Analog Coast

I am happy to congratulate my baby brother Boris on achieving his CMA designation.

Congratulations once more Boris!

This past week I’ve been in Toronto participating in a knowledge transfer. I was handing off my projects and learning the ropes on one much bigger one. My position with MediSolution has come to and end - I was sold along with some IP and equipment to new company. My day to day job won’t change too much - code, fix bugs, plan ahead.

Last Friday, as I was finishing up my work for the day, suddenly people encircled the cube I was in and presented me with a gigantic  card. I hadn’t even realized it, but I was with MediSolution for a decade. My hire date was September 1^st, 1998. It looks weird to type it. I have been at the same job and same company for TEN YEARS?? It doesn’t feel that way.

I guess that’s because in my head I’ve worked at 6-7 jobs. First I worked for EventWerx software, which got bought by MediSolution. During that time I was a coder/system administrator. As the project and team grew, I found myself doing more and more architecture work and supporting other developers than clients; so that would be job number 2: systems architect.

Then the company ran aground with its finances. I got a position in Toronto as web guy. Then it was the OLAP guy; KPI dashboard designer; Report Portal keeper; and now I’m going to be a half of a product at the new company. The change is upon me yet again - and it’s the same job

It just hit me that I have almost 12 years of professional software development under my belt. Cripes. I’m a dinosaur in programming world

And I still love coding. I think I chose the right career.

It has been a very long time since I updated my website. It got to a point where the text editor was very old and clunky, the blogging software was ancient and I had too much customization to make it worth upgrading to newer versions.

So I finally bit the bullet, and decided to upgrade my blogging software to something newer. I finally have a WYSIWYG editor with all the formatting niceties.

The original purpose of the website is still there - keeping my friends in touch and having a convenient place where all the party invitations are. But over the last 6 years much has changed.

Blogspot, blogger, wordpress, myspace, facebook, evite and all the other community/networking websites sprung up - and my little website stayed the same. Their implementation and execution is admittedly better what I had. I will still have all of my friends’ blogrolls here. I might even aggregate them all into one easy-to-read stream. Nah, but that is what Google Reader is for

The link to the RSS feed has changed to rss://www.analogcoast.com/feed, but there is a re-direct from the old one.

The purpose of the website is staying the same, with one small change - it’ll have more of technical posts and my analysis of upcoming technologies.

So I hope you join me on the “new” AnalogCoast.com

Shockingly, my title is a lie. This has nothing to do with investments. I simply figured as I haven’t been social lately due to being generally busy, and I’m currently bored, I’d issue forth some sort of update.So, first off, I FINALLY got my D/A at work. For those I haven’t spoken with about this, that basically means that I can now legally drive tugs and belt loaders and trucks around on the tarmacs (not the taxiways or runways…that requires a D license, AND for the operator to be radio licensed by whatever the Canadian version of the FCC is, and we never drive out there, anyway, so it’s not gonna happen). Actually, I had already been doing this anyway, since at night we don’t have a ton of people with their D/A yet, but now it’s legal and stuff, and I can actually drive stuff up to the plane. So, yeah, be frightened, and maybe keep an eye on the news…

Actually, this took a lot longer than I had thought it would. The trainers (there’s 2 of them) were tied up with new hires for a long time, running them through training classes, then there was the push to get more people de-ice trained, then I frankly jus forgot about it for awhile. So, the written test was easy. There were a few tough questions (in what order do you call various departments if such and such a thing happens, stuff like that), but quite a few were of this variety.

1. When more carts are being towed, braking distance will _______________.

a. Increase.
b. Decrease.
c. Stay the same.
d. Stop.

2. Keeping the tarmac and gate areas clear of FOD* is the responsibility of ___________________.

a. ATS employees.
b. Other ramp service companies.
c. Air crew doing walkarounds.
d. Everyone on the ramp.

*(Just to let you know what that is, FOD stands for Foreign Object Debris/Damage. In English, shit that can get sucked through an engine/run over and fuck things up).

Now, questions like this kinda make me want to track down the person who wrote the test and slap them across the face with a large piece of FOD. Seriously, you’re pretty much telling me "Hey, we think you’re a bunch of mouth breathing simpleton retards who need all the help you can get!" when you give me multiple questions like that. So, to the person who writes those tests, seriously, choke on a dick.

Now, that part of the test was good…unfortunately, there was also a map part. Considering my studying of the map had consisted of remarking that there were maps, then turning the page, this was a concern, to say the least. So, they give you a couple blank maps, and a list of things whose location you need to point to, or things to draw in, on the map. Question 1 was the GSE (Ground Service Equipment…plows, sand trucks, etc.) pad, and the ERS (Emergency Response Service) building. Easy. Then I moved on…here are the questions, and my actual response to them.

