Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Gatlinburg
Johnny Cash went there and beat the crap out of his dad for naming him Sue. That, my friends, is where the awesomeness of Gatlinburg stops. When I first moved to the ass-end of space I thought "Gee, Captain John, Gatlinburg is pretty cool. Lots of cheesy goodness". Cheesy goodness indeed. Velvet portraits of Jeezus, Elvis trinkets that would make Liberace happy, and horrible country music. That is the Holy Trinity of Gatlinburg my friends. I can enjoy Gatlinburg only with friends these days, but when it's the wife and me, no way. My dream would be have some of my friends and wander around the capital of the white-trash dream vacation drunk. I know in my heart that will never happen and I cry a little.
One piece of advice though, parking is a bitch in this town. Stupidly expensive parking. My solution to the assholishly high parking situation? Park at Christus Gardens, home of the "Christian Museum of Jesus's Death" or whatever. Those nice Christians do not seem to care if I park my car there all day. For free. Now that's true Christian giving there.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
The Best of...
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Astronauts
After the whole Astronaut in a diaper occurance and the recent fallout today from it (fired!) I was thinking about the modern NASA Astronaut selection program. Like most things with a large, bloated bureaucracy NASA is exceedingly political. Playing the game gets you into space, not your skill. I propose a revision of this broken method of space recruitment.
First, Buzz Aldrin will be in charge, because he's awesome. Buzz will set the mood by being the first to travel to the frozen forests of Norway where he will strip to his skivvies and hunt a bear with his bare hands, hold the still-beating heart of the beast triumphantly over his head while screaming a manly roar of victory. In order to even be considered every Astronaut must do the same thing.
For an Astronaut to get promoted he will have to wrestle Buzz for the half-eaten bear heart, Only when they win do they get to command a Shuttle Mission. Until then, Buzz is in charge. Other old-time Space Explorers will be re-recuited in order to provide a base of awesomeness for the Astronaut corps. Jim Lovell, Alan Bean, Zombie Deke Slayton, Gordo Cooper, Wally Shirra, Neil Armstrong, Mike Collins, and the other men who pioneered space. Even when selected for a mission a potential cherry will have to run the gauntlet of old-timers who will beat them with large sticks. If they make it past the gauntlet, they get on the mission.
Finally the pussy ass Shuttle will be replaced with museum piece Apollo capsules and Russian tech. Cheaper? You bet! Less safe? Unfortunately. But if the old guys could do it, then the new blood should be able to as well. Maybe the Shuttle will be kept as a reward, make it past the Russian tech and a old Gemini capsule and you get your ride in a Shuttle.
Astronauts
After the whole Astronaut in a diaper occurance and the recent fallout today from it (fired!) I was thinking about the modern NASA Astronaut selection program. Like most things with a large, bloated bureaucracy NASA is exceedingly political. Playing the game gets you into space, not your skill. I propose a revision of this broken method of space recruitment.
First, Buzz Aldrin will be in charge, because he's awesome. Buzz will set the mood by being the first to travel to the frozen forests of Norway where he will strip to his skivvies and hunt a bear with his bare hands, hold the still-beating heart of the beast triumphantly over his head while screaming a manly roar of victory. In order to even be considered every Astronaut must do the same thing.
For an Astronaut to get promoted he will have to wrestle Buzz for the half-eaten bear heart, Only when they win do they get to command a Shuttle Mission. Until then, Buzz is in charge. Other old-time Space Explorers will be re-recuited in order to provide a base of awesomeness for the Astronaut corps. Jim Lovell, Alan Bean, Zombie Deke Slayton, Gordo Cooper, Wally Shirra, Neil Armstrong, Mike Collins, and the other men who pioneered space. Even when selected for a mission a potential cherry will have to run the gauntlet of old-timers who will beat them with large sticks. If they make it past the gauntlet, they get on the mission.
