In The Big Inning...

Why do most bathrooms have little optical sensors now on the urinals, toilets, and sinks? I really can't figure it out. They have to be more expensive than the little handles. They require batteries, which need replacing and are expensive. At work, some of the urinals' sensors run out of batteries and they go "bleep bleep" for days until the batteries are replaced. The sensors never work properly, so the toilets may flush multiple times as you approach, wasting water. And then, after you're done, sometimes they don't flush. Now, maybe of them have buttons to allow you to flush them manually, but more people don't know where they are because they're usually quite tiny. Maybe they're more sanitary, because you don't have to touch the handle. (On a long, but interesting side note: I learned from an online chat transcript with Washington Post columnist Gene Weingarten that apparently, most women use their feet to flush public toilets. I never knew this. It's quite intriguing, especially because the only way for it to be discovered that most men use their hands and most women use their feet is for the topic to be mentioned between a man and a women, which can't be all that common.) At any rate, I'm willing to bet that because the sensors are so poor, a ton of water is wasted. Maybe it's worthwhile to not touch the handle (personally, I don't think it matters - most people are going to immediately go and wash their hands, regardless), but there's gotta be a better way.

Being a weather forecaster must be the easiest job in the world. There's seemingly no accountability. If you're off by a day or two, who cares? If you say it'll snow and it doesn't, no biggie. If you call for rain and it's sunny out, you're fine. I don't doubt that it's not a trivial task to forecast the weather, but it also seems that they're more often right than wrong.

You can go to weather.com and get an hourly forecast for two days from now, which really seems like false advertising to me, given that they can't even seem to get the next twelve-hour window correct. Maybe I'd be more sympathetic if there was some big disclaimer saying that most of what they're predicting is just guesswork. Often I find disclaimers annoying because they're stating the blindingly obvious. ("Coffee is hot. Do not spill on crotch.") But weather forecasters seem to speak with such authority. They say it WILL get cloudy later on, and WILL warm up to 57 degrees and WILL snow 6-10 inches. You'd think they'd be more vague if they weren't so sure. You know, claim it MIGHT get cloudy, and will warm up to the 50's, and snow somewhere between nothing and a foot.

Because they're so authoritative, I get sucked in every time. But a nice disclaimer, like, "Weather forecasting is done for the amusement of the forecaster alone, and his predictions should not be taken seriously under any circumstances" would go a long way towards easing my angst.

I'm not conjuring this anger out of thin air. This weekend, DC forecasters predicted that we'd get hit with 5-9 inches of snow (well, the forecasts kept changing, but that was the average) over the weekend, starting on Saturday morning and ending on Sunday morning. Sounded pretty serious. All sorts of events were cancelled. But here's what happened: It snowed, starting around 9 or 10 AM, and getting heavy around 1 or 2. It stopped at about 5 PM and didn't start again at all. I drove about half an hour in the snow, and it was quite nice because most of the people had been scared away from the road. It wasn't that easy to see, but it was certainly passable. Then, I headed home around 10 PM, and it was fantastic! There was no one on the roads, and most of the snow had been driven off already, and the skies were clear. Fantastic! On Sunday, there was some snow on the ground, but it was basically a normal day. I have to wonder how much revenue those forecasters cost people who preemptively cancelled their events.

The next day, was there any apology? Not that I heard. No, they were just forecasting away, as if nothing had happened. The only job I know of with less accountability is President of the United States. At any rate, I gotta run and make sure all my windows are shut: It's gonna rain tomorrow.

I guess I'm not too hip to the kids' parlance these days, and if you don't know what the title stands for, well, I hate to break it to you, but neither do you. I just recently learned that this means "Rolling on the floor, laughing my ass off", and it's commonly used in IM'ing or text messaging, when a simple "ha ha" will not suffice. I think there's some sort of humor hierarchy here, where something moderately funny warrants a "heh". Then comes "heh heh", and afterwards is "ha ha", and "ha ha ha ha". After that, you get "HAHAHAHAHAH", and then, "LMAO", which is obviously "Laughing my ass off". Beyond that is the aforementioned "ROTFLMAO", which is impressive because I've met very few typists that are nimble enough to type while actually rolling around on the floor, nevermind using one hand to keep their ass from falling off. I recommend velcro. I'm not sure if anything can top that, maybe something like "LSHICBCMBTTTY", meaning, of course, "Laughing so hard I can barely catch my breath to type this to you."

