So, anyway. Here’s a thing.

—

He stared ahead, trying to make sense of the blank, dull wall in front of him. He reached out and touched it tentatively, as if it might be intensely hot or electrified. But it was neither. It was quite nothing, in fact, aside from roughly the same temperature as the room. The wall was smooth and bare and held no evidence as to the fact he’d just come through it.

Only moments ago he’d been racing through the palace at the top of the mountain, the artifact intended to save the entire kingdom held under his arm with precious care. He had placed it onto the Altar of Hope, creating a brilliant explosion of color and light, eradicating the misshapen army of the Underneath once and for all. But that was moments ago.

Now he was on his bedroom floor, surprisingly dry (it had been raining in the palace, you see) and no longer smelling like ammonia from the blood of the fearcats he’d slain. He was just…there. And confused.

He tried to stand up, but his legs wobbled. He braced himself on the bed, remembering doing very much the same some time ago when the Randarg had floored him with its great hammer (before he realized the Randarg’s weakness behind its ears and dispatched it, naturally). But here the walls didn’t glow with the light of a million luminescent beetles. Here the walls were painted off-white and didn’t seem to writhe when stared at. Here the walls were just walls.

Finally on his feet, he stood in the center of the room, taking it in. It all felt incorrectly normal. He was sure he’d been in the kingdom for years of planning and fighting and saving the world. But everything here, in what should feel like home, seemed exactly the same as when he’d left. He picked up the cell phone he’d left on his nightstand and saw the charge was full and he’d missed no calls. He tossed it gently onto the bed as he’d so recently tossed the small Fair Duchess down from the Little Towers to her freedom waiting below. He had, right?

After a quick walkthrough of his unimpressive apartment, he returned to the wall he had crawled through as he slipped out before the celebrations could begin and he was to be named king. He dropped to his knees and pressed his ear against it, waiting to hear the whoops and hollers of freedom that mark the death of oppression. He heard the washer and dryer running in the apartment next door.

Only briefly did the thought come to him that perhaps he’d made it all up. That his overtaxed brain had simply disengaged for a while and he’d either hallucinated or dreamed everything. But he looked at his hands, which felt stronger. He felt prouder, more accomplished. The feel of the Steady Armor on his back and the grip of the Darksword burning his hands before his pure intentions cooled its heat. He remembered it all. Every victory, every loss. He remembered his tears soaking into his coarse beard scruff when the queen fell to her death and the anger that followed. He could recall everything. What it was, how it felt and how each step forward had changed him.

But the wall didn’t remember. Or his clothes. Or the fact he no longer had any beard scruff to speak of. He stood in the middle of his adventureless room for a long time, listening and waiting. But all he heard was the sound of the air conditioning unit clicking on and off. And he was apparently waiting for nothing.

He laid himself across his bed, on top of the covers. Staring at the ceiling (and not the multicolored stars and near planets of the kingdom), he realized he had truly returned. That everything had certainly happened and that all he’d felt and learned and suffered was as true as anything can be. And yet somehow it hadn’t. He had returned from nowhere stronger and better and smarter and sadder.

Again he regarded the ceiling. Folding his hands across his chest, he quietly spoke to it.

“So what happens now?”

—

b

A friend was having an art show at a local bistro, so I attended to be supportive, have a couple drinks and for lack of anything else to do. While there, I ran into Diana, a former coworker from my days working at Borders. I mentioned my sob-story about having been fired and she (amusingly tipsy from martinis) told me about National Hotline Services, her current employer. Saying they were looking for part-time employees, she gave me the number and had me call. I did and was granted an interview.

I went to 620 Kenmore Avenue for the first time later that week. It’s an unimpressive brick building with office space and one apartment on the ground floor and four apartments above. The office was split, having housed a dentist on one side and psychiatrists’ office on the other (I think). There’s an alley to the side and a small five-car parking lot around back. Forgettable at first glance, you can pass by without really ever noticing it. I even had trouble finding it when I went there, not sure that was it. It didn’t look like an office. There wasn’t even an outside sign explaining its purpose. It was just there.

