The good news:  I’ve figured out something to get me interested in blogging again.

HOWEVER, It’s really really sportsy.  And possibly a huge waste of time.

Let’s set it up this way:

The LeBron James Betrayal Episode got me thinking about the upcoming NBA season, and how I could not possibly be more cynical about it. For example, these are some of the things I believe about the NBA:

• The playoffs are rigged by the refs.  Therefore, NBA championships mean nothing.  Kinda takes the point out of watching games, doesn’t it?
• The players, almost to a man, don’t care about anything except themselves.
• The owners, almost to a man, don’t care about anything but the money.

And so when the most popular player conceives* and produces an hour-long self-serving TV special just so he can stab his hometown in the back on live TV, and he doesn’t even seem to realize the implications of what he’s doing, there’s something truly noteworthy about that, even when viewed in the cynical context of the regular NBA.  It was like Leborn hadn’t ever considered that his once adoring fans could possibly turn on him, and that to me is amazing.

And turn on him they did, in spectacular fashion.  The world divided itself into frontrunners (those who switched their allegiances with LeBron, and now are Miami Heat fans) and haters (those who now view Lebron as weak and/or disloyal).  Jerseys were burned.  The Cavaliers owner wrote a scathing public personal attack on LeBron, mostly in all-caps.  Everybody had a hot sports opinion on it.  Lebron had become the NBA’s Brett Favre.

This LeBetrayal thing is a story worth following, I thought to myself, if only to see the fun ways the Cavaliers’ fans’ bitterness will manifest itself.  Also, how will LeBron react to being booed in every city?  Will he care?  Will he crumble?  Will he come to regret his decision and how it played out, or is he so far removed from reality that he’ll actually enjoy becoming LeBron the Evil King of Miami?

So I thought about all this, and then I thought, who better to document the NBA’s season of stories than me, a guy who has given up on sports altogether?  There are as many stories as there are players (and coaches and refs and owners and fans), and all of them deserve to be seen in the distant light of cold reality.  I’m not an ex-athlete.  I’m not a member of the media.  I’m not a journalist.  Heck, I’m not even really a fan.  I’m just a guy who knows a little basketball and who has a blog.  If that doesn’t equal “qualified” in this day and age, I’m a woodchuck.

You see, every NBA season is living literature.  You may not have realized that, but it’s true.  There are heroes, villains, falls from grace, redemptions, betrayals, scandals, romances, and yes, even death.  It’s time that someone saw the NBA for what it truly is: A giant cyclical storybook.

Once upon a time, there was a King who loved his rich friends more than his subjects…

*Actually, it was reportedly Jim Gray’s idea, which makes perfect sense.  The lesson:  If Jim Gray suggests you do something that involves him, RUN.

I’ve decided to actually finish a book now, so we’ll see how that goes.  It’s a bunch of short stories that pretend to be questions, but are really challenges to our current U.S. worldview.  Yeah, like all my ideas, it’s hard to explain until you see it.  I’ve shown a couple of these to some friends and got pretty much the reaction I wanted, so I’ll keep plugging along.  Do you want to read one?  Ok.

(some of you have already seen this and been offended by it, so forgive me all over again…and if you want it in Microsoft .doc format — here you go.)

There is a man who successfully wins a public office…let’s say he was just elected as Dog-Catcher. He has all these new and exciting ideas on how to best catch dogs, and he narrowly edged the incumbent DC using a platform based on these ideas. It’s not going to be easy to get his ideas implemented, though; the Netists are lurking around every corner, and this defeat has made them more vocal and partisan than ever before.

Perhaps a brief explanation and history of Wayward Dog Redemption (WDR) methods is in order, not that it really matters. There are people in this unnamed city who believe without reservation that the only appropriate and effective way to catch dogs is with a net. They self-identify as Netists, and for many of them, it is their life’s passion. Their symbol is a Net flanked by a wild boar on the left and a beaker on the right, which symbolizes their frontier spirit and unassailable reason, respectively. They’re a pretty tight-knit and well-connected bunch, keeping in touch and in spirit with radio shows, newsletters, and nightly meetings in the Old Town Hall’s chilly basement. What the election of this new dog-catcher means for them is the probable end of the dog-catching world. Their goals with the radio show, newsletter, and meetings are mainly (a) to research legal challenges to the election; and (b) to speculate and articulate re: the demise of dog-catching, and with it, society as a whole.

