.60)
Germany $8.22 ($4.67)
Italy $8.11 ($4.56)
Netherlands $9.24 ($5.69)
U.K. $8.08 ($4.53)
U.S. $3.55 (n/a )
===============================================================
NOTE: Prices include taxes.
SOURCE: U.S. Department of Energy {DOE
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Dance of the Spider
The epitome of a martial artist, he enter the arena. High cheekbones underline challenging eyes, daring any man who would test his mettle. Gifted physically and mentally, he approaches the ring, every step deliberate yet smooth. The agility and the confidence, every muscle efficient and trained. Graceful as a dancer, Anderson Silva enters the cage, his Octagon, the web of the Spider.
And here is where the artist goes to work. Each jab and kick the stroke of a brush, trained at the Chute Boxe Academy. Swift and smooth as bullets they fly, perfected over countless hours of training, his strikes find their marks with unparalleled consistency. Long limbs and flawless technique make him impossible to out strike. Ask iron-jawed, hammer-fisted Dan Henderson.
But to call Silva a striker would be to designate Leonardo da Vinci a mere painter, for inside with the Spider, it only gets worse. His guard is an impossible web, entangled by a black belt in Brazilian Jujitsu bestowed upon him by the Minotauro himself. With a long torso for his height, even at 6'2'', side control is a mile away for opposing middleweights, ground and pound a frivolous dream. No battle can be won when the goal is a stalemate, yet on the mat with Silva, there is little hope of victory. Rich Franklin learned this. Twice.
Franklin was lucky, however, for he got to lose on the ground. It is on the feet, in close, where even God abandons those who stand against Silva. The clinch of the Spider is the omega, an event horizon from which nothing escapes. It is where razor blade elbows and sledgehammer knees fall without mercy, cutting, battering, and breaking both the body and the will.
A Renaissance man, this artist works with every medium of mixed martial arts, and each masterpiece is unique unto itself. Regardless of how it begins, the end is always the same: hands held high, a shining belt around his waste, and the blood of his adversary staining the mat. Oil on canvas. In the web of the Spider.
And here is where the artist goes to work. Each jab and kick the stroke of a brush, trained at the Chute Boxe Academy. Swift and smooth as bullets they fly, perfected over countless hours of training, his strikes find their marks with unparalleled consistency. Long limbs and flawless technique make him impossible to out strike. Ask iron-jawed, hammer-fisted Dan Henderson.
But to call Silva a striker would be to designate Leonardo da Vinci a mere painter, for inside with the Spider, it only gets worse. His guard is an impossible web, entangled by a black belt in Brazilian Jujitsu bestowed upon him by the Minotauro himself. With a long torso for his height, even at 6'2'', side control is a mile away for opposing middleweights, ground and pound a frivolous dream. No battle can be won when the goal is a stalemate, yet on the mat with Silva, there is little hope of victory. Rich Franklin learned this. Twice.
Franklin was lucky, however, for he got to lose on the ground. It is on the feet, in close, where even God abandons those who stand against Silva. The clinch of the Spider is the omega, an event horizon from which nothing escapes. It is where razor blade elbows and sledgehammer knees fall without mercy, cutting, battering, and breaking both the body and the will.
A Renaissance man, this artist works with every medium of mixed martial arts, and each masterpiece is unique unto itself. Regardless of how it begins, the end is always the same: hands held high, a shining belt around his waste, and the blood of his adversary staining the mat. Oil on canvas. In the web of the Spider.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Why Fear Fedor
(please note, I wrote this back in September 07. It appeared on a few fighting and sports websites. I'm just moving it here because I love this piece.)
Why Fear Fedor? That question is on the minds of many UFC fans, particularly those who new to the sport of mixed martial arts, the ones who call all of it “ultimate fighting.” After all, lets be honest, he doesn’t look like much.
His body is nothing special. He’s big, and strong, but so are dozens of other fighters and millions of other men. He doesn’t have the hard, cut muscles of the allegedly steroid enhanced Sean Sherk. He lacks the streamlined athleticism of “Spider” Silva. His form pales in comparison to the Greco-Roman god physique that belongs to Cheick Kongo.
But the little things give him away, as he is built to be a fighter. Freakishly broad shoulders and a massive ribcage make him tough to hold down and impossible to wrap up, limiting the abilities of the few superior grapplers. Long arms allow him to ground and pound with jaw dropping effectiveness, even from his feet, making obsolete the guards of even the tallest adversaries. His bulging muscles may not inspire fear with vein-popping tightness, but they do so with their effectiveness. Forged with the unbalanced weights Fedor built himself when he lacked access to others, their physical power leaves blood on the mat and devastation in their wake.