2. Write the name of each of the taxiways by their first letter.

"They have NAMES?!"

3. Draw in the sets of double amber lights where-ever they may appear on the map, indicating crossing from the apron to the taxiway.

"What the Hell are they even asking for?!"

4. Write in the location of the 3 aprons.

"THREE?! Where the Hell are the other two?!"

As you can tell, the map was an unmitigated disaster. So, yeah, not so much with the passing there. So, I actually studied the maps, and nailed that section this week. So, then it’s time for the driving test. Now, the driving test is actually misnamed…it’s more of an orientation drive, where you cruise around with a trainer, they show you important locations you may need to go to, and you don’t drive like a fucking retard (I will not prove the point of the test writers!). Not a big deal. Except, in my case, when we went to do the test drive, all the trucks were over on the International side. So, it was either put it off, or hop in a de-ice truck. I said, let’s do it.

Now, it actually wasn’t bad, but for someone who had never driven a 3-5 ton vehicle with a diesel big block, they probably would have shat themselves. (One neat feature…it has push button shifting. It is an automatic, but there is no gear lever…just buttons on the console, since the space between the seats is taken up by the de-ice control panel. Actually, a guy at work who used to drive for a moving company told me that the latest lines of semi-trucks are now coming out with the same thing…no more double clutch and massive shift lever, just a series of up and downshift buttons on the dash). So, that took a little getting used to, as did the fact it is a de-ice truck. the entire back end of this vehicle is one enormous fluid tank, so you had better corner SLOW, or that shit will start sloshing, and you’ll end up on your side (this actually happened to a Servisair truck…I dunno, I kinda figured out the "Big tank…take it slow" thing without coaching. Maybe those easy test questions ARE necessary…). Also, there is a boom with a cherry picker in front of the truck cab. So, it’s not blocking your view or anything, it’s lowered down so the picker is in front of the front grill…but it’s still distracting, because I sure as Hell am not used to having something sitting there. All in all, though, the drive went fine. The only time I was even slightly worried was when it came time to back up the truck next to the OTHER one…at that point, I was told that each of those mofos are worth about 300 thousand dollars. Yeah, thanks…that’s helpful, cochise. After a bit, I asked if he’d get out and guide me in…good thing, since I guess my back corner was about 4 inches from the boom of the other truck at that point.

Anyway, long story short, I passed with flying colors…which means I get to spend a chunk of tuesday waiting in the pass office (they aren’t slow, it’s just perpetually busy in there).

In other news, my sister and brother in law and the kids are moving to exciting Winnipeg in a little over a week (one of the reasons I’ve been somewhat incommunicado). So, early next week (Tuesday, or Monday if I get it off), I’ll be starting a…oh, let’s guess 18 hour…sojourn in a moving truck. Gadzooks, THAT should be interesting. I’m figuring between my XM and about…let’s say 30-40 CDs, I should be okay. Then, I fly back Wednesday evening, and go back to work Thursday, proving that…y’know, maybe those questions weren’t an insult.

What else…oh, I found out that the 6 month thousand dollar bonus might now be a 4 month bonus. If that’s true, I should be getting some nice money very soon (which will hep make up for my nice tax return, a large chunk of which went in to getting my goddamn car fixed…stupid struts). So, I’m beginning to look around at getting a computer for myself. I’ve already asked the Guth and the Dudas for any advice they may have (do’s/don’t’s…you need this/don’t need this…that sorta thing), but if anyone else has some tips or anything, feel free to inundate my email with them. (This, for some reason, has raised something else with me…I’m noticing that my spam folders with my Gmail account and Yahoo account are very different. In Gmail, it’s all about porn, steroids, and making my cock bigger. Yet, in Yahoo, seemingly the entire population of Burkina Faso wishes to send me millions of dollars of their share from the national treasury, making me wonder just how rich Burkina Faso is…and whether they’re looking for new residents).

For anyone who I haven’t spoken to, I have a new work schedule. It was a period of great stress at work a month ago, since nobody knew what the fuck shift they’d be on…but, thanks to (even though I’ve only been there 4 months) having some level of seniority amongst the rampies at night, and some behind the scenes politicking from my cres lead, the 3 of us ended up staying together, starting a half hour earlier, and advanced one day, so not bad. What I mean by advanced one day is that the first 2 days of my work week are now Tues-Wed, rather than Mon-Tues. So, one week I work Tuesday and Wednesday, have Thursday and Friday off, then work Saturday-Monday. the next week is reversed. And so on. So, no more Fri-Sun 3 day weekends, but it also means I get at least one weekend day off every week…so call me up if shit’g oin’ down, motherfuckers.