On the other side lie the progressive-minded techno-thinkers who couldn’t come up with a suitable name for themselves, so the world has adopted a monker for them: Non-netists. They believe that Netists are borderline fascist barbarians whose destiny is the same as all barbarians — namely, extinction. They communicate primarily in buzzwords designed to make themselves feel smart. It was they who started referring to dog-catching as WDR, and the Dog-Catcher as the WDS (Wayward Dog Saviour, always with the British “u.”). It’s not that they hate nets, it’s that there’s so many better (and more humane, and cooler-looking) ways to redeem wayward dogs these days. The newly-elected Dog-Catcher promised to deploy things such as drugged water bowls and dog hypnosis, which are the very cutting edge of WDR technology right now. The Non-netists have taken their victory as a literal and figurative blank check to pursue newer and better things, which has only increased the vitriol of those who believe in the redeeming power of Nets. This is pretty much where we stand right now.

You are a fly on the wall of one of the Netist chilly closed-door anger-festivals under Old Town Hall. Everyone is wearing coats and frowns. Even though you are a fly, you can understand English. If this seems weird, just say to yourself, “It’s just a question, I should really just relax.” The Netists are trying to determine the motives of the technology-rich but (to them) morality-poor Non-netists. The new Dog Catcher’s plan is pure insanity to them — 1.3 times as expensive, but almost certainly less effective than the Old Way of doing things. Plus, he’s planning on renaming the very sacred office he holds! At least that’s what someone heard someone else say once. They discuss his arrogance, his messiah complex (they might have a point — “dog saviour” anyone?), and his Orwellian future plans.

It’s your job, as a fly on the wall, to decide which of their ideas with regard to the motives of the Non-netists and their new Wayward Dog Saviour is correct. You have three choices:

A) They actually think the new technology is better, and want to catch dogs more effectively and humanely.

B) They hate the city.

C) They want the new DC’s methods to fail so that the city is overrun by wild, unkempt, ownerless, and potentially rabid dogs so that the citizenry will have no choice but to accept their sweeping diabolical “Plan B,” which involves state ownership of all dogs, mandatory feeding times, food rations, free veterinary care (for which it takes weeks to get an appointment), government-employed dog-walkers, compulsory spaying and neutering, and ultimately, the complete annihilation of dogs from the face of the earth¹.

At the same time as this orgy of disillusionment is going on, the winners are having their First Annual Dog Saviour’s Ball in the Old Town Hall’s Grand Ballroom, which happens to be directly above the ceiling on which you are sticking. We could have you fly up there, being a fly and all, but I’d prefer to just give you directional super hearing, otherwise known as Super-Fly Hearing. With your fly ears, you can make out everything the people upstairs are saying. In between commenting on how nice everyone else looks, the Non-netist elite are trying to determine the motives of the old-school but (to them) anachronistic Netists. The old way of doing Dog Redemption seemed like pure insanity to them — more expensive in the long-term and unfair to the very dogs being redeemed. Plus, the whole concept of Dog Catching conjures up terribly barbaric images of uniformed men with nets chasing poor orphaned mutts, which is why they think the name must be changed to something less offensive.

It’s that time again, only this time you’re determining the motives of the cellar-dwelling Netists, as communicated by the well-dressed denizens of the Grand Ballroom. Why are the Netists so obsessed with nets?

A) They think nets are a time-tested and cost-effective way of dealing with stray dogs.

B) They hate anyone who isn’t exactly like them.

C) They want to return the city to the Old Age of Dog Ownership, where dogs’ well-being was solely the concern of their owners. What does this mean? Well, the government would be powerless to stop the rampant and inevitable dog abuse required by strict capitalism. The Dog Catcher would be merely a puppet, catching dogs with nasty nets and then funneling his prey to rich corporate interests. From there, the dogs would either end up in the “care” of some rich unworthy family (since they’re the only ones that could afford them), or find their way to the processing plant, where they would eventually become hamburgers, glue, artificial sweetener, or any of thousands of other products².

Creatures of unbridled energy, like horses nobody could tame, they ran wild and free and without stopping, even for a second, because they thought that there was a race, but there wasn’t, and all those who followed them they viewed as competitors, and they were all alone, and as leader and follower passed and repassed each other and traded places repeatedly all either could think of was the upcoming cliff and how they might want to slow down, but since they had no mechanism to express that to each other, the race went on and ended as one might predict, and they fell covered in sweat and mud to whatever was below, and that’s a chance they took and wish they had back, but still, they were all alone but ultimately ok, despite passing by all possible points for an unwinnable race, but don’t tell them that, because they think they won. No, seriously. Don’t bother.