Finally the pussy ass Shuttle will be replaced with museum piece Apollo capsules and Russian tech. Cheaper? You bet! Less safe? Unfortunately. But if the old guys could do it, then the new blood should be able to as well. Maybe the Shuttle will be kept as a reward, make it past the Russian tech and a old Gemini capsule and you get your ride in a Shuttle.
The Best of...
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
The Dirt Mall
They call it a "flea market" but being from Ohio, I know better. Flea Markets have old junk, the Dirt Mall has new junk. Lots and lots of new junk. Being in the tourist mecca of East Tennessee doesn't hurt either.
I went to the Dirt Mall on Saturday and had a blast. From used work clothes to the Chinese lady selling really cheap copies of every product under the sun. From Gyllutye Brand razors to hats emblazoned with Jeezus slogans for $1.00, I saw everything awesome. If the Dirt Mall was its own country and worshipped a slew of psuedo-pagan gods those would be NASCAR, Jeezus, and out-of date hygiene products. The former are perhaps the most puzzling phenomena, who would buy expired body wash and, most frightenly, old over the counter medicine? I mean, this is stuff Big Lots turned down.
If I had to arm myself against a Zombie invasion the Dirt Mall would be a good choice. Knives and swords of every variety, for less that $30. No guns, but Airsoft guns! Maybe the Dirt Mall would be a bad place to gather arms against a Zombie outbreak. The swords though are works of white trash art. Gaudy, with steel that will break if swung against anything. These swords are built for angry trailer kids to use against that rusted Camero in the front yard..
As for food, the Dirt Mall is filled with delicious choices. MMMmmm, candy coated almonds. Even better: Kettle corn, the corn of the gods. Real kettle corn, made by real mountain people in a real, honest to Tyr kettle. Awesome is just the first word to describe it.
Want a Mexican Football jersey? I do! I play soccer in Southern Mexico, even though I'm a chubby white dude. At least I can pass as a Scottish fan!
People watching is perhaps the most fun of all. Every shape and sort of people go to the dirt mall. I saw a mother and daughter in matching scooters, their asses hanging over the seats. Lovely. I saw families with less teeth than kids. Almost like a trip to Wal-Mart, almost.
It sounds like I have a hatred for the dirt mall. That is untrue. I love it. It gives me a measure of entertainment in in otherwise drab world. Thank you, Dirt Mall.
The Dirt Mall
They call it a "flea market" but being from Ohio, I know better. Flea Markets have old junk, the Dirt Mall has new junk. Lots and lots of new junk. Being in the tourist mecca of East Tennessee doesn't hurt either.
I went to the Dirt Mall on Saturday and had a blast. From used work clothes to the Chinese lady selling really cheap copies of every product under the sun. From Gyllutye Brand razors to hats emblazoned with Jeezus slogans for $1.00, I saw everything awesome. If the Dirt Mall was its own country and worshipped a slew of psuedo-pagan gods those would be NASCAR, Jeezus, and out-of date hygiene products. The former are perhaps the most puzzling phenomena, who would buy expired body wash and, most frightenly, old over the counter medicine? I mean, this is stuff Big Lots turned down.
If I had to arm myself against a Zombie invasion the Dirt Mall would be a good choice. Knives and swords of every variety, for less that $30. No guns, but Airsoft guns! Maybe the Dirt Mall would be a bad place to gather arms against a Zombie outbreak. The swords though are works of white trash art. Gaudy, with steel that will break if swung against anything. These swords are built for angry trailer kids to use against that rusted Camero in the front yard..
As for food, the Dirt Mall is filled with delicious choices. MMMmmm, candy coated almonds. Even better: Kettle corn, the corn of the gods. Real kettle corn, made by real mountain people in a real, honest to Tyr kettle. Awesome is just the first word to describe it.
Want a Mexican Football jersey? I do! I play soccer in Southern Mexico, even though I'm a chubby white dude. At least I can pass as a Scottish fan!
People watching is perhaps the most fun of all. Every shape and sort of people go to the dirt mall. I saw a mother and daughter in matching scooters, their asses hanging over the seats. Lovely. I saw families with less teeth than kids. Almost like a trip to Wal-Mart, almost.