At any rate, last night I found something that was AT LEAST ROTFLMAO status, and I would like to share it with you. First of all, sometime in the past few years, reviewing merchandise on Amazon changed from something only extremely earnest or pissed off people did to a form of humor writing. Believe me, I was as shocked as you to learn this.

I actually discovered this originally on Monzy.com, a site that used to be a favorite of mine in college. Monzy is approximately my age, and seems to have stopped updating his website nearly as often as he used to while he was an undergrad. I urge you to take a look at his archives when you get a chance. At any rate, one of the most recent entries he made (11/30/03, at the bottom of the front page as of this post) talks about people posting Amazon reviews as a form of self-expression. He links to a couple of his own reviews, which are moderately amusing, and then to this site, which features a couple of Epinions reviews by "Leon". Leon is brilliant, and you really should read his reviews, while being careful to keep your ass firmly attached to your body. I even urge you to go here, Epinions, and read some more of his reviews. They are very, very entertaining.

I discovered Leon from Monzy a long time ago, and forgot about product reviews as entertainment. That was until I recently read an chat summary in the Washington Post that recommended I go to Amazon.com and look for reviews of the Family Circus books. I remember to do so, and soon found myself ROTFLMAO. Now, almost everyone I know of is familiar with the Family Circus, one of the most insipid, cloying comics ever written. I'm sure the intended audience is for people that are very much unlike me, but I still find it hard to believe that many of these people exist. If you don't believe me, or need a refresher, go to Family Circus, but I recommend you take a Pepto-Bismol first.

So, I searched on Amazon for "Bil Keane", the author, and found a bunch of his books. The reviews are fantastic, and quite subversive. In particular, I recommend this one, for starters, especially the one titled "The socio-political Rorschach of the late 20th century!". Click on the link to see even more reviews, and marvel at how long people have been doing this for. It's quite impressive - there's like a whole cult of Family Circus reviewers.

I'd love to know what other amusing reviews are out there. Please let me know if you find some. I might write some myself, if I get inspired. At any rate, the Family Circus reviews were funny, maybe "HAHAHAHAH" funny. But I can do you one better. For a similar review of a different Family Circus book, go to this Amazon page, and read the review. Pretty good. Now, make sure to lay some mats down on the floor and fasten your ass to your body, and go look at the "Customers who viewed this book also viewed" section. Check out the second entry. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Ok, time for something a bit deeper than usual. One of the things that's always amazed me is how people can convince themselves that they feel genuine emotions. In particular, people often love their parents or children because they are supposed to, not because they genuinely appreciate them. I know this may make me sound callous, but in truth, I think it actually reveals more about the sincerity of my emotions.

There are plenty of evolutionary reasons why we are supposed to love our relatives. The main reason is that they share our DNA, and since the goal of every living thing is to propagate its DNA, we should naturally want to protect and assist those that have a similar genetic code to ourselves. So, we are supposed to love our children because they share much of our genome. Same logic applies to siblings, parents, cousins, etc. It's a mutually beneficial relationship, from a purely scientific view. And those species that don't have that quality (natural love of family) would, in theory, eventually die out, due to their lack of family bonds that provide them safety and shelter. But humans have largely made evolution irrelevant by this point. And, frankly, I don't buy into the argument that something that is "natural" (like evolution, or familial love) is necessarily "good".