1) I got a job.  As someone once said, I now get up early like a birdie.  “A job” doesn’t really cover it, because I now technically have two (2) jobs.  This might not last forever (I’ve been torn on whether or not to quit delivering pizzas), but for now it’s lucrative and time-consuming.  This is ok.  The only way is ISN’T ok is this: I don’t have time to post blogs anymore.  I only have time right now because I have the day off.  I’m barely even twittering these days, it’s gotten so bad.  It just goes to show you that I’ll stop being social the moment I get an excuse to stop.

Fortunately, this also means I have benefits, something I haven’t had for a long, long time.  My bosses are all great Americans and I love them.  There’s also a chance they might be reading this.

2) I’ve been doing other writing.  That’s the other reason this blog lays silent as a turtle in a box made of sound-absorbent tile.  I just wrote an insane Anti-Oprah short story for the Online Apologetics Conference.  Writing takes a lot of time when you’re as scatterbrained as me.  Seriously, my brain is always melting in 20 different directions for no reason.  I’ll write something, then look back on it and wonder what kind of alien would have written that.  I may just have a split-personality, actually.

3) I’ve decided that life is pretty much meaningless.  “Vanity” and “Doesn’t matter” are also applicable terms.  Yes, I’m ok.  No, I’m not insane.  This is a good thing.  I said “pretty much,” not “completely.”

4) I attended a funeral in Northern Wisconsin and reacquainted myself with church potlucks.

5) I upgraded to Ubuntu 10.04, which is nice but a lot like 9.10.  Also, there were two really dumb things the developers did that hurt my first impression of the OS:  They got rid of the volume control in the panel (you have to re-enable it in order to see it) and  they put the minimize-maximize-close window buttons on the left side of the windows.  Seriously?  Even if you think have “big plans” for the right side, you should resist the urge to execute them.  I could hack GNOME to put them back on the correct side, but what’s the point?  They’d just end up on the left every time I change the theme or upgrade something.

Other than that, though, it’s fine.  Not revolutionary, but fine.

6)  Lala.com is closing, having been purchased and destroyed by Apple (or at least it’ll be gone on May 31).  Steve Jobs just bought them so he could take their engineers and technology and use it for evil.  But hey, I get credit in the iTunes store!  Whoopee!  This is like having a Tolltag account and Hitler buying the highway system, closing all the tollbooths, and giving you credit in his Nazi paraphernalia shop.  I stand behind this analogy.  It’s exactly like that.

7) The Milwaukee Bucks made us all Fear the Deer, then backed away like, well, a real live deer.  At least we now have a “The Pack is Back”-style slogan to use to beat people down.

Yeah, duty calls.  Story of my life.  See ya later.

I’m just going to leave that where it is, without any editorial comments.  Sounds super.  (Ok, one.)

I don’t have much else to say about this right now.  You can read the story, if you’re into that sort of thing.  It’s not very long, and it sort of sneaks up on you.

Hmm…writing contests.  Should I be entering more of them?

Fred is an interesting guy. The first thing you notice about him is that he calls everyone “Bobo” all the time. The second thing you notice about him is that everyone hates him because he calls them “Bobo,” which sounds like the name of a monkey. Nobody wants to be called a monkey, not even hard-core evolutionists. The third thing you notice about him is his full and curly head of black hair, which looks like he borrowed it from The Romantics circa 1985.

Fred is kind of an a-hole. He tries to make everyone think he’s their friend, but he’d totally take their cheesesticks without a second thought. He also complains about the deliveries the managers give him, and his famous phrase is “Don’t f___ my night.” It’s famous because Shock Manager now loudly proclaims that every time he walks past Fred, as a way to mockingly punish him for saying that in the first place.

All of which brings us to the story of the day, which happened last Saturday night. I’ll tell it from my perspective, because that’s the only one I have…

I got back to the store after a particularly banal delivery and noticed several of the cooks standing behind the front counter, transfixed by a story that a large Mexican man was telling. When I walked in the door, the first thing I heard him say was, “I don’t care…I’m a man and nobody’s going to do that to my wife, you know what I mean?” I quickly walked past, hoping he wouldn’t kill me for looking at his wife, even though I didn’t. In the back, I got the story from Ajay, the guy who cuts the pizzas. Ajay told me that the large Mexican man had shown up 5 minutes earlier, loudly accusing Fred the driver of these crimes against humanity:

1) Spitting in his beloved wife’s face;

2) Violently grabbing the door from her and slamming it in her face; and,

3) Calling her an F___ing B__c_.