I had a very bizarre interview with Diana and another employee named Mike McKenna. I say it was bizarre because the interview had no higher-ups. Diana did HR, but the bosses didn’t deem an interview for part-time answering service work worth their attention. I answered their questions amusingly and honestly. When asked to name someone who inspired me, I mentioned Kevin Smith as I was impressed with how he turned an idea and some credit cards into a movie-maker’s dream empire. This was a good move as McKenna, a New Jersian, was also a Kevin Smith fan. We talked for a while, joked for a while and in the end I had the job. I was essentially an operator for the answering service part of the business a few hours a week.

It wasn’t long before I moved on to full-time work at NHS. I upgraded to full-time operator for both corporate compliance hotline calls and the answering service. Eventually I pointed out that the posters could use some work. I fired up Photoshop and came up with something new. My importance was cemented. Over the next few years, I found myself creating new roles for myself in the company. I worked on new posters, helped build an all-new website, made friends. I was present for site visits with clients, meetings with the owner/president and made myself important to NHS. A big part of it. I went every day to 620 Kenmore Avenue feeling more and more in touch with it every day as it became more and more a part of my life. A life that was changing every year.

During the next few years, I saw the birth of my son, the death of my father and the sad fade of my marriage. When the wife and I decided things wouldn’t work out, I moved into one of the apartments above the office where my son lived with me every other week. The building became a literal home. At around that time, David moved in to one of the apartments in the building as well. We spent some time being confused and crazy and enjoying a little to much what it was like to be free of obligations and being tied down. Eventually I began dating one of the other tenants and David met Meggie, whom he would later marry and create the adorable Lex.

My relationship failed and I moved to an apartment a few blocks away for the sake of distance. I still found myself at the building for work and spending time with David and Meggie, who moved into my old apartment. The old relationship was revived and failed again, so I was there from time to time for that. My new place never felt like home. In the two years I wound up being there, I never finished unpacking. It was uncomfortable and didn’t fit. But it was what I needed at the time.

Even after I left NHS, I still had reasons to be at the building. As I said, David and Meggie still lived there. I still visited the office with a good deal of regularity as my friends continued to work there. I began dating a former co-worker who also eventually moved into the building. Around the middle of 2009, it was announced that NHS’s current owners had sold the company and would be shutting down the office at 620 Kenmore Avenue. I was working in northern VA then and spending much less time around the building. But I still made a point to visit. After all, David, Meggie and my girlfriend still lived there. When I started working in town again at the end of 2009, I was able to spend a little more time there with everyone. That building, while empty in the office, was still full of my life as it had been for almost 8 years.

David and Meggie are moving out at the end of the month. And the girlfriend doesn’t want to be the girlfriend anymore. So it occurred to me yesterday that after so long, I would no longer have a reason to go to 620 Kenmore Avenue when June rolls around.

I moved around a lot as a kid, so I never grew attachments to places. There’s no one place I can point to and say “That was my childhood home. That’s where I grew up.” When I help David and Meggie move in a few weeks and walk away from that building for what may well be the last time, it will weigh on me. But it’s a small town. I’ll go by there from time to time, probably on one of the long walks I find myself taking of late. And down the road I’ll be able to point to that building and say “That was the home of my young adulthood. As much as I have, I grew up there.”

I first ventured into the world of Twitter in early February 2007. While I can no longer access those initial, tentative tweets, I assume they were insightful statements about the world around us and current events, not just an informal list of when I was hungry or needed to go to the bathroom.