Anyway, that’s enough rambly babbling for now…and my Black Label Society CD just ended. I shall randomly choose a replacement…and Shooter Jennings new one has come out victorious. I will leave you now, since I have to switch out…and am pretty much out of things to say.

Yes, it’s a follow up. Actually, it’s probably going to consist of nothing more than a short update on the work situation, and then me going off, and doing some needed venting about a couple of newbs that started recently, and who I would really like to ‘accidentally’ hurl in to an engine ingestion zone while it’s spooled up. (Note : Yes, it is actually referred to as the ingestion zone. I find this morbidly hilarious. In fact, upon hearing this description during the training class, I burst in to laughter.)So, first, the update. Always start with the dry, before moving on to the meaty rageful material about the horrific physical torments you would like to visit upon fuckwits! Christ…word to the wise, do not try typing immediately after coming in from walking the dog while it’s chilly outside, unless you enjoy replacing letters your tingly fingers neglected to type the first time around. Anyway, on with the feature.

First off…the RCMP/theft situation. For those who hadn’t already heard about this whole disaster, here’s the short version. A guy at work lost his wallet out of his locker…at least he he thought he’d lost it, until it turned up a few hours later, sans the 300 or so dollars he’d had in it. (I don’t know why he had so much cash in there. Perhaps he was planning on doing some 7-11 grocery shopping after work, or he’s the middleman in a Peruvian drug smuggling operation, or maybe he felt like ponying up for a somewhat attractive call girl after too many nights with hideously scarred crack whores. I really don’t know.) Anyway, it went up the chain of command, and management went to the police, at the very least to give them legal cover should the thief start raiding luggage or something. It was SUPPOSED to result in everyone who was working that night going through an RCMP interview. I guess a few people were, and then it just sort of ended. So, I don’t know if someone confessed, or what, but it led to no interesting story, meaning you’ve just wasted as much time reading this paragraph as I wasted typing it. Ha!

Secondly…I always knew cold didn’t really affect me too badly, but I didn’t realize how little it seems to. I spent half a night working outside when it was -31, and was shocked to hear it was actually that cold. So, good to know I guess. Also, if any of you whiny bitches complains about the cold whilst spending all your fucking time indoors, I will kick you square in the testes/labia with full force. Seriously, shut up…you live in Alberta, morons, suck it up or leave.

Thirdly…I nearly set a company record in how quickly I got my Red Pass. This is very good, as it means I can now go where-ever the fuck I want/need to go, without waiting for an escort. In fact, I can now escort all those loser Yellow Passers around. HAHA! (It also means my fingerprints and retinas are now on record in the airport computers. I’m being totally serious. Next time you’re there, and you see a security door, take a look around it. Aside from a guard permanently posted there, you will see a retina scanner, and a fingerprint scanner, mounted on the wall).

And now, on to the main feature!

ATS has been hiring/training a LOT of people in the last while. 15 went through training last week, and another 15 or so are training this week. There’s a few reasons for this…they want to create de-icing crews who, when it’s needed, do nothing else, so that everyone else can concentrate on keeping planes moving. (Also, it REALLY, REALLY sucks if you’re the marshaling wing walker, and get to stand on the tarmac for 20 minutes when the wind chill is amped up, waiting for a plane to be de-iced, so that you can then do your job.) And, there really aren’t many spare people right now, which leads to chaos when a few people are ill. Suddenly, the crews that normally work together get scattered to the winds, and everyone is randomly tossed in together so that every crew has a mix of new people/experience. Anyway, enough about that.

Now, most of the newbs I’ve worked with have been really good. Even if it’s their first night, and they’re learning, they still readily hop in to do whatever needs to be done, which is all good. Basically, if you show me you have a work ethic, we really aren’t going to have too many issues. However, as must happen, there are exceptions to this quality.