It sounds like I have a hatred for the dirt mall. That is untrue. I love it. It gives me a measure of entertainment in in otherwise drab world. Thank you, Dirt Mall.
The best of...
Monday, April 30, 2007
The Captain's Guide to Graduate School, Chapter 2
So, you have somehow made it past the admissions process, your application wasn't lost and the dusty bowls of the department managed to get some work done.
YEAH?
Now that you are in, you have (hopefully) had the chance to scope out the several schools you were accepted to, right? Ok, you took the first one that offered. Remember, we're on Captain time now.
You make plans to move to the area that surrounds the school. The student ghetto? Only if you're an undergrad with a party complex, which really ain't that bad. The graduate housing dorms? Only if you like smelling the toxic mix of chinese grease and Indian curry 24-fucking/7. Your entire waredrobe and being will smell like you just hopped of the boat from Bombay. Other places? Sure, that might work. It's a bitch to find housing that doesn't suck. Don't count on your department though, they could care less about helping you. Let's assume you find decent housing in a section of town that does not resemble later installments of the "Robocop" films. Let's assume for the best.
Next you must worm your way into the department. You are handed with the name of your "Graduate Advisor" who, quite frankly, would rather watch grass grow and paint dry that talk to your excited, slightly apprehensive ass. Sometimes, in the luck of the draw, you get the newest member of the faculty assigned to you. What a funny joke! All of your questions will be met with a screwed up face hinting of "not fucking knowing". Not that it's his fault; he just is to damn new to not care.
Meanwhile all of your questions get passed around like a hot potato, nobody knows the right answer, or they give you contridictory ones. This is were you man up and read the catalog, something the faculty have, most likely, never done themselves. You will become the bane of all the department once you offer snarky, though correct, answers to your own questions. This, my friends, is the first step in winning.
Politics within most academic departments are truely cut throat. As the old saying goes, as the stakes get fewer, the politics get more dangerous. Faculty will play you off against other faculty, like a hockey game in a Canadian suburb. The department head will take the slighest insult and turn it against you, calling you a "cancer". A cancer on a cancer?! How in the hell do you do that? My advice is to stay far away, take your base of power and move it far away from the department. This is the only thing that will keep you sane. To survive the academic process you must first run away from the academic process. Re-group and scope out faculty who are advantaegous to you, ones who will help without playing the game. Offer yourself as a "game-free" assistant. Don't expect anything in return, you have a base elsewhere. Just be a "good guy" without strings. This works. Trust me.
Next up: Getting through classes, writing dissertations and getting the hell out of Dodge.
The Captain's Guide to Graduate School, Chapter 2
So, you have somehow made it past the admissions process, your application wasn't lost and the dusty bowls of the department managed to get some work done.
YEAH?
Now that you are in, you have (hopefully) had the chance to scope out the several schools you were accepted to, right? Ok, you took the first one that offered. Remember, we're on Captain time now.
You make plans to move to the area that surrounds the school. The student ghetto? Only if you're an undergrad with a party complex, which really ain't that bad. The graduate housing dorms? Only if you like smelling the toxic mix of chinese grease and Indian curry 24-fucking/7. Your entire waredrobe and being will smell like you just hopped of the boat from Bombay. Other places? Sure, that might work. It's a bitch to find housing that doesn't suck. Don't count on your department though, they could care less about helping you. Let's assume you find decent housing in a section of town that does not resemble later installments of the "Robocop" films. Let's assume for the best.
Next you must worm your way into the department. You are handed with the name of your "Graduate Advisor" who, quite frankly, would rather watch grass grow and paint dry that talk to your excited, slightly apprehensive ass. Sometimes, in the luck of the draw, you get the newest member of the faculty assigned to you. What a funny joke! All of your questions will be met with a screwed up face hinting of "not fucking knowing". Not that it's his fault; he just is to damn new to not care.