Since that time, I’ve posted over 5,200 pieces of wisdom. I’m no math expert, but that comes out to an average of 230 posts a day for the last three years. That’s a lot of Twittery. That’s dozens of dozens of hours I’ve devoted to observations and quips and photos of ducks. String all that time together and I may well have lost an entire year of my life pecking away at my keyboard and greasing up the touchscreen on my iPhone.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that you’re welcome. There’s a lot of sacrifice involved there. In fact, I’ve more than once considered outsourcing my Twittering. I even tried it for a while, but the creepy little man I hired to follow me around tweeting my important thoughts and events mainly just typed things like “HE HAZ NO PAAAANTS” or “HEY R U LOL?”. I had to let him go. I also had to let him get slapped by my hand.

At least I’m not expected to deal with inane trending and tracking for my Twitter feed. No, I leave that up to the professionals at sites like tweetstats.com. That’s how I learn facts like how my Tweet Density is greatest around Noon on Sundays BUT NOT SATURDAYS because then I tweet the most around 6PM. I also don’t tweet much at 5 AM in general. My top words used are apparently know, thats, time, good and going. This is likely because of a six month experiment in stand-up comedy style tweets that I did, all ending in “then you know THAT’S a good time to get going.” For instance, “When you set her cat’s fur on fire, you know THAT’S a good time to get going.” That experiment went about as far as my previous real world experiment, rockets powered by actual rocks. That is to say, it didn’t go very far.

How will Twitter be viewed in the future? Will subsequent generations view this as the beginning of an age of unprecedented access to information or the dawning of never-before-seen global self-involvement. Who cares? Listen, Twitter isn’t about yesterday or tomorrow or an hour from now or an hour ago. Twitter is about the moment and Twitter is about me, dammit. I’m not here to reply to your musings or retweet your attempts at jokes. I’m on Twitter to give you an up-to-the-very-second account of my minutiae and actions. Sandwich I just ate? Ham and cheese. Times gone to the bathroom today? 9 (back off, it was a cleansing day).

Twitter is about me, just like it is for 5 million other users.

Anywho, the point of this ramblefest is not to bore you with science. The point is to let you know that I miss you, Dear Visitor. I miss saying things to you and having you read them and chuckle or cry. I miss your comments like “OMG LAME” or “needs more laughing” or “DRAW PICTURE ON COMPUTER”. Basically, I miss your attention. I intend to win it back. So I’m going to start writing here every week with accompanying illustrations (sorely lacking from this post, but you haven’t made your intellectual attention down payment yet). Here are some pictures I drew on a whiteboard to celebrate the new year:

This is not a promise or vow or guarantee. I just want to start posting here every Monday. I hope that you will check back weekly and should I slip or stumble or entirely forget about you, I hope that you’ll forgive me and check in later in the week or four to twelve times a day until something new posts. Each week I’ll talk about something different that may or may not have anything to do with me (next week, for instance, will in theory be about Twitter, but will mostly be about me using Twitter).

Slap me up into your RSS feed reader thingy or follow my Twitter feed and I’ll let you know when the new frivolities begin. Including this, I expect to have 52 shiny little blogicles by the end of 2010. It’s nice to think that as I settle into my hover chair deep in the moon hole, I can look back and think “I did it. I really, really did it.” Then I will snicker. “Moon hole.”

b

Quick rundown of stuff that’s going on in my world:

• I started a new job with the Meals On Wheels Association of America, at which I’m a Director (full title pending). It’s very exciting and has been a great experience so far.
• I’m still coloring the Flobots webcomic, which is also a great experience. I’m having to learn new techniques and such in a hurry since it updates three times a week.
• I did some more design stuff for Tereu Tereu, a band that has a new album coming out soon. I’m not involved in the album art, but they are doing a limited run CD thing that I did the sleeve work for.

There’s probably more, but I can’t think of anything right now.

How are you? What are you up to?

b

Milestones and Political Apathy
I’ve heard a lot of nonsense this week about how people are making too big a deal about Obama being the first black president. Most of it comes from the naive viewpoint that his race is ideally irrelevant and how any progressive nation should just view him as a person and not an African-American. That’s all well and good, but blowing off a milestone of this magnitude is more a response to not wanting to deal with the sociopolitical structure of our nation.