First off, Exhibit Terry. Nobody seems to know when Terry was even trained…he just appeared one day in the crew ready room, wearing all his warm clothes, just sitting on the couch. His position hasn’t changed much in a week (and counting). Seriously…that is all this guy does. He doesn’t speak, leading me to believe he crossed the Cali drug cartel at some point, and they fed his tongue to a swarm of locusts. He never removes a layer, even though the heat in the crew room is cranked the fuck up. I have never seen this guy eat a single bite of food, nor take even a sip of water…and we’re talking 12 and a half hour shifts, here. There are only a few possible explanations, and since he shows no appetite for the brains of the living, he is a robot. But what a crappy robot he is. While the quality Japanese droids are bringing you sandwiches while you sit on the couch, or doing your job for you while you sit on the couch, or replacing you entirely, leaving you an unemployed shell on the couch until depression over loss of job and wife to the machine (after all, it showed DRIVE while you watched the Seibu Lions fight for the championship, fueling yourself with sake and teriyaki squid and gaining weight until your sex drive vanished…it was at this point that the wife…errr…received a lesson in the staying power of hydraulic pistons…) leads you to drive a sword cerimonially in to your own bowel, Terry is the cheap Chinese knockoff, and he does the sitting around while you work…and no doubt gives lead poisoning to any children who come too close. And perhaps he occasionally rolls over a peaceful neighboring country or two for shits and giggles (note to self…watch Terry for signs of militarism. If he makes a move for the recliner, a coalition of the willing will need to be assembled to stop his hostility. Sanctions are an ineffective option, as he seems to require nothing). It would be funny, if it wasn’t so goddamn frustrating. See, we have a crew board that tells you what flights you are working, then you keep an eye on the flight on the Arrivals screens that are everywhere. Ten to fifteen minutes beforehand, everyone assembles at the appropriate gate and gets it ready. Pretty simple. Except Terry will simply grow roots in to the couch for HOURS without moving. then, when the bosses come looking for the ‘missing member’ of a crew, he’ll come up with a lame excuse for why the crew’s been shorthanded for 3 fucking hours. Finding out where to go IS PRETTY FUCKING EASY. Hell, you don’t even need to be LITERATE…they don’t even put the full names on the board, just peoples’ initials! Are 2 letters too taxing, you retard?! There are three toed sloths looking at you, dude, spending 3 hours turning towards each other, and then muttering "Get a load of that slow motherfucker.", before turning back to point at you…which they can do, BECAUSE YOU HAVE NOT MOVED!

Terry also displays an apparent lack of any sort of self regard, which is proven by the fact he found out about the job, apparently, from his ex (who works there), named Autumn. Picture a girl who probably has a good inch or two on me (and I might not only mean in height…), and who, before coming in to work, ate a tank. You have a pretty good idea of Autumn now. She’s like a Bizarro world version of the Bionic Woman. Rather than making her "Stronger…faster…better", they made her "Uglier…Manlier…Imbued with a greater gravitational pull." You know those hot Russian chicks you see in movies, wearing a leather micro-miniskirt, and spouting lines like "You are interested in the sex, no?" in that ridiculously sexy accent, while offering to perform unbelievably filthy acts upon you for the price of a pair of decent jeans (and she’ll clean her own shit off your chest afterwards, too! In all seriousness…such things don’t appeal to me, but it would seem a woman who would not only get you off by treating your torso like a pit toilet, but then clean it all up afterwards as well, would be a dream find)? Well, Autumn is that girl’s sister Olga, the regional tractor tossing champion for three years running. Her lines would be more like "You may as well pretend you want it, you do not have any choice." before she would shatter your back to prevent escape, then have her horrible way with you as you screamed and tried to roll around enough on sharp rocks to cut your own throat. She is also very open about the fact that she really doesn’t shower all that much. THAT is a pleasant treat to share a cargo pit with, let me tell you, accentuated by the fact she follows the path of the ancient Europeans who believed that water was the realm of evil spirits, so they bathed in perfumes. Imagine a blend of 6 liters of Britney Spears’ Curious perfume, mixed with…let’s say 250 pounds…of sweat and dirty flesh, with a hint of urine (actually, come to think of it…just imagine what Britney probably smells like now). Anyway, none of this paragraph has anything to do with Terry’s work ethic (which is too slight to be registered by anything but the most sensitive of micrometers), but I think it indicates his basic level of intelligence (which is too slight to be registered by anything but the most sensitive of micrometers). Even more so, it shows off my own propensity to mock as much and as many as possible in a cruel manner. Some direct their ire on a specific target, focusing their anger in to a beam capable of penetrating steel. I prefer to wield a giant shotgun version, taking out as many fucking victims as possible at a time.