Where does that leave me? Well, for whatever reason, I think I was given less of that quality that makes me "automatically" love my family members. I'm certainly grateful that my parents are so generous and supportive of me, and I acknowledge how lucky I am that my family is the way it is. I definitely don't take that for granted. At the same time, they're "supposed" to do that, so how thankful to them should I really be? But I don't want you to think I don't love them. I do love my parents and my brother (and other family members, of course, but let's just keep it close for now), but less because they fulfill their familial obligation to me, and more because of who they are. They possess many fantastic qualities about them, and THAT'S what makes me love them, much more than the fact that they're related to me. Now, you might say that I'm not being objective, and you're probably right. But I contend that just by admitting that the "obligatory love" is less strong a force than the "voluntary love", that's a bit more introspective than most people care to be.

I'm not even saying that "obligatory love" is a bad thing at all - clearly, this world doesn't have enough love in it, so ultimately, whatever causes people to care for one another is a good thing. But I think that "obligatory love" can often cause people to be a bit more blind than "voluntary love", because if we love out of obligation, it clouds our judgment. (You might claim that often love clouds judgment, and you're right. But if you're not loving people for WHO they are, but rather WHAT they are (father, sister, etc.), then you're not really exercising judgment at all - you're exercising instinct.) So if your father has some glaring faults, but you love him blindly, it might cause you to value those particularly faulty traits more than you might if you exercised a little more reason. And we see this type of behavior propagated all the time - sometimes in religious beliefs, sometimes in child-raising techniques, sometimes in simple behavioral traits or social tendencies.

We unnaturally tend to value certain qualities in our families because 1) they often intentionally try to perpetuate those qualities, and 2) we often overvalue those qualities because of our innate blindness caused by obligatory love. Of course, there are other forces - children obviously learn by observation, regardless of the nature of their relationships. Sometimes I wonder what the proper balance really is. There are example of kids who go off the rails, and could use some obligatory love and respect for the parents. But I think there are plenty of other kids who blindly emulate their parents, never once questioning if the person that raised them actually possessed qualities worthy of emulation.

I can't quite nicely tie this thought up, but sometimes it does bother me - do I love my family as much as I "should"? Isn't love given freely more valuable anyways? I think back to one of the things my dad told me that his father told him (just to complete the paradox - repeating one of his values as an example of why not to accept his values by default) - "You didn't choose to be brought into this world". I think this quote underlies a deeper truth that he's trying to get at - I didn't choose to be born, and I didn't choose my parents, so they still work to earn my love and respect. And THAT is why I love them.

- I've started running on a treadmill, even though I hate running more than I hate poking myself in the left eye with a turkey baster. I usually run for about 20 minutes, and when I'm done, I seem to experience a similar effect to "Escalation Velocitation" that I mentioned in a previous post. Except instead of thinking that I should be moving forward, I think that I am moving forward. It's very strange and disorienting, especially when I'm dead tired and covered in sweat. One of these days I'm just going to topple forward, unable to keep my balance. At least the other gym patrons will be entertained. I can't be the only one who experiences this.

- Eating things out of tubes is not optimal, but sometimes you have no choice. Nabisco (I think) has this new Extreme Pudding (or some such nonsensical name - maybe it's "Totally Radical Pudding" or something), which in itself is quite a silly concept. At any rate, there's a box that has two different flavors: Oreo, and Chips Ahoy. You can buy the Oreo-flavored pudding in cups, and it's decent. But the Chips Ahoy pudding is fantastic, yet not offered in cups. What to do? Well, I end up buying a box of eight tubes of pudding, of which four are Chips Ahoy. I thoroughly enjoy those four, except that I have to suck their contents out of a tube, like some sort of plastic-tube-pudding sucker. Don't suggest that I should empty the pudding into a cup - THAT would be ridiculous.

- It may sound like a stupid game, but Super Monkey Ball is kind of like crack, both for its addictive qualities, as well as how it damages your central nervous system, or at least, so I hear. The concept is simple: You are a monkey in a big ball, that you have to control by rolling around on a platform. If you fall off the platform into oblivion, you die. If you run out of time (30 or 60 seconds), you die. If you make it into the goal, you move to the next board. Sound simplistic? Well, it is, but it's also quite compelling. I've beaten the beginner level (10 boards), and the advanced level (30 boards), but the I'm only at 15 out of 50 on the expert level. Don't worry, I shall persevere. I'm still not quite sure why it's monkeys in the balls, instead of some other animal, but maybe all will be revealed when I win the game. Probably not.