From this point forward, since this particular die has been cast, race becomes a non-issue in politics. This doesn’t signal a perfect America or the end of racism. This isn’t a shining moment because suddenly butterflies are erupting from cotton candy cloud. But it’s important. Obama’s election is the moment in which change begins to happen, but not just the kind he built his platform around. Every child’s history book going forward will suddenly show possibility and hope. A type of equality that changes the protocol of 232 years of American politics.

I didn’t vote for Obama because he was black. And despite insistence to the contrary, most people didn’t. While I don’t agree with everything Obama stands for, I felt he was the most qualified candidate for the position and stood a better change of leading us closer to an America I’m more interested in living in. I’m glad he won on those grounds alone. For the actual campaign and election, I couldn’t care less what color he was. But now that he stands as our first black president, that should be recognized and celebrated. Obama’s election is a milestone. Pretending it’s not is apathetic and showcases a lack of understanding of the very structure of America and the struggles it has taken to even to get to this point.

That being said…

Prop 8 And Backwards Motion
I have yet to see a compelling reason for California Proposition 8, which was actually listed on the ballot as Eliminates Right of Same-Sex Couples to Marry. We have actually been through an election in which a proposition designed to eliminate rights was approved. This is horrifying, Stone Age thinking.

Step away from the actual issue for a moment. I’ll get to that shortly. Let’s look at the fact that this amendment proposal was put out to strip away a right that had already been granted. On a civil rights level, this is a social atrocity. Rights have been taken away and people were okay with it. At this point, let’s take away minority voting rights. Why not? What’s the difference? Let’s get some racial segregation going again, too. I’m sure minorities pose just as much of a threat to the organizations who backed Prop 8 as those horrible, society-threatening gays do. Rights were taken away. Rights. How does that happen in 2008? We’re never going to get the flying cars and sassy robot maids that The Jetsons promised us if we keep moving backwards.

A lot of the pressure for Prop 8 came from religious groups who feel same-sex unions threaten the sanctity of marriage and the very foundation of society (like the state of Massachusetts, which has broken down and completely stopped working since legalizing gay marriage in 2004). What it really comes down to is a threat to their way of belief and there’s a feeling that their sense of society will crash down around them if two people of the same gender marry. The ability for religious groups to back an initiative to affect state legislature is frightening. As a citizen, you may think that gay people doing their gay thing is icky or whatever, but what purpose is served by not letting them have the same basic rights as you? What’s the harm in marriage being an institution between two people, not two people of opposing genders?

I will actively and openly listen to opinions on either side of this issue. I will not accept answers that deal with the religious nature of marriage because they are irrelevant. A lot of weddings happen in churches, but you’re not married until your local government signs off on it. I will not accept answers that involve homosexuality as “wrong” or a “sin” because believe what you will…sinners get married all the time. I need a valid, rational, secular argument on the other side of this because until I get one or until this situation is resolved, I am angry and will actively seek ways to turn the tide.

Any takers?

b

David and Meggie. Mr. and Mrs. Cochran. Mr. and Mrs. Garcia. Beloved friends, family and colleagues. Everyone else. Marriage. Marriage is what brings us together today. Marriage, the blessed arrangement, that dream within a dream. We have come here to celebrate the marriage and intertwining of David and Meggie, who have fallen deeply in love and chosen to get married in our presence.

It is the belief of some that our lives and destinies are already laid out deep within us and that life itself is the process of being willing to discover the direction of our path step by step. Others believe that life is a free-wheeling free-will jamboree during which we find our own way and blaze our own trails. Some people feel that our lives are all contained within the dreams of a sleeping giant, destined to all end in a flash when his or her giant alarm clock goes off on his or her giant nightstand.