Then, we come to Elizabeth. First off…I’m not going to judge someone’s work abilities based on their looks. That being said…sweet merciful christ, gouge my eyes from my fucking head. Coming up with a description that will adequately convey the horror is going to take some work. Picture a more masculine Joe Piscopo,
but with Pete Rose’s haircut. Now, make that creature about 5 foot 2, and with eyes bulging from it’s head. (This is especially terrifying every time this troll emits one of her Black Plague coughs. Everyone in the room stops breathing for 2 reasons. 1. To avoid breathing in the spores that, like the most awful of biological weapons, will mutate humans in to something resembling it. 2. In anticipation of Elizabeth exploding, after which a celebration while be launched, her grip upon the Earth relinquished. But it doesn’t happen, and everyone exhales again, letting out a communal, but barely perceptible "ohhhhhh…"). That sort of conveys it. Every single person has had the same reaction upon being told Elizabeth’s name…

"Wait, the guy with Downs Syndrome has a girls name?"

Apparently, Elizabeth is female. Of course, this could be proven once and for all, but the mission that would have to be undertaken is simply beyond the pale of even mere consideration…oh…oh shit…I thought about it. Pardon me while I take care of a suddenly urgent need to bring up my dinner.

Better.

Elizabeth is as useful as anal warts. She’s tiny, she’s weak, she takes seemingly hours to waddle even the shortest of distances. Seriously, the other night, I got stuck escorting her from the International side of the airport over to the ATS offices (which are basically on the other side)…I felt like I was traveling in slow motion. I have never moved so slowly in my life! All the muscles in my legs were screaming "What the FUCK? Are…are we injured? No? What is going ON?! Jesus…holy…holy shit, look at that monster following us! Fuck, we should be RUNNING! Hey, BRAIN, there’s a TROLL back here, you dipshit!" Things take longer with her involved than they would if we were shorthanded. The one advantage she provides over Terry is the fact that she can be confirmed as being alive without having to check her pulse, by both her organ spitting cough from the bowels of Hell, and the fact she talks…constantly. And not in a coherent voice. No, she sounds like she was given a tongue six times too big for her mouth. It’s like she has braces and a retainer, yet doesn’t. Maybe she ate them, as, judging from her ball-ish form, one would imagine she does with everything else she has ever encountered in life.

The highlight of her time there would have to be when she stood right behind the person marshaling the plane in, and that person tripped over her. I can only imagine what was going through the pilot’s head…what is Pete Rose doing here? Why is he attacking the ground crew?

From her stupid questions, to her taking eons to accomplish anything, to her apparent inability to learn basic skills (seriously…she has been shown how to close aircraft cargo doors six times that I have been present for. It isn’t hard. Does this mistake in God’s plan know how to use a bathroom, or does it simply fill it’s pants whenever the need arises?), this beast exhibits no real reason to even exist. Perhaps a 3000th trimester abortion is the best solution. (You may have noticed a little more venom directed towards Elizabeth. That would be because she is constantly being attached to my crew. We have learned to simply give her meaningless tasks of nothingness while we actually do the work).

Anyway, I actually feel quite a bit better…needed to get that off my chest. It’s impossible for us to get away and rant about these monsters that evolution forgot, BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS TAG ALONG! Fuck, they are ALWAYS around. In the twenty or so minutes I’ve spent typing this, I have looked over my shoulder at least 5 times, just to see if they are there. Maybe now I can gird up the restraint to last a few more shifts before you all here about a ‘horrible accident’ at the airport…

Just a few musings after my first couple of shifts1. Why do people stare intently whenever ground crew are doing ANYTHING outside the plane? I’m not talking those who glance over, I mean the people who appear to have some form of rageful shellshock, gazing obsessively as we do such exciting things as…load luggage on a conveyer from a cart…or, the even more thrilling unload luggage from a conveyer in to a cart…or wave wands around whilst wing walking. And who can forget the classic shivery excitement one gains while watching another person move safety cones around. Wow! I get the chills just thinking about it now.

Now, I can understand the little kids watching…little kids are curious about everything, and are also easily distracted, which leads to conversations like "Yeah, kindergarten is fun, but I really…OH WOW, LOOK AT THAT ROCK…like a few of the kids in my class, because…GREEN CAR! GREEN CAR!…they’re always interrupting story time, and…IS THAT YOGURT IN THE FRIDGE? I WANT SOME!…" I simply do not get the adults who stare…unless of course they recognize me, and now fear for their safety, in which case…HAHA, fuck you!

2. Where in the fuck are they selling all of this hot pink luggage? Seriously, I have never seen hot pink suitcases before…NEVER! Nor would I have imagined such an abomination could exist, not in my worst nightmares. Yet, every single goddamn plane is guaranteed to contain at least 2 bags that are either bright Barbie pink, or more the Mary Kay car pink. And not little kids bags, either…regular sized suitcases. I do not understand, and I have a constant desire to find these idiots and just physically shake them until they come to their senses, or are left picking their teeth up off the floor.