As I've beat into the ground now, I don't believe in God, and actually, I don't really believe in karma or other mysticism. Some people use the fact that there doesn't seem to be any natural justice in the world as a reason why they don't believe in God. They claim that if there was a God, he would never allow murderers to exist, or poverty to be so widespread, or Ashlee Simpson to have a job. And while I don't subscribe to that logic, I really think that these people at least start believing in a God of sports, because somehow, justice always seems to be served in that realm.

The cases are too numerous to just be coincidental. In sports, there does seem to be a higher power at work. I'll start with the Yankees, just to get them out of the way. In 1996-2000, they built their team the proper way. Most of their superstars were homegrown (Jeter, Rivera, Bernie, Pettitte, Posada), and those that weren't were solid players who filled in the gaps (Brosius, Tino, O'Neill). They were rewarded with multiple World Series. But after 2000, things went off the rails, and instead of building their team from the inside, they started spending even more exorbitant sums of money, and abandoned the path that had led them to glory. Uh-oh. Sports God frowns upon such largesse! And so they signed Mussina and then Giambi and then Sheffield and then Brown and then A-Rod and now Randy Johnson...and they haven't won since 2000. Coincidence? They've certainly had the talent. But they were beat by the Diamondbacks and Marlins and Angels and, of course, the Red Sox. Clemens and Pettitte jumped ship last year. Brown punched a wall. Giambi stopped taking steroids and dwindled to nothing. A-Rod tried to cheat in front of a national audience. (And we're not even going to talk about the curse of A-Rod - the highest paid baseball player whose arrival hurts a team, and whose departure helps a team.) I think Sports God is trying to send a message. This latest defeat in the ALCS, against the hated rival Red Sox, in the greatest postseason collapse in baseball history, was quite a punishment. But the Yankees haven't learned, trading away almost all of their prospects this offseason, and signing Wright and Pavano and Johnson. Do not toy with the Sports God, foolish ones! I wonder what ignominious fate awaits these non-believers. I think they'll be up 3 games to none against the Cubs in the World Series, up by 15 in the 9th inning 4 games in a row, and blow it. Maybe then they'll learn.

Ok, so clearly the Yanks are in the process of learning sports piety the tough way, but what about individual players? Well, for years, in football, the Cowboys were even worse than the Yankees, who by and large, have relatively moral players on their team. But the Cowboys in the 1990s, labeled "America's team" for no other reason than that they won a few times, were the biggest collection of junkies, thugs, and wife-beaters that you could find. And their ringleader was Michael Irvin, a very talented wide receiver, but also the junkiest of the junkies. He was above the law, both in Texas, and on the field. He would push off and grab and fight with the corners that were covering him, and then whenever he was called for a flag (which was rare), he would bitch and moan incessantly. (Think of him as a pioneer, given that almost all current receivers in the NFL do this now. Although, three of the best receivers ever are also the most humble and honorable men in the sport: Jerry Rice, Art Monk, and Marvin Harrison.) In the real world, the best (but certainly not the only) example of his evilness occurred when he was arrested at a hotel room, where he was found with strippers and sex toys and drug paraphernalia. Upon his arrest, he said to the officer, "Don't you know who I am?", to which the officer responded, "Yes, I do". To his credit he was probably high. Alas, the Sports God reared his (actually, come to think of it, the Sports God is most likely female) ugly head, and on October 10, 1999, Irvin broke his neck while playing a game, leaving him temporarily paralyzed. This ended his career, and while far be it from me to wish pain upon another person, Irvin's still doing fine, spouting off periodically as a commentator. Don't worry - we're pretty sure he can still obtain drugs if he wants to.