In any case, we can all agree that people, such as David and Meggie, have weddings, like this one, and enter into a marriage. Marriage itself is a nurturing matrix within which two individuals can continue to expand and develop as their singular selves. In this view, the focus is not solely on the couple and what they may undertake together, but just as much on the individuals who compose that couple and what they have to contribute through their lives, how their union serves to enlarge and develop each of them. It’s a process of striving for personal destinies, but doing so hand-in-hand.

Although this may appear on the surface to be a less romantic vision of love, it is a view that holds a relationship in the highest spiritual regard, for it has as its underlying assumption that each of us is alive for an important purpose and that marriage enhances the capacity for one to excel and succeed. Like individual Lego bricks, two come together to form what is, essentially, a larger Lego brick. That larger Lego brick becomes a vital part of the foundation of our society, which in this case could be a large castle or pirate ship. Without this two-piece, larger Lego brick, the castle or ship is smaller and less useful and more apt for crumbling. Our world is strengthened as each Lego connects to another.

David and Meggie have stretched their individual development so far that they are no longer wandering around and laboring in solitude to discover themselves. They have come upon each other in their personal quests and realized that they are incredibly and wholly in love with one another, a love that brightens their lives in ways they could never know on their own. Their love inspires and occasionally sickens those around them as it is pure and bold and undeniable. We celebrate with them their arrival at the gateway to true and conscious loving. Let us be happy for this wonderful landmark in the journey of their lives, this love that has brought them, and us, to the joyous occasion of this marriage.

---

I have known David for a third of my life, but it’s only been within the last few years that I began to spend what we can all agree is far too much time with him. It was during this period that David met Meggie, a presence in his life that would eventually clarify for him who he wanted to be as a person. Their love for one another is obvious in everything they do, be it something blatantly romantic or as simple as a conversation over dinner. I catch them looking at each other from time to time when they don’t know that I see them. All I can see on their faces is straightforward, uncompromising love. Sometimes that might devolve into a silly face or “the look”, but the foundation is always there and apparent. Their love is an encouraging example that there is a perfect match for everyone, even someone like David.

It’s an understatement to say that life has changed substantially for both David and Meggie since they met. There has been adversity, to be sure, but there are many stories about people who’ve gone through worse and come out the other side all the better for it. These stories are true.

David, you are my best friend, my writing partner, and someone for whom I would consider maybe taking a bullet. Meggie, you have become a close friend, an occasional maker of meals for me, and someone who won’t let me put my feet on your coffee table. I am honored and pleased to be here performing your ceremony. I look forward to watching the two of you charge wildly into the future together because it is said that the family of the 21st century is made up of friends and I am proud to be part of yours.

---

There is no moment without meaning, no undertaking without significance. We ask that you both, together and as your own wonderful selves, be honored and expanded by the promises you are about to make, the marriage you are about to create. And may love, the destiny above all destinies, be always in your midst, the handmaid and the master of your marriage.

---

Having been reminded once again of the deep value of the love you feel as well as the strength of your individual presences in this union, I ask of you these questions. Do you, David, choose to marry Meggie in order to provide her with a lifetime of love, respect, adoration, humor, and awesomeness and also to create with her a loving home for the rest of the days of your life? Do you, Meggie, choose to marry David in order to provide him with a lifetime of love, respect, adoration, humor, and also to create with him a loving home in which he can play video games from time to time for the rest of the days of your life?

---

David and Meggie have chosen to write their own vows, so I’m going to let them take over. (David first)

---

Rings are created solely for the purpose of being worn. On their own, their value is small no matter how high their price. Rings are made precious by our wearing them. They carry our meaning; they say who we are, where we have been, and where we are going. Worn, they become us and reflect us. These rings are a symbol of our truest essence and the bonds we have to one another. They are also very shiny, like the light with which you fill one another. They are also made of metal, which makes them hardcore and lasting, like your love. And they’re round, like love also is somehow.