In a perfect match with his body, his face doesn’t scare either. Starting at the top, his hair is perfectly normal. No Iceman inspired faux-hawk, no HeadBlade smooth standard fighters scalp; just short brown hair. Above his protruding brow, a big forehead announces a receding hairline, adding to the façade of mortality. A lack of high cheekbones brings roundness to his face, an effect further emphasized by a strong, but rounded jaw line, all built around a large, bulbous nose.
With a couple small changes his face could belong to Santa Claus. The soft, even friendly features meet around the true key to understanding Fedor Emelianenko: his eyes. They are not like the eyes of other fighters. They aren’t the angry, burning coals of Chuck Liddell or Ken Shamrock, declaring excess anger expelled in the ring. They aren’t the hard, unforgiving obsidian blades of Rampage or Wanderlei, spilling secrets about dangerous childhoods. They certainly aren’t the intelligent, cunning eyes of Dan Henderson or Tito Ortiz, warning against brains mixed with brawn. They’re not even the hollow, insane sockets of Monson or Kongo, declaring the darkness within. They are worse.
The eyes of Fedor are dead, amoral, and soulless. Under heavy lids they gaze at the world, lacking wonder, emotion, or life. It is as though he sees everything around him through a screen, leaving the universe blurry, detached, and unimportant. Kill a man or a fly, crush a skull or a can, it matters not. It is said the eyes are windows to a man’s soul, so what lies within Fedor Emelianenko?
If the apocalypse is real, I bring you your Death. Whether he is shattering a body with bone-jarring punches, or crushing the air from lungs with the ease of an anaconda, he seems to feel nothing. When Fedor was born, God took his hammer and his chisel and made a man to end other men. If indeed it was God at all.
Why Fear Fedor? That question is on the minds of many UFC fans, particularly those who new to the sport of mixed martial arts, the ones who call all of it “ultimate fighting.” After all, lets be honest, he doesn’t look like much.
His body is nothing special. He’s big, and strong, but so are dozens of other fighters and millions of other men. He doesn’t have the hard, cut muscles of the allegedly steroid enhanced Sean Sherk. He lacks the streamlined athleticism of “Spider” Silva. His form pales in comparison to the Greco-Roman god physique that belongs to Cheick Kongo.
But the little things give him away, as he is built to be a fighter. Freakishly broad shoulders and a massive ribcage make him tough to hold down and impossible to wrap up, limiting the abilities of the few superior grapplers. Long arms allow him to ground and pound with jaw dropping effectiveness, even from his feet, making obsolete the guards of even the tallest adversaries. His bulging muscles may not inspire fear with vein-popping tightness, but they do so with their effectiveness. Forged with the unbalanced weights Fedor built himself when he lacked access to others, their physical power leaves blood on the mat and devastation in their wake.
In a perfect match with his body, his face doesn’t scare either. Starting at the top, his hair is perfectly normal. No Iceman inspired faux-hawk, no HeadBlade smooth standard fighters scalp; just short brown hair. Above his protruding brow, a big forehead announces a receding hairline, adding to the façade of mortality. A lack of high cheekbones brings roundness to his face, an effect further emphasized by a strong, but rounded jaw line, all built around a large, bulbous nose.
With a couple small changes his face could belong to Santa Claus. The soft, even friendly features meet around the true key to understanding Fedor Emelianenko: his eyes. They are not like the eyes of other fighters. They aren’t the angry, burning coals of Chuck Liddell or Ken Shamrock, declaring excess anger expelled in the ring. They aren’t the hard, unforgiving obsidian blades of Rampage or Wanderlei, spilling secrets about dangerous childhoods. They certainly aren’t the intelligent, cunning eyes of Dan Henderson or Tito Ortiz, warning against brains mixed with brawn. They’re not even the hollow, insane sockets of Monson or Kongo, declaring the darkness within. They are worse.
The eyes of Fedor are dead, amoral, and soulless. Under heavy lids they gaze at the world, lacking wonder, emotion, or life. It is as though he sees everything around him through a screen, leaving the universe blurry, detached, and unimportant. Kill a man or a fly, crush a skull or a can, it matters not. It is said the eyes are windows to a man’s soul, so what lies within Fedor Emelianenko?
If the apocalypse is real, I bring you your Death. Whether he is shattering a body with bone-jarring punches, or crushing the air from lungs with the ease of an anaconda, he seems to feel nothing. When Fedor was born, God took his hammer and his chisel and made a man to end other men. If indeed it was God at all.
Perspective
A friend of mine wrote on the Iraq War, and compared it to the great conflicts of the past. Honestly, I got angry. Here's a rebuke to those who think the world is in a bad place right now.