3. You are going on a vacation or business trip…why in the fuck did you feel the need to pack every item that has come in to your possession over the last 13 years? Here’s a tip, jackwad…if you have to use bungie cords to hold your fucking suitcase together, you probably packed a tad heavy. Oh, and you’re a douchebag. And where the Hell did these jumbo duffel bags come from? Remember when they were considered ‘accessory’ bags? Now these things resemble the iceberg that sank the goddamn Titanic. Mere hockey bags and army duffels cower in fear before the mighty Monstor, king of all obnoxiously heavy luggage. Seriously, fuck these people. I am highly tempted to enact a policy of jacking off in these bags. the only things stopping me are the number of dickless losers who overpack, and the cold. Be glad I’m not a Viagra-poppin’ ramp worker in Ft. Lauderdale, you motherless goats!

4. There are Arrivals/Departures monitors throughout the goddamn airport…why are you asking me when your flight arrives? And asking JUST LIKE THAT, too. No flight number needed here, because everyone recognizes King Suckload, Lord of the Skies, and immediately knows what flight his pewter throne is aboard! Read a fucking screen, you lazy sack of shit. If you truly do not possess the energy to tilt your head back and look for ten seconds, frankly a bigger concern than your flight time should probably be the fact that you have died at some point. Maybe get checked out.

5. Dear loser who apparently changes his mind and decides not to board at the last moment. See, we’ve already loaded everyone’s luggage…now we have to rip the fucking cargo pit open, and find YOUR fucking bag, because YOU are a sub-crustacean form of hideous life. fuck you. Fuck your spouse. Fuck your children. Fuck your parents. Fuck your grandparents. Fuck your entire extended family. Fuck your friends. Fuck your coworkers. Fuck your neighbors. Fuck the guy who sold you that coffee. Fuck the mechanic who’s been ripping you off for 7 years. Do us all a favor, and stop breathing. And really commit to it, too…none of this "I passed out, and muscle reflex made be breathe again!" pansyass bullshit. For once in your fucking life just COMMIT already, and die. Seriously, you bought a ticket, chevcked your bags, waited for the plane, lined up at the gate…but then, we you reached the ticket agent, you decided "Nope, not this time. Cancel that ticket and give me back my stuff, please." Are you retarded? I could have sympathy for that, at least, but I doubt there are that many retarded people just messing around in airports and spending money on tickets just to screw with people, or to perform in some bizarre Retard Olympics.

Anyway, it’s late, I’m tired, and I need sleep. I probably could go on, but that’ll do.

So now it’s my turn to spout off. Not because I have any special insights but because, dammit, one person contributing to a collaborative website makes me cry. And dammit, this rant doesn’t belong on "In The Now".

So there are fires in San Diego. That’s bad. People are being evacuated. A member of my development team have been forced to move out of their homes and now have no idea whether their house still stands because he’s riding it out in Las Vegas with family. (Honestly, whose family lives in Las Vegas? What, is he related to Donald Trump, or Wayne Newton?) So now I have to hear about football players spouting off.

Per PFT: Chargers RB LaDainian Tomlinson said Wednesday, "Thank God it burned all the way around my house, but it didn’t get my house. My house stayed intact."

Yes, LaDainian, God protected your house. It is your overwhelming devotion to God that kept him from destroying your personal possessions.

I realize that Thank God has become a buzz word for anyone who’s even remotely thankful for anything. I use it on occasion. However, when it appears that all of the houses around him have been razed to the ground by a freak natural occurrence, and he’s the one who’s lucky enough to have his house intact, it seems a little trite and superior. You’ve got what, three zillion dollars in the bank? Think maybe God would spare a house or two for people who can’t afford to lose them? Think maybe God didn’t have anything to do with saving your house?

Honestly, get over yourself.
"Oh, but my stuff’s still there, so that’s good." Maybe show a little more community spirit, show some sympathy for those people who lost everything instead of thanking the almighty for sparing your PS3 and pictures of your cat.

Fucking rich people think it’s all about them.

Since Facebook is a complete piece of arse and has insanely restrictive comment length limits, I shall be forced to speak here…and, you know, keep ‘my’ site going in the process. I shall now proselytize on the subject of one Chris Benoit and his crimes.First off…Liam had mentioned on Facebook (don’t know who Liam is? That’s your problem, loser.) that he sent kudos in the general direction of the WWE for putting on a tribute to the guy Monday night, rather than regular programming. And I one hundred percent agree with him. It’s nice to see the WWE brass finally seem to have realized that, when something like this happens, the guys most likely don’t feel like pulling on the tights and going in to a ring to perform in front of fans. They’re pretty much destroyed. Canceling the show was the right thing to do. Also, honoring a guy who busted his ass (and, literally, his neck) over the many years for them, and who made them a buttload of money in the process, was ALSO the right thing to do.