You each will wear a ring on your finger as an outward expression of the way you wear each other in your hearts. These rings will remain forever, reminding you that even in solitude you are never alone. A reminder that before too long, they will clink together the next time you are able to grasp one another’s hands.

As a sign of my love
and that I am choosing
to share my whole life’s journey with you,
and of my knowing that in marrying
you I shall become much more than I am,
I give you this ring,
with the pledge
that with you
I shall become most truly myself
and offer such gifts as I have
and I am to the world

---

Now having freely chosen to continue your growth and development in your own ways while strengthened by this union, knowing that you’ve taken up the task of clearly seeing, knowing, and supporting another human being, and having honored one another with the gift of your rings, I now pronounce you husband and wife.

---

May all that you have already become, which has brought you to this day, and all you will become as a consequence of it, in the lifelong joining of your hearts and minds continue to show you your purpose. May you always be brought most beautifully and steadfastly into the presence of yourselves and of one another, and may you live long and happily fulfilling all that you are. Just remember, above all, to be excellent to one another.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. David C. Garcia

In the interest of full disclosure, I borrowed liberally from Weddings From The Heart, but heavily re-wrote the content. Most of what I took directly was structural.

There’s also a less true account of this ceremony over at These Stories Are True. Enjoy.

b

On the blue-sky morning of 8/9/08, I woke around 10:00 AM. I moved from bed to couch and watched the Olympics for a while, specifically the female fencing team sweeping the medals for the event (go girls with swords!). I thought that it would be nice to run over to Einstein’s and grab a bagel as I had no prepared food in the house and somehow the act of driving somewhere and buying breakfast felt like less work than making something. I tossed on my sunglasses and left the apartment, wallet in pocket and hunger in belly.

Before I get to the half-digested meat of the story, let me explain that I somehow live on a nice street. It’s mostly large houses populated with affluent older people, aside from my apartment building and a few shared houses across the street. It’s a generally quiet neighborhood in which, by midnight, it’s usually dead silent. This is a tree-lined street with well-cut lawns and polite people. It’s an area I was happy to move into, whether I felt like I belonged there or not. Things being such, I’ve always felt comfortable leaving my windows down a bit to ward off the heat of summer in the mornings. My car doesn’t even have locks in the front doors, so it’s constantly unlocked. Where I live, this seems reasonable, if ill-advised.

As I discovered that morning, the four inches I’d left my window rolled down was exactly the opening necessary for a wandering, drunk stranger to vomit into my car. Having emptied the contents of his/her stomach onto the passenger seat (those contents being mostly burrito ingredients), the individual decided to root through the contents of my glove compartment and put those contents on top of his/her vomit. I don’t know if this was a sloppy attempt at hiding what s/he had done or if s/he was incredibly interested in the secrets contained within my car manual and old registrations.

My first reaction was a non-reaction. I stood there and stared. To add to the sensual texture of this story, let me remind you that this was almost noon on an August day in Virginia. That means the temperature was in the 80s and this stuff (again, burrito ingredients and stranger bile) had been cooking for hours. I eventually regained some sense and sent a few text messages of bewildered almost-outrage to several members of my posse. Katie came outside to take her trash out and I invited her to look at (and inherently smell) what had happened. I don’t remember her reaction. I don’t remember anything as it exactly happened as my rage began to grow.

After realizing I didn’t have gloves at my place and not wanting to give the puker the satisfaction of watching my clean it up should s/he be lurking in the bushes, his/her clothing caked with what didn’t make it into my car, I took the car over to David’s. He has a more secluded parking lot. This, of course, meant driving several blocks with my semi-liquid passenger. This was accomplished by driving, dog-like, with my head most of the way out of the window. I’m pretty sure I also held my breath for most of the trip.