Around 20 million people died in the first World War, and 60 million in the second. With this war having cost us over 3,000 Americans and 150,000 Iraqis, totaled from both sides and civilians, we are looking at a lot of blood. But to compare this to wars of the past is just ignorant.
Our arrogance when viewing our times is just outrageous. Our sense of history is childish. We think we know war, and suffering, and that our world is so bad right now. And those who saw the horrors of the Third Reich and Stalin's KGB spin in their graves.
We have genocides right now, in Africa in particular. And this is terrible, and a cowardly UN labels them "ethnic cleansings" so it can defy one of its founding principles and not intervene. And this is shameful. But we do not know genocide, we don't understand Holocaust. 6 million dead Jews. No reason beside their religion. 11 million dead Russians, rotting for not standing by Stalin.
We have war right now, and all war is tragedy. But we do not know war. Nearly half of a generation of Europe's men were killed in The Great War. We lost over 10,000 men in one morning at D-Day in a conflict only one generation later. Our war in Iraq pales next to Vietnam, which in turn pales next to the World Wars.
We have rights being infringed upon in many parts of the world. China comes to mind. But those prisoners aren't seeing their wives raped and children murdered in front of them. The ash of their bodies isn't falling on an entire continent. There is no excuse for their mistreatment, but we are not witnessing one of history's grave moments.
We have racism in America, ubiquitous prejudice, I would argue. But we aren't seeing 6 year-olds knocked down by fire hoses. We have far to go, but we have come far, as well.
Some starve today, and there is no excuse for this, but Norman Borlaug and others revolutionized agriculture, and the man is credited with saving one billion lives. That's one with nine zeros, around three times the American population. The vast majority of poor Americans are overweight, as in the opposite of starving. This isn't the case everywhere, the but the world now has more overweight people than underweight ones. That is an accomplishment never reached before the last few years.
One of my dearest friends recently confessed to me how he felt that the world was so hopeless as of late, and it was all I could do to quietly give him a reality check. I wanted to yell. I've been blessed enough to tour Dachau with a man who was an inmate there. I've seen horror and loss in his eyes and words that I could never comprehend.
Do not dare to preach to me about the sorrows of today unless you know about yesterday. "We are dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants," and we have paper cuts we compare to beheadings. To all those who see the problems in our world, please, continue to try and bring change. To those who believe our world today to be so bad, grow up. Read a book.
Around 20 million people died in the first World War, and 60 million in the second. With this war having cost us over 3,000 Americans and 150,000 Iraqis, totaled from both sides and civilians, we are looking at a lot of blood. But to compare this to wars of the past is just ignorant.
Our arrogance when viewing our times is just outrageous. Our sense of history is childish. We think we know war, and suffering, and that our world is so bad right now. And those who saw the horrors of the Third Reich and Stalin's KGB spin in their graves.
We have genocides right now, in Africa in particular. And this is terrible, and a cowardly UN labels them "ethnic cleansings" so it can defy one of its founding principles and not intervene. And this is shameful. But we do not know genocide, we don't understand Holocaust. 6 million dead Jews. No reason beside their religion. 11 million dead Russians, rotting for not standing by Stalin.
We have war right now, and all war is tragedy. But we do not know war. Nearly half of a generation of Europe's men were killed in The Great War. We lost over 10,000 men in one morning at D-Day in a conflict only one generation later. Our war in Iraq pales next to Vietnam, which in turn pales next to the World Wars.
We have rights being infringed upon in many parts of the world. China comes to mind. But those prisoners aren't seeing their wives raped and children murdered in front of them. The ash of their bodies isn't falling on an entire continent. There is no excuse for their mistreatment, but we are not witnessing one of history's grave moments.
We have racism in America, ubiquitous prejudice, I would argue. But we aren't seeing 6 year-olds knocked down by fire hoses. We have far to go, but we have come far, as well.
Some starve today, and there is no excuse for this, but Norman Borlaug and others revolutionized agriculture, and the man is credited with saving one billion lives. That's one with nine zeros, around three times the American population. The vast majority of poor Americans are overweight, as in the opposite of starving. This isn't the case everywhere, the but the world now has more overweight people than underweight ones. That is an accomplishment never reached before the last few years.
One of my dearest friends recently confessed to me how he felt that the world was so hopeless as of late, and it was all I could do to quietly give him a reality check. I wanted to yell. I've been blessed enough to tour Dachau with a man who was an inmate there. I've seen horror and loss in his eyes and words that I could never comprehend.
Do not dare to preach to me about the sorrows of today unless you know about yesterday. "We are dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants," and we have paper cuts we compare to beheadings. To all those who see the problems in our world, please, continue to try and bring change. To those who believe our world today to be so bad, grow up. Read a book.
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