Meanwhile all of your questions get passed around like a hot potato, nobody knows the right answer, or they give you contridictory ones. This is were you man up and read the catalog, something the faculty have, most likely, never done themselves. You will become the bane of all the department once you offer snarky, though correct, answers to your own questions. This, my friends, is the first step in winning.
Politics within most academic departments are truely cut throat. As the old saying goes, as the stakes get fewer, the politics get more dangerous. Faculty will play you off against other faculty, like a hockey game in a Canadian suburb. The department head will take the slighest insult and turn it against you, calling you a "cancer". A cancer on a cancer?! How in the hell do you do that? My advice is to stay far away, take your base of power and move it far away from the department. This is the only thing that will keep you sane. To survive the academic process you must first run away from the academic process. Re-group and scope out faculty who are advantaegous to you, ones who will help without playing the game. Offer yourself as a "game-free" assistant. Don't expect anything in return, you have a base elsewhere. Just be a "good guy" without strings. This works. Trust me.
Next up: Getting through classes, writing dissertations and getting the hell out of Dodge.
The Best of...
Friday, April 27, 2007
The Captain's Guide to Graduate School
Ahhh, Graduate school. Almost a requirement in today's hyper driven world. Looking at that near useless liberal arts degree in your hand the day after graduation can be an eye-opener. Temp jobs, retail jobs, all of these are still your fucking domain. Some will call you "college boy" with a derisive sneer on their face. Others will make fun of your lack of "real-world" skills. You will end up working at the Kohl's shoe department for about a day, lamenting the fact that, by Tyr, you are starting to sound like Al Bundy. The Temp job that was supposed to turn permanent will end, leaving you, once more, looking for work. Either over or under qualified, never "just there".
Guess what? You have qualified for one thing, though, GRADUATE SCHOOL! FUCK YEAH!
Graduate school; where education takes a turn for the obscure. If you are smart you will research schools thoroughly, ensuring that your choices to apply to are perfect fits for your interests. Or you can do it like a half ass. To do it my way take into account the following:
1. Does the school have a decent mascot? Animals are OK, Falcons and Cats are OK, they ARE predators, after all. However, schools like Duke have images of Satan himself, and Wake Forest has a FUCKING FLAMING SKULL. A skull on fire for Odin's sake. Droppy dogs suck, so do rockets. Rockets are supposed to be awesome, right? Not if they aren't tipped with Nukes.
2. Where is the school located? Downtown of a run-down, rust belt city? Do you really want to brave bums, criminals, and gangers for you paltry education? Nope. Choose something suburban. Boring? You bet. Safe? Sure, the biggest threat are asshole campus cops with a Jock/bully complex.
3. Colors: By Loki, you'll be wearing this stuff for the rest of your life, choose soomething that coordinates. Bright Gay Orange and White? What the fuck was I thinking? I wear Shit Brown and Dark Orange instead. Better? Yes. Blue and Yellow are good choices, but being color blind, I will admit, I was kind of fucked from sqaure one on this requirement.
Once you have made the all important decision to apply to certain schools now you must get your "Application materials" together. There vary according to school, of course. Standard issue ones include:
The GRE: What is the GRE? $130 Goddman dollars, that's what. As another writer states so eloquently, you have to put yourself in the shoes of a gay, 19th century English noble in order to get a handle on the "Vocab" test. If you use these words in public people will think you are some sort of Live Action Role Player, you may as well shout "Lightening Bolt!" as you throw nerf balls at them. You can go and buy a PS2 for this much money; the choice may be difficult. The PS2 will give you more enjoyment and will last longer.
Letters of Reference: That professor that you vaugely knew? Guess what, you get to con him in to writing a letter for you. Ensure that he is calling you by the correct name.
Transcipts: Schools will want undergraduate transcripts. If you go to UTK, prepare to hemorage all of your weekly paycheck to them so they can slap it into an evenlope and lose it for two weeks before sending it out.
Writing Sample: Better to just whip something up, quick, that does not suck. Stick to your field, not "Star Trek" or anime porn with hints of hentai.