Not wanting to deal with the situation immediately, I relayed the story to several people and generally messed around for a little while. Then I spent an hour scooping the vomit of someone I don’t know out of my car, Lysol wipes and paper towels held tightly in my glove-covered hands. David watched from about 30 feet away, alternately playing his PSP, looking grossed out, and just staring. I had to unscrew parts of my car to get to some of the deeper pools. Does that gross you out? Are you getting queasy? I WAS THERE. Trust me, reading about this anonymous vomit is far less traumatizing than holding it.

In the end, it cost me $50 to get the car shampooed out. Not to mention another $30-something to buy Spaced on DVD because I needed something amazing to do as a distraction from thinking about the attack. Yes, I said attack. For me, this was the bar culture (as I assume it was a wandering bar-goer stumbling back home from further downtown) bringing the battle to my doorstep. 8/9/08 was a day that will live in infamy. 8/9/08 was my 9/11/01 on a small, even-tasteless-to-compare scale. Next move is mine, bar culture. Next move is mine.

Actually, I went to a bar last night to see traveling trubadours Tereu Tereu and made a point of not vomiting in anyone else’s car (or anywhere, for that matter). I think I’m winning the war already.

But I will never forget.

Example 4:
More on the subject of meat eaters. Have you ever heard of someone who eats just meat getting sick? Of course not. Proud men such as Macho Man Randy Savage, whose diet consists of Slim Jims and punching, never get sick, never get injured and will likely never die. As tasty as you may think vegetables are, they were never meant for consumption. Have we not learned anything from the Hippiesaurs? When Popeye first promoted spinach as being the man-maker that it is, a little piece of Nature died. Spinach was initially invented by Nature for the purpose of making ropes with which to hang imbeciles and whips to lash at hipsters. For decades, Nature held a grudge against Popeye. Hoping that the “eating spinach is cool” trend would eventually pass, Nature finally caved in 2006 and tainted every batch of the vegetable with E. Coli. While the death and illness associated with the tainted spinach pleased Nature, it was obvious that the human tendency towards lameness overrode any fear of death. So in 2007, Nature struck again, this time infecting the mushy vegetable with Salmonella. While not as theatrical as an asteroid, it seems Nature’s spoiling of vegetables seems to have been kind of effective in eliminating some of humanity’s less awesome. Just recently a new Salmonella outbreak was linked to tomatoes. Much like spinach was designed for purposes of violence, so were tomatoes. Designed to fit in the palm of one’s hand, the tomato was invented by Nature to be thrown at things that are displeasing (bad actors, people with incorrect opinions, Jehovah’s Witnesses). Tomatoes are a device of retaliation, much like a bullet. Perplexed as to why lesser humans would eat weapons like tomatoes and not bullets, Salmonella seemed to be the right way to go again.

Example 5:
The one thing that slid out of Nature’s control? Bugs. The early bugs of the Age of Dinosaurs were also carnivorous and were roughly the size of buses. More like school buses than charter buses. But not the smaller ones or the new-fangled ones that don’t look like they have engines. Old school…school…buses. Nature hates school buses. No, wait. Bugs.

The one thing that slid out of Nature’s control? Bugs. The early bugs of the Age of Dinosaurs were also carnivorous and were VERY LARGE. These bugs were intended for collecting pollen from some plants (ambush shields) on their filthy, hairy bodies and smearing it all over other plants to make them get bigger and more plentiful. But at some point, these creatures started eating the plants they were intended to be the pimps for. This was planned. The wily insects started chomping down all at once. Without meat, their bodies began to shrink and they got faster. Nature attempted to swat them, but most were too small and fast to get caught or smooshed. This scared Nature and still does. Insects are only allowed to survive because Nature is afraid of them.

So what have we all learned from this? What more do we know about Nature? Aside from the fact that Nature is a fan of meat, pina coladas and the accuracy of the T-Rex in Jurassic Park, we’ve probably learned nothing. Unless Nature just loses its mind again and heaves another space bouler at Earth, humans will continue to rave, eat vegetables and be smartasses. It’s sad but it’s true. The most dynamic of all animal species is still plagued with idiocy and lameness that can only be taken care of with an extinction level event. Oh well.

