Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Do the Robot
Most of you have probably seen this by now.
Holy shit.
Fortunately I'm here to read between the lines for you baby birds. Unlike most robot uprisings, this is a good thing for men.
(Let me roll up my sleeves here and put on my "World's Greatest Chauvinist Pig" trucker cap)
See, once sex bots become as realistic as a flesh and blood woman, it will completely change the man/female sexual dynamic. Hot chick's social value will sink like when one of these damned robots falls into the deep end of the pool, This will be particularly true for annoying and/or stupid girls. Overnight there will be a whole population of women that are no longer subjected to the non-stop, slobbering advances of your average male slob. It will be like Every woman is shifted down two spots on the 10-scale.
But that's not all!
The sociological landscape will thrown into complete disarray in (almost) all the best ways. If they can build a robot that recreates the female body in every way, perfectly (or more likely, better than perfect) Pollution, war, douche-baggery, violence, religious tom-foolery... it will all fall off when your average middle-class a-hole can save his pennies for a few years and by himself a virgin that doesn't require him to don a dynamite vest. What the government SHOULD be doing is subsidizing this research to undercut the market cost of these things and prevent the possible (likely?) riots when that same middle-class A-hole can't afford the thing.
Given a half a generation or so of acquaintance and refinement, and us old guys will become the minority, a rare breed that prefers sex "the old fashioned way" and as such highly saught after in a world gone crazy with sex deprived Alpha females fighting for attention in a sea of sex-bots.
...
what just happened? I think i blacked out for a few minutes.
Holy shit.
Fortunately I'm here to read between the lines for you baby birds. Unlike most robot uprisings, this is a good thing for men.
(Let me roll up my sleeves here and put on my "World's Greatest Chauvinist Pig" trucker cap)
See, once sex bots become as realistic as a flesh and blood woman, it will completely change the man/female sexual dynamic. Hot chick's social value will sink like when one of these damned robots falls into the deep end of the pool, This will be particularly true for annoying and/or stupid girls. Overnight there will be a whole population of women that are no longer subjected to the non-stop, slobbering advances of your average male slob. It will be like Every woman is shifted down two spots on the 10-scale.
But that's not all!
The sociological landscape will thrown into complete disarray in (almost) all the best ways. If they can build a robot that recreates the female body in every way, perfectly (or more likely, better than perfect) Pollution, war, douche-baggery, violence, religious tom-foolery... it will all fall off when your average middle-class a-hole can save his pennies for a few years and by himself a virgin that doesn't require him to don a dynamite vest. What the government SHOULD be doing is subsidizing this research to undercut the market cost of these things and prevent the possible (likely?) riots when that same middle-class A-hole can't afford the thing.
Given a half a generation or so of acquaintance and refinement, and us old guys will become the minority, a rare breed that prefers sex "the old fashioned way" and as such highly saught after in a world gone crazy with sex deprived Alpha females fighting for attention in a sea of sex-bots.
...
what just happened? I think i blacked out for a few minutes.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Which one is the real world
Editor's Note: I wrote this last week after returning from a weekend of awesome to a the familiar world of bullshit life maintenance. I'm not sure why i didn't hit "publish" then, but i suspect it had something to do with lack of sleep and grad school stress. I eventually finished the labs but didn't do very well on the quiz, but it was well worth the triumphs on the track.
I'm having a hard time focusing my brain back to the mundane day to day activities of the real world. To my brain, I'm still driving; racing a weekend's worth of endurance race. Still wearing a fire proof suit, strapped tightly into a metal box built by the team and I. Driving into corners at maximum speed knowing the brakes that I rebuilt along with the suspension that I installed would probably hold THIS car faster around the corner than any other vehicle around me. This is important information, especially at turn 11 because I also know that this motor is mostly untouched since that day back around the winter of 1993 when some Asian man (or lady) compiled its economy parts and as such, it cannot be relied upon for any manner of acceleration once we hit the front straight. But again, I'll be okay if I just brake later into this turn and carry more speed than everyone else. This late-braking, high speed plan does not of course account for a pink Camaro spinning out deep in the turn I was entering. I don't realize this until I'm approaching 80mph, trying to brake later than an MR-2, and the car a few yards in front of me locked up his brakes. Only slightly panicked, I too stand on my own tired, hot, over sized brakes, immediately seizing the front tires, stalling the engine and wearing two perfectly flat bald spots into the front tires. Turns out I was too busy minding the large, panoramic rear-view mirror for impending rear-end collisions and as such, failed to mind the clutch.