Fortunately, there are tons of more recent examples. Terrell Owens is the most obnoxious (and talented, unfortunately) receiver in the NFL, consistently berating teammates and performing ridiculous TD celebrations designed to humiliate his opponents. It was widely thought that him coming to Philadelphia would bring them the Super Bowl title they had been so close to each of the past three years. But trifle not with the Sports Goddess, T.O.! At the end of the regular season, Mr. Owens suffered an ankle injury that is going to put him out for the remainder of the playoffs. He claimed that if they make the Super Bowl he'll be back (to get all the glory without doing the work, obviously), but hopefully the Sports Goddess's wisdom will see fit to make sure that they don't even get that far.

Of course, Philadelphia faces Minnesota this week in the playoffs, and on that team they have their own miscreant, Randy Moss. Unlike Owens, who is a malevolent, calculating jerk, Moss is really just a petulant teenager trapped in the body of a lanky, skilled wide receiver. He's done his own share of stupid things, like admitting that sometimes he doesn't play his hardest, or walking off the field before the end of a game the other week, or hitting a police officer with his car. So, ideally, what will happen is that Philly will kick the crap out of Minnesota this week, and then someone (St. Louis? Atlanta?) will beat Philly in a heartbreaker in the NFC Championship the next week, for their fourth straight NFC Title Game loss.

But, really, who knows how it will all go down? Maybe Philly will make the Super Bowl this time, and T.O. will drop the game-winning catch in the end zone. Loudmouth and cheap-shot artist Warren Sapp is now languishing in Oakland. Self-centered Sammy Sosa was outshined by Mark McGwire, and the Cubs are now doing everything in their power to get rid of him. Barry Bonds's flirtation with steroids might cost him the Hall of Fame, just like Pete Rose's transgressions cost him his shot. The Sports Goddess works in mysterious ways, so just have faith.

I have a few ideas about what constitutes justifiable homicide, and I'm not afraid to admit that they're a bit outlandish. For instance, if you are one of those people that see flashing tow truck lights on the side of the road, and slow down to watch the incredibly unique sight of a slightly dented car being loaded on said truck, well, I think I should have every right to run you off the road without repercussions. Or, if you are the person in my building who refuses to wait ten minutes for me to unload my clothes from the washer, and instead takes them out with your grubby little mitts and places them in whatever random nastiness is on top of the dryer, while you place your clothes into the washer, well, I should be allowed to set fire to your apartment, even if you are inside.

As I said, I'm willing to admit that I might be alone in my extreme beliefs listed above, but there is one instance that I truly have to wonder if it would hold up in court: Tickling. If you are ticklish, you know what I mean. When I am being tickled, there is only one thought going through my head: "Do whatever it takes to stop being tickled". Normally, I can regain my composure enough to escape, but if enough time passed, I really lapse into a state that I think could reasonably be considered as mentally incapable of valuing human life. And I firmly believe that if I was being tickled for long enough, and the only way I had of ending the tickling was to kill the tickler, I would do so...and I think I should get off. I realize that I probably should at least verbally warn the tickler of his or her impending fate, but when I'm being tickled, I am often unable to speak, so you can't really blame me. I certainly think the "not guilty by reason of tickling-induced insanity" is completely legitimate.

The only time I can recall actually intentionally inflicting pain on someone while I was being tickled happened a few years ago. I had a girlfriend at the time who was as tall as I was, and strong enough that it was no trivial matter to stop her from tickling me. She persisted, and I could not escape, so I started to freak out. Somehow, the only thing I could do was kick her in the butt. I remember thinking that I didn't want to hurt her, but if she didn't stop tickling me, I would die, and that if I didn't kick her hard enough, she would continue to tickle, as her butt had a decent amount of padding. And, having almost gone out of my mind, I lost sense of proportion, and gave her a swift ass kick. I don't think it caused her to cry, but it certainly caused her to stop tickling me. And I felt bad for hurting her, but, your honor, I really believed I had no other option.

Does tickling count as assault? I think it actually would be an effective form of torture. At any rate, if I was arrested, I can only hope that the jury would have had ticklish people on it. Because they, my brethren in ticklishness, would understand.