Some schools will require other things as well:
The Lost Ark of the Covenant: Indy lost it, can you find it? Before Belloq gets it? Good luck. This is a requirement for higher end schools only.
A GPA over a 4.0: The school is "competetive" meaning that they want from you a GPA in the 5.0 range. Good luck. May just want to go search for the Ark.
An in-person interview: Wear something nice, like the Megadeth shirt with smaller holes. Remember, cosplaying during interviews is bad.
$$$$$$$$$: Application fee; in other words a waste of money in order to take an envelope and lose it until after the deadline.
Next up: Getting accepted, funding, and Politics on a truely low level.
The Captain's Guide to Graduate School
Ahhh, Graduate school. Almost a requirement in today's hyper driven world. Looking at that near useless liberal arts degree in your hand the day after graduation can be an eye-opener. Temp jobs, retail jobs, all of these are still your fucking domain. Some will call you "college boy" with a derisive sneer on their face. Others will make fun of your lack of "real-world" skills. You will end up working at the Kohl's shoe department for about a day, lamenting the fact that, by Tyr, you are starting to sound like Al Bundy. The Temp job that was supposed to turn permanent will end, leaving you, once more, looking for work. Either over or under qualified, never "just there".
Guess what? You have qualified for one thing, though, GRADUATE SCHOOL! FUCK YEAH!
Graduate school; where education takes a turn for the obscure. If you are smart you will research schools thoroughly, ensuring that your choices to apply to are perfect fits for your interests. Or you can do it like a half ass. To do it my way take into account the following:
1. Does the school have a decent mascot? Animals are OK, Falcons and Cats are OK, they ARE predators, after all. However, schools like Duke have images of Satan himself, and Wake Forest has a FUCKING FLAMING SKULL. A skull on fire for Odin's sake. Droppy dogs suck, so do rockets. Rockets are supposed to be awesome, right? Not if they aren't tipped with Nukes.
2. Where is the school located? Downtown of a run-down, rust belt city? Do you really want to brave bums, criminals, and gangers for you paltry education? Nope. Choose something suburban. Boring? You bet. Safe? Sure, the biggest threat are asshole campus cops with a Jock/bully complex.
3. Colors: By Loki, you'll be wearing this stuff for the rest of your life, choose soomething that coordinates. Bright Gay Orange and White? What the fuck was I thinking? I wear Shit Brown and Dark Orange instead. Better? Yes. Blue and Yellow are good choices, but being color blind, I will admit, I was kind of fucked from sqaure one on this requirement.
Once you have made the all important decision to apply to certain schools now you must get your "Application materials" together. There vary according to school, of course. Standard issue ones include:
The GRE: What is the GRE? $130 Goddman dollars, that's what. As another writer states so eloquently, you have to put yourself in the shoes of a gay, 19th century English noble in order to get a handle on the "Vocab" test. If you use these words in public people will think you are some sort of Live Action Role Player, you may as well shout "Lightening Bolt!" as you throw nerf balls at them. You can go and buy a PS2 for this much money; the choice may be difficult. The PS2 will give you more enjoyment and will last longer.
Letters of Reference: That professor that you vaugely knew? Guess what, you get to con him in to writing a letter for you. Ensure that he is calling you by the correct name.
Transcipts: Schools will want undergraduate transcripts. If you go to UTK, prepare to hemorage all of your weekly paycheck to them so they can slap it into an evenlope and lose it for two weeks before sending it out.
Writing Sample: Better to just whip something up, quick, that does not suck. Stick to your field, not "Star Trek" or anime porn with hints of hentai.
Some schools will require other things as well:
The Lost Ark of the Covenant: Indy lost it, can you find it? Before Belloq gets it? Good luck. This is a requirement for higher end schools only.
A GPA over a 4.0: The school is "competetive" meaning that they want from you a GPA in the 5.0 range. Good luck. May just want to go search for the Ark.