A 10th of a moment later I was coasting past the backwards-facing Camaro, noting it's orientation as the cause of my grief, and restarting the engine so as to take back lost positions.
You see, this story really starts Friday morning, when we leave the house and drive a normal car- a station wagon- 6 hours to the race track. Or maybe it starts thursday night when we pack that station wagon full of gear and tools. Possibly even the summer spent rebuilding the car or the summer before that, but its hard to say for sure. Regardless, the weekend it turns out, encompasses the lion's share of the story and it tells of the technical inspections and the building up of campsites; Cooking food, building fires, meeting up with friends and setting to rotating tires and making last minute repairs. But they are the hours spent in the car that my brain can't undock from; instances Like the one above when the system became overwhelmed by sensory data and in trying to control a world of entropy with shear willpower alone, achieved a meditative state of instantanious decision making. One void of conjecture or even the always present internal dialogue. At what point did my status quo become an impossibly small envelope inches from junk-racecars, throwing myself into squeeling turns two and three cars wide at the very real and very physical edge of grip? And that's the problem, really (if you can call it that): A series of timeless moments on a looped replay fighting for my attention.
We didn't win, per say, but we were the best loser. There was an award and a brief meeting but we were too busy to celebrate. We all had a beer because it seemed like the right thing to do but before I could finish I think it was lost in the confusion of packing up tools and loading a race car. We said goodbye and we drove home, exhausted. I returned to past due lab reports and quiz material that had not been studied. Real life moved in from all directions but the loops in my brain remain. I see them when i'm driving to work in the slow lane and when i'm sitting in a computer lab. And this is why I can't make my brain summarize and report an electronics lab from last week, detailing intricacies I can't quite recall. This is why the work world and the school world have no volume left.
If you're interested you can see the action here, from inside the car that caused the madness. The first paragraph above takes place between the 31 second mark where I can be seen coming into the frame and the 39 second mark where I coast away trying to restart the engine.
I'm having a hard time focusing my brain back to the mundane day to day activities of the real world. To my brain, I'm still driving; racing a weekend's worth of endurance race. Still wearing a fire proof suit, strapped tightly into a metal box built by the team and I. Driving into corners at maximum speed knowing the brakes that I rebuilt along with the suspension that I installed would probably hold THIS car faster around the corner than any other vehicle around me. This is important information, especially at turn 11 because I also know that this motor is mostly untouched since that day back around the winter of 1993 when some Asian man (or lady) compiled its economy parts and as such, it cannot be relied upon for any manner of acceleration once we hit the front straight. But again, I'll be okay if I just brake later into this turn and carry more speed than everyone else. This late-braking, high speed plan does not of course account for a pink Camaro spinning out deep in the turn I was entering. I don't realize this until I'm approaching 80mph, trying to brake later than an MR-2, and the car a few yards in front of me locked up his brakes. Only slightly panicked, I too stand on my own tired, hot, over sized brakes, immediately seizing the front tires, stalling the engine and wearing two perfectly flat bald spots into the front tires. Turns out I was too busy minding the large, panoramic rear-view mirror for impending rear-end collisions and as such, failed to mind the clutch.
A 10th of a moment later I was coasting past the backwards-facing Camaro, noting it's orientation as the cause of my grief, and restarting the engine so as to take back lost positions.