Since all the cooks were up in the front listening to the man’s rant (and probably making sure he didn’t go after the manager — they have a weird sort of Pizza Hut gang loyalty these days), I had to make my own cheesesticks, and after that wait 10 minutes for them to get out of the oven. I didn’t mind waiting this time because I really wanted to see what would happen when Fred came walking through the door calling people “Bobo.” As I waited, the Cops arrived in their white SUV and took a statement from the wife, whose tear-stained face I finally caught a glimpse of. She looked like she’d been crying for days, and could barely keep it together as she told the cops of Fred’s misdeeds. After a couple of minutes, the man and wife agreed to leave and let the police do whatever they were going to do. They got a free Pizza Hut pizza out of the deal, so I’m sure that makes up for everything.

As I was pulling out of my parking space (having exhausted all possible means of delaying my next delivery) Fred pulled up, as friendly and Romantic-haired as ever. I believe unsuspecting is the word I’d use to describe him. He didn’t seem to notice the Police SUV double-parked in front of the store, or fact that all eyes followed him as he moved. I pulled out and sped off, and when I got back, Fred was dead.

And by dead, I mean gone. Not arrested, not fired (yet). Just gone.

He did show up the next day, but was “sent home early pending termination” (Shock Manager’s term). Shock Manager was pretty mad that he had to deal with all that crap the previous night, and felt that Fred pretty much f___ed his night as badly as anyone in history has had their night f___ed. Yeah, I’ll be surprised if I ever see Fred again.

(Fred’s side of the story: They didn’t tip him. Think about that.)

 (ladies, this could be you standing next to this local goofball…)

No, not stories about LOST.

This week, I thought I’d share with you, my audience, a few stories that slipped though the cracks of this blog in the past few weeks.  I, as always, haven’t had the time to get to them.  But you really need to hear them, so let’s get on with it:

You know Tony Romo, the wunderkind Quarterback for those accursed Dallas Cowboys?  The one who’s been rumored to spend his bye weeks in clubs with Britney Spears?  Well, what do we really know about him?

– He grew up in Burlington, WI, right next to the coat factory and the cheese wheel.

– He’s a big smiley goofball.

– Brett Favre is his hero.

– He’s either a very good, or very lucky, NFL quarterback..

– He just signed a 67 million dollar contract extension with the Cowboys.

– In addition to the Spears rumors, he had a fake relationship with Jessica Simpson* and a by-many-accounts totally real relationship with Carrie Underwood, which she ended because he loves football way too much to pay attention to her.

– He seems like a nice guy.

So there’s this girl in my Sunday School class (yes, I teach high school-age Sunday School.  Deal with it.) who has a sister that works at a nice restaurant in downtown Dallas.  This girl in my class always has fun stories to tell about members of her family.  And by “fun” I mean “unbelievable except for the fact that this girl isn’t the type to make up stories.” So she says that Tony Romo ate at her sister’s restaurant on the same day her sister happened to wear her Tony Romo jersey to work.  That’s right, he saw her in his jersey.  That would be a little weird for everyone involved, I would think.

The girl’s sister, embarrassed about the whole situation, avoided his table the entire time he was in the restaurant.  As he was leaving, he saw her cowering in the back, came up to her, struck up a conversation, and asked for her phone number.  Of course, she gave it to him.  And that’s how a Pro Bowl quarterback rolls, people.  Think about all the numbers his phone must hold, to keep up with his Tony Romo lifestyle.  Must be a “Razr” or something.

Note 1: As of this writing, that phone number still hadn’t been called.  Were they sympathy digits?  Is Mr. Romo storing them up for the off-season? The mind boggles.

Note 2: As of this writing, This is Epth Nation has never gotten any phone numbers, at least not to its recollection.  Its probably just forgotten, though. 

* First, the rumors started flying that they were dating.  These rumors were not denied by either side, even though they had never actually met.  There’s something deeply screwed up about that, no? I’d expect that sort of thing from Ashleeeee.

There’s this old couple whose hard drive crashed; for those who don’t speak computer, I’ll boil it down to this: There was 1000 years of genealogical data on that hard drive, and they didn’t have a backup. This woman had spent nearly 50 years of her life compiling this data, and was now facing the prospect of retracing her steps and redoing all that work. That’s like the feeling of having to retype a term paper times 100,000. I don’t even want to think about the steps involved in making peace with that situation.