An in-person interview: Wear something nice, like the Megadeth shirt with smaller holes. Remember, cosplaying during interviews is bad.
$$$$$$$$$: Application fee; in other words a waste of money in order to take an envelope and lose it until after the deadline.
Next up: Getting accepted, funding, and Politics on a truely low level.
The Best of....
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Wal-Mart, again
So me and the wife went to Wal-Mart last night. We needed some stuff, you know. I have not been to Wal-Mart in about two weeks, give or take. Last night gave me more Wal-Mart than I will need for the next two months. It's like every sterotype and freak this wonderful town has to offer came out to Wal-Mart at a 9:00pm on a Saturday night.
The highlights:
-Female hobo, carnie freak and their three legged dog. From what I saw I think the dog was cleaner than the two humans. Skinny meth head and his, no shit, hobo look-alike women, she looked like she steped out of a book on vagrants. It was scary, smelly and disturbing all at the same time. I felt sorry for the three legged dog, however.
-Annoying stereotyped Asians. You know, Asian stereotypes have been a staple of college movies for years. This group walked right out of one. They acted like they did not know where they were, cut me off, smelled bad, you name it. I think the guy from Revenge of the Nerds could have taught them a lesson even.
-The total lack of fucking Ice Cream. I may be overweight, and yes, I like ice cream. But last night Wal-Mart had none. No shit, there was barely any ice cream in the freezer. We could not find any that sounded even remotely good. How the hell can a Super Wal-Mart run out of fucking ice cream?
-Mr. Hold the spot of my women so she can cut in front of the Captain and his wife with an overflowing cart. Fuck this bitch. Here asshole man "holds" the space. How fucking rude can people get? She had a cart full of shit, absolutely full of shit, 10x what we had. How indicitive of the rude, uncivil assholes people have become.
-If you have ever watched the show Trailer Park Boys the rest of the Wal-Mart gang looked staight out of that show. Skinny, frog voiced women who were most likely 20 years younger than they looked. Skinny, acne faced teens who were dressed as gangstas. Men with huge beer guts. Wal-Mart seemingly threw all it could at us last night. It did a good job.
Wal-Mart sucks.
Wal-Mart, again
So me and the wife went to Wal-Mart last night. We needed some stuff, you know. I have not been to Wal-Mart in about two weeks, give or take. Last night gave me more Wal-Mart than I will need for the next two months. It's like every sterotype and freak this wonderful town has to offer came out to Wal-Mart at a 9:00pm on a Saturday night.
The highlights:
-Female hobo, carnie freak and their three legged dog. From what I saw I think the dog was cleaner than the two humans. Skinny meth head and his, no shit, hobo look-alike women, she looked like she steped out of a book on vagrants. It was scary, smelly and disturbing all at the same time. I felt sorry for the three legged dog, however.
-Annoying stereotyped Asians. You know, Asian stereotypes have been a staple of college movies for years. This group walked right out of one. They acted like they did not know where they were, cut me off, smelled bad, you name it. I think the guy from Revenge of the Nerds could have taught them a lesson even.
-The total lack of fucking Ice Cream. I may be overweight, and yes, I like ice cream. But last night Wal-Mart had none. No shit, there was barely any ice cream in the freezer. We could not find any that sounded even remotely good. How the hell can a Super Wal-Mart run out of fucking ice cream?
-Mr. Hold the spot of my women so she can cut in front of the Captain and his wife with an overflowing cart. Fuck this bitch. Here asshole man "holds" the space. How fucking rude can people get? She had a cart full of shit, absolutely full of shit, 10x what we had. How indicitive of the rude, uncivil assholes people have become.
-If you have ever watched the show Trailer Park Boys the rest of the Wal-Mart gang looked staight out of that show. Skinny, frog voiced women who were most likely 20 years younger than they looked. Skinny, acne faced teens who were dressed as gangstas. Men with huge beer guts. Wal-Mart seemingly threw all it could at us last night. It did a good job.
Wal-Mart sucks.
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