It’s easy to look back now and criticize that move, shout to the heavens about how "They celebrated a child murderer!" Well, let me ask you this…do you think Vince McMahon is psychic? Does he have the ability to see in to the future? No? then, shut up! You can’t blame them in hindsight, knowing everything we do now, for NOT knowing it all back then. That’s just a ridiculous argument. (EDIT : I have also just found out that, in fact, on Tuesday night’s ECW broadcast, McMahon started the show by saying that, with all the evidence now known, there will be no more tribute of Mr. Benoit put on by the WWE).

As with anyone else who does the things that Chris Benoit did, I don’t exactly feel all warm and fuzzy all over towards the guy. Any human being who decides "Well, time to end it all…but, you know, I’ve never done ‘alone’ very well…hey, let’s take some other people with me!" is scum, as far as I’m concerned.

However, I totally disagree with Shaun about it being an incident of roid rage. The evidence does not at all back that up. Who, in a fit of rage (everyone has been there, though probably not of the chemically assisted variety. However, it still works the same.) is going to go over to the person they intend to kill, take the time to bind their ankles and wrists, and then spend a little time doing…well, who knows what…before actually killing them? That is not a rage-driven murder. (Just to let you know, I guess there is some evidence that there WAS a pause in there). Also, the evidence has also indicated that the boy wasn’t killed until as much as a DAY after the mother. NO fit of rage, whether steroid driven or not, lasts more than a short time. Therefore, obviously, HIS killing wasn’t part of a fit of rage of any kind. It just doesn’t add up.

Many studies of long term steroid use HAVE, however, shown a proclivity towards extreme depression and paranoia. And THOSE are certainly emotions that can completely F people up, and make them do ridiculously stupid things to themselves and people around them. It IS also possible to have long term roid use lead to brain damage (for more on that, Google the name Lyle Alzado). THESE are the effects of steroid that I personally believe contributed to this whole tragic incident. It also really won’t surprise me if his Tox report comes back showing a lot of alcohol or painkillers in his system. Both are systemically abused by a lot of pro wrestlers, as they’re popping pain pills to keep able to work as often as they do with the injuries they sustain. And they turn to the bottle for the same reason anyone else does.

In no way am I absolving the man of blame for what he did. I’d have to hear a pretty radical story to make me come close to doing that, considering the circumstances. But, there is blame to go around, here. Some of it goes to the WWE itself, which has had major steroid usage problems for decades, but ignores it. And, yeah…a chunk of blame DOES go to the fans. A few years back, WWE tried to cut back on the performers’ travel schedules, to reduce their stress, give them more time at home, and more time to heal. They were forced by tens of thousands of customer complaints to cancel that initiative, because fans demanded being able to see their favorites every single night in every single town. As well, fans FUND this whole mess with their ticket and merch purchases.

Although it’s a trite and cliche thing to say, hopefully something good can eventually be dragged out of this horror. Maybe the industry will be forced to clean up, and the fans will be forced to grow up, and realize that their need to see a 240 pound guy capable of lifting a 450 pound guy over his head and bodyslamming him is ridiculous, and that there’s only one reason that 240 pound guy is physically capable of such a thing…and it comes from the end of a needle. Hell, the dreamer in me wants to think that maybe all sports leagues PERIOD will be forced to look in the mirror, because if you think ANY major team sport is clean of steroid and HGH use right now, you are truly an idiot.

Unfortunately, in the end, I am left with 2 thoughts. One, we will never truly know beyond supposition and guessing why this happened. Two, nothing will change, and organized sport and sports/entertainment will continue to be the mess that it is.

Yeah, what a ghastly title that was. I hate titles. they’re fucking afterthoughts for me.

anyway, so, tonight shall be the trial run of Red Robin as the new meeting place for our little band, so, seeing as I was bored as fuck, I composed a little story in my email to people, and just thought I’d share it, because, as stated, I am bored, and it will fill time. So, enjoy, or not.

Oh, and I WILL be getting coffee…they better have good coffee!Excellent! then fate itself sets us in to motion…a move forward that no mortal acting alone, or, as in this case, a small band of miscreants and rabblerousers, can slow, much less stop. Nay, it would rival attempting to stop the low, imperceptible march forward of our immortal master of time itself! And surely none can be so foolhardy as to attempt such a move, to tempt the fates in such a manner, as to believe one’s own abilities versus Cronos, the master of all that time encompasses? Surely NO ONE be so foolish as to fall prey to such insanities!