You see, this story really starts Friday morning, when we leave the house and drive a normal car- a station wagon- 6 hours to the race track. Or maybe it starts thursday night when we pack that station wagon full of gear and tools. Possibly even the summer spent rebuilding the car or the summer before that, but its hard to say for sure. Regardless, the weekend it turns out, encompasses the lion's share of the story and it tells of the technical inspections and the building up of campsites; Cooking food, building fires, meeting up with friends and setting to rotating tires and making last minute repairs. But they are the hours spent in the car that my brain can't undock from; instances Like the one above when the system became overwhelmed by sensory data and in trying to control a world of entropy with shear willpower alone, achieved a meditative state of instantanious decision making. One void of conjecture or even the always present internal dialogue. At what point did my status quo become an impossibly small envelope inches from junk-racecars, throwing myself into squeeling turns two and three cars wide at the very real and very physical edge of grip? And that's the problem, really (if you can call it that): A series of timeless moments on a looped replay fighting for my attention.
We didn't win, per say, but we were the best loser. There was an award and a brief meeting but we were too busy to celebrate. We all had a beer because it seemed like the right thing to do but before I could finish I think it was lost in the confusion of packing up tools and loading a race car. We said goodbye and we drove home, exhausted. I returned to past due lab reports and quiz material that had not been studied. Real life moved in from all directions but the loops in my brain remain. I see them when i'm driving to work in the slow lane and when i'm sitting in a computer lab. And this is why I can't make my brain summarize and report an electronics lab from last week, detailing intricacies I can't quite recall. This is why the work world and the school world have no volume left.
If you're interested you can see the action here, from inside the car that caused the madness. The first paragraph above takes place between the 31 second mark where I can be seen coming into the frame and the 39 second mark where I coast away trying to restart the engine.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
A new member of the family!
As you all know I am a practicing Quiver Full. And as such, once the means were available, i was obligated to increase my vehicle count by one.
His name is El Burrito. (I know, its stupid, but this is what happens when someone watches "Machete" and then strolls up when you're flexing your new wheels. I wanted to call it "old reliable and easy to work on" but it didn't have the staying power of "El Burrito.")
4 cylinders, 5 speeds, 2 wheeldrive and built in 1988. (Though the engine is from 90, allegedly). Counting the Caddy and the Dynasty, this is the 3rd American car I've owned from 1988, meaning that must have been a hell of a year.
Of course the nay-sayers will ask "why would you buy such an absurd vehicle to drive in the snowy winters of OH?" to which i would respond "come closer so i can spit on you."
His name is El Burrito. (I know, its stupid, but this is what happens when someone watches "Machete" and then strolls up when you're flexing your new wheels. I wanted to call it "old reliable and easy to work on" but it didn't have the staying power of "El Burrito.")
4 cylinders, 5 speeds, 2 wheeldrive and built in 1988. (Though the engine is from 90, allegedly). Counting the Caddy and the Dynasty, this is the 3rd American car I've owned from 1988, meaning that must have been a hell of a year.
Of course the nay-sayers will ask "why would you buy such an absurd vehicle to drive in the snowy winters of OH?" to which i would respond "come closer so i can spit on you."
Friday, October 01, 2010
Reasons you Shouldn't go to Panera Bread...
...During Breast Cancer Awareness Weekend
This weekend Panera bread will be donating 100% of their profits to some tit-centric organization. Or so I hear. If you're the kind of person that cares about this type of thing, you probably got an email, but i was unaware of this fact before heading out for lunch today.
- Pink Balloons tied to cash registers obstruct menu.
- Cups for water too small.
- Slow service due to abnormally high number of middle aged female customers.
- Pink Strawberry smoothie carries unintended political message.
- A lot of breast awareness talk. No breast awareness walk.
This weekend Panera bread will be donating 100% of their profits to some tit-centric organization. Or so I hear. If you're the kind of person that cares about this type of thing, you probably got an email, but i was unaware of this fact before heading out for lunch today.
- Pink Balloons tied to cash registers obstruct menu.
- Cups for water too small.
- Slow service due to abnormally high number of middle aged female customers.
- Pink Strawberry smoothie carries unintended political message.
- A lot of breast awareness talk. No breast awareness walk.
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