Example 1:
It is well documented that a particular group of humans called “ravers” suck. This is not just an opinion, it is a biological fact. Ravers tend to enjoy dancing erratically to distinctly annoying noise they refer to as “techno music.” Often the dancing is enhanced by drugs either crafted chemically or retreived from cow dung. Much like lesser organisms such as insects are attracted to light, so are ravers. If the planetary survival playing field was evened, humans would themselves have a hard time making it. Ravers would not stand a chance, and Nature is fully aware of this. A recent news release reported on a group of ravers in Moscow who were blinded by lasers at an illegal rave concert. Apparently, a fair amount of the ravers participating were left 80-percent blind by some of the lasers at the show. While the ravers in question may survive, they will unlikely ever dance again, and therefore stand little chance at reproducing. True story. While one may simply dismiss this as an ironic mishap, more inquisitive minds may find more depth to such a story. Is Nature perhaps engaging in more tactical operations to actively eliminate certain elements of humanity? Obviously without any sort intervention, Nature can only be assured that the human species will allow humans such as ravers to continue to exist. Did Nature tinker with the lasers at this show in an effort to hinder their ability to continue sucking? Is nature somehow engaged in tactical operations against humanity? Let’s examine further…

Example 2:
In the early days of evolution, bacteria became fish. Fish then became amphibious in order to go onto the sand and almost die. Eventually, life rose up from the oceans and moved further from the shorelines. This was a smart move. Water can lead to such annoyances as drowning and soggy sandwiches, making it a fairly natural enemy to what would eventually become man. But leave it to a certain group of humans to stay too close to the water line. In recent years, Nature has made its displeasure with this stubborn lot more than evident. Hurricane Katrina was like an eco-friendly atomic bomb to the Gulf of Mexico, telling the victims of the storm that their time precariously balanced between bayou and big ocean was at an end. In 2004, an earthquake in the Indian Ocean left approximately 255,000 inconsiderate island dwellers dead in the wake of the tsunami it caused. The ocean acted as Nature’s purifying spear, reminding humans that water is for fish, surfing dogs, and mermen and that living on an island surrounded by water is like living somewhere else surrounded by something really dangerous. Like a merry-go-round ringed with razor blades or something.

Example 3:
One of the things Nature truly abhors it is a smartass, and with a human population density now surpassing six billion, the amount of smartasses is increasing exponentially. During the Age of the Dinosaurs, the Hippiesaurs were themselves smartasses and would often sit around at cafes drinking soy lattes and poking fun at Tyrannosaurs for their minuscule arms. Millions of years later, the human equivalent of the Hippisaurus smartass still exists. What particularly interests these cocky breeds is the pestering and exploitation of nature’s golden-children – the pure bloodthirsty animal. While not well-equipped to think about anything but eating flesh, nature’s predators are equipped to viciously attack. Some scientists have argued our earth’s predators may be getting more and more ferocious. Unbeknownst to scientists, Nature is secretly encouraging earth’s carnivores to kill more and kill harder. To wit, in 2003 Roy Horn of Siegfried & Roy fame was mauled by one of his tigers during a show. Secret documents would later reveal that during the show, Roy whispered to the tiger, “I am better than you. I like vegetables.” You do the math. And what about the recent tiger attacks at the San Diego Zoo? Something tells me the smartasses who were attacked would have been left alone had they not waved their opposable thumbs at the tigers and bragged about being bipedal and omnivorous. Then there is Steve Irwin, a man whose career was founded on taunting nature’s prouder killing machines. If Steve Irwin had been taunting cows, vegans or ravers (on land, not in water), Nature may not have encouraged that stingray to uppercut Irwin’s heart with its spiky tail.

TO BE CONTINUED!