I speak of our great march forth to a new land…as it was written and foretold in the past that one day we would leave the land of the giant egg, and travel forth to a whole new world of 24 hour breakfast eatery. And scoff we did, for we loved the land of the giant egg, a fine protector, if one leaves out the small matter of the anal violations of small children. But, as none of us possessed heirs at the time, really, who did in fact care all that much? So we feasted, and we drank their coffee, black as pitch though it was, and acted as though we could stop the mystical forces operating against us.

And soon, the realm began to show signs of decay. Certainly the mage known as Grant stayed on for the fight, as none could defeat any such as he, armed with scathing comment and hot pot of beverage. Yet, as he remained, the others passed along…the fair maidens who had tolerated our frivolities and served us amounts of coffee copious enough to burn holes through our gullets…truly it is a miracle that none of our order contracted ulcers! They left, one after another, including the one prophesied by the jester Temraz to entrap knight Keller in the trunk of her chariot and force his hand to be wed.

And they were replaced by a darkling force none could stand to be near, and we did run from the hideous laughter and total ignorance of the fearsome witch who stood in their stead. but where to go? the Kingdom of Egg had been good to us…too good, it seems, for we had no other realm to inhabit! But brave adventurers stepped forth…the previously mentioned jester Temraz, and the barbarian Cliff travelled North through the icy steppes, and entered the world of the Retard. Well, they did not yet know him well enough to anoint him with such an honorific, but enter they did, all the same. It was familiar, and yet different in ways too varied to mention, for I have no patience for such things.

Knight Keller had suggested this kingdom could be good to them, for he had noticed it near his abode whilst traveling by with his brave, yet pitiful and weak, steed Geo, whom had been put down after an unfortunate meeting with the evil powers of ‘the parkade pillar’. but that is a tale for a different story, as that is a story of dark hearts and doom, and we wish not discuss such things in this epic of heroism and chivalry!

Enter they did, and found a whole new world of deep fried confections and cheezeball ambience. And good it was! And soon the rest of the band did join them on later nights…knight Keller, wizard Harll and his coat of boundless pockets, friar Johnstone and his insistent vows of celibacy enforced by women’s good sense, paladin Guthrie, whose belief in the good of man caused him to share with the others such things as his desire to be a playing piece of the game of football, bandit king Dave, until his…errr…’personal sword’ grew weary of the ass of the jester and sought other targets who shared the jester’s name, master of dark feelings Weitzel, whose brooding countenance could freeze joy itself in it’s icy shell, and the rest, who I do not have time to name here, as I continue to be lazy, whilst typing such an epic. Truly a contradiction, I know, as I display a proclivity to sentence wastery even here, but that is simply how it is.

All was well, though many a battle had to be fought to maintain the frivolity of the House of the Retard! the great series of engagements against the dreadlord Arab Knight, and his fearsome bands of saracen warriors. Yet once he had been struck down, another dark cloud past before the sun of the kingdom, for another force had grown strong whilst our heroes were caught in battle. In another corner of the realm, the necromancer Fun Nazi had risen, threatening to snuff out the ‘innocent’ fun of such discussions as Christopher Reeve’s abilities as a stunt performer, and what sort of Transformer Hitler would make. Yet, he too was driven away, banished from the kingdom by the heroes, with an assist from the great token negro, Sheldon, whose exploits with the maidens had placed the rest of the band in his thrall.

Yes, the kingdom was safe from the interlopers, but not from the same decay that set in as it had with the egg…and now our heroes find themselves once more willing to travel across the barren wastes of the Forbidden Lands to find a new house that will accept their order. They shall find that house tonight, as they carry forth to the House of the Crimson Bird. With it’s selection of burgers, and boundless potato, surely it can fit the bill? We shall see!

So…yeah…MAYBE something new?I’m simply a little paranoid by this point to actually come out and SAY that I have a new job…it seems to throw a hex on to everything. So, I’ll say…it looks like POSSIBLY…I might MAYBE have acquired some employment KNOCK ON WOOD…starting next week IF I GET IT…and…yeah. If I WAS to acquire this position WHICH IS OF COURSE STILL UP IN THE AIR IN THAT I HAVE NOT YET FILLED OUT ANY PAPERWORK it would be at The Gear Centre, which is an autoparts deal, specifically focused on transmissions, driveshafts…and…I think there was something else. Yeah. There. If that’s still too goddamn specific and definitive for the Gods, then fuck ‘em.