We took the hard drive to a data recovery guy. I just happened to pull his card out of my boss’ rolodex; I was looking for a different guy’s card. It was an old card, and out of date, and the number was not a working number. I had to look up the company — DataICU — on the internet and get the contact info that way. After doing his intial examination of the drive, he said he could get the data off, but would charge $750 bucks. Data recovery is not cheap. The old couple couldn’t pay this, so we just told him we’d be back to pick up the hard drive and maybe get the data off at a later date. We thought the matter was settled, and planned to just sell the couple a new computer for 500 bucks and call it a sad day.

DataICU then called and told my boss that in exchange for us considering him for our future data recovery needs, he would do the work pro bono. My boss’ eyes just about bugged out of his head, but what could he say but, “Um…ok!” We’re still working out how to properly reward DataICU, but we did agree to go and get the data and not pay for it. I loaded it on the new computer, and the 1000 years of family was restored and in perfect order. I couldn’t wait to visit the old couple and let them see this for themselves.

Before I went over to their house with the computer, my boss assured them they would be pleasantly surprised. He was underselling, not ready to fully believe that the data would actually work. I got out there, I played it cool, showed them some stuff, then proceeded to blow their mind with the surprise. With tears in her eyes, she went through the records of family after family, confirming that they indeed were all saved. Man, it was something I’ll never forget.
You gotta understand, the typical customer/client of ours exists on a continuum between strategically indifferent and strategically surly. People always want to squeeze as much a possible out of you, and feign confusion, disappointment, or outrage when you tell them that if they want you to install an extra printer it’ll be 50 extra bucks. I don’t usually get to see satisfaction (much less tears of joy) from these people. Her tears totally made up for my horrible day yesterday when some chick who looked like Rosie O’ Donnell took credit for my work after I abruptly had to leave before I could make sure it was done (due to my having to get the van back because another tech didn’t want to drive his car through Farmer’s Branch — long story), causing the owner of the business in question to call my boss and ask why I sucked so bad that I couldn’t fix a problem but local moron Rosie O’ Donnell was just able to walk up to the keyboard and hit a few keys and fix it herself, causing my boss to ask me, “Wha happan…?” which caused me to nearly flip out but also remember the lessons I was taught, the first lessons of on-site service, which is, “Never talk to customers unless you absolutely have to, and always act as though you have complete control of the situation (even if that’s a lie). People don’t want honesty; if they did, there would be no posers or brown-nosers. You have to walk around like a soulless machine with no emotions that spits out solutions to computer problems like an online reference book, even when everyone around you displaying every emotion they have all the time no matter how inappropriate or paranoid or manipulative those emotions might be. That’s called professionalism, and while it won’t stop people from complaining, it will stop them from knowing what to complain about.”

Dude (D): Hey, just so you’re in the loop, I wanted to tell you this…

Receptionist (R): Mmmkay.

D: You remember that girl I went out with a few times last summer? The one with the four kids?

R: Um…I don’t…Ok, I think I remember. Sally, wasn’t it?

D: No, no, no. Sally had the two kids. The girl I’m talking about, her name is Annie. Remember?

R: Umm…kinda…

D: You know, we went out a few times, she never seemed all that into me, so we stopped?

R: Oh, right, right…Yeah. Annie.

D: Well, you know we had that party last Friday, at the clubhouse, me and 3 friends.

R: Right.

D: Well, she showed up there, and was totally acting like we were boyfriend-girlfriend — hanging around me the whole time, being really flirty. Her four kids were running all over the place, having a great time.

R: Mmmkay.

D: The thing is, one of my friends totally has a crush on her. He was like, “Did you see her? She looked great tonight.” I was like, “Yeah, I saw her.”

R: I see.

D: So I went to the bathroom, and got caught up talking to some people, and she left. My friend’s like, “I got her number…but I’m not going to give it to you.” He was being so stupid.

R: Well, it’s not like…

D: Right, it’s not like I need her number, right?

R: Plus, she lives like…

D: Like 8 doors down from me, right. I was like, “No, I don’t need her number, man.” He was being so stupid.

R: I’m remembering more about her now…didn’t you say the 4 kids scared you?

D: Yeah, totally at first. But they’re good kids, you know. And only 3 of them are living with her now. One’s off at school.

R: So are you going to see her again?

D: Yeah, this weekend, we’re having another party at the clubhouse. I just got off the phone with her…she’s going to totally be there.

R: Well, that’s great.

D: Yeah, I think…(phone rings) Ok, see ya!

My thoughts?  I’m glad to not be in the single world, and especially in this USA single world.  I don’t know why, but I felt this conversation gave me a window into our sadness somehow…but I tend to think that a lot.