Astrology got it Wrong. Again.

With all the chaos going on about how everyone's astrological sign is now wrong, I decided to do a bit of scientific research to see what all the hulabaloo was about. Turns out, even the NEW starsign breakdown is wrong. My research shows a little something different. READ ON...!

PANTHERAS: January 20 - February 16
You're a very gregarious and outgoing person. You enjoy your friends, and share with them often. You enjoy exercise, and take great care to maintain your personal appearance. Despite being physically fit, you're not suited to team sports or conventional athletic activities. You'll fit better on the cheerleading squad than the football team. Practicing loud protracted compliments will serve you well. Retro in style, you're more comfortable in an ascot than a suit.

CUCKOUS: February 16 - March 11

While known as an enjoyable loose cannon and life of the party due to your wacky antics, be careful with certain substances. Becoming accustomed or addicted to things could lead to emotional explosions or prolonged depressive episodes. Surround yourself with support, not enablers.

FORTUNAE: March 11 - April 18

Of all the sings on this list, you're the most likely to believe in astrology. You're a very superstitious type who puts a great deal of importance into traditional icons like the stars, the moon, clovers, horseshoes, and rainbows. A colorful personality, you don't like bland hues. Naturally suspicious of others, you live in constant fear of others stealing your worldly goods. But remember, it's not paranoia if they're really after you!

LEPUS: April 18 - May 13

Even though you possess an energetic and silly personality, beware of the trappings of entitlement. You're at risk of believing the world owes you something, and could easily fall into a life of crime and petty larceny. Remember, earning for oneself is better than taking that which belongs to others! Your naive and occasionally immature attitude makes you long for youthful pursuits, things generally recognized as being for kids. 

APISIA: May 13 - June 21

You know what you like, almost as if you were born to it. A natural temptress, you entice others to join your passions, because, after all, obsession loves company. A natural poet, your speech will be littered with alliteration and rhyme.

SOL: June 21 - July 20

Your life will be an exercise in duality. Not in the contradictory sense, but in that you'll have an obsession with having two of everything. Two kids. Two cars. Two houses. (If you want two spouses, perhaps consider a move to Utah?) Friends and family will enjoy your generosity when giving everything twice, but it will cause them to wonder why ONE isn't enough. 

SCHNOZ: July 21 - August 10

Possessing strong intuition and an almost preternatural olfactory sense, you're a champion at leading others to what they seek. Career success will be found in either an investigatory profession, or perhaps a jungle guide. Beware of self-esteem issues, however, as your large nasal organ could cause some body image issues. 

CAPO: August 10 - September 16

A born seafarer, you'll find success in either a military or civilian water-based career. While many of your friends and acquaintances view you as adequate most of the time, you will have moments when they positively adore you. Despite your many friends on the land, the sea is your first mistress. Beware staying out of contact for extended periods of time, or your landlubber friends may begin to worry, and possibly overreact in their search efforts. And watch out for other seafarers looking to kidnap you.

HYLIDAE: March 11 - April 18

You are a very cool customer. Things tend to go your way, so you don't stress in the face of obstacles. After all, obstacles are easy to avoid or hop over, and keeping a smooth demeanor makes you all the more attractive for it. Expect quite a few kisses in your life.

MONSTARO: September 16 - October 30

Those born under this sign will feel shunned by the world, mostly due to some perceived physical deformity (be in abnormal orthodontia, an excess of body hair, a certain ethereal quality, or the feeling that one's body doesn't fit together properly). But there's hope - a sparkling personality can win others over. If you get too wrapped up in yourself, no one will remember you.

TRES SONAS: October 30 - November 29

You're a frenetic person, always in motion. Some may confuse this as a multiple personality issue, be sure to have regular psychological updates to make sure their fears are unfounded. You love the hustle and bustle of life, and are generally uncomfortable around silence. If overwhelmed by quiet, expect to make your own comforting noise, be it tapping your fingers, stomping your feet, or pinching the bubbles in bubblewrap.

ROCKFRUIT: November 29 - Jan. 20

Not only is your personality derivative, but you'll sell out at first opportunity. Even though you have a jealous and possessive personality, sharing with one's best friend is a good thing.

I Like My Cigar - It has a Mana Bar

Some months ago, a friend shared a disturbing story with me. His theater company was the subject of a project for a few business students of the local university, something about how even in small towns, a private for-profit theater could still be a viable business. And in the course of the conversation with them, he discovered that these three students did not know who the Marx Brothers were. 

My protracted silence of incredulity is what unlimited long distance phone plans were designed for. I fully get that college kids are generally punk jackasses wrapped up in their own world:

Jackasses, circa 1993. Note the band T-shirts (NOT retro at the time) and liberal application of Mt. Dew

...but the last time I remember NOT knowing who the Marx Brothers was 1989. I was 12. I'm not going to take standard geek umbrage here. I can't claim to have seen all (or even most) of the Marx Brothers films. I couldn't quote any of their more notable gags without sitting and thinking about it for hours. But I CAN name all the Marx brothers, and I don't even have to look them up on the Internets: Groucho, Harpo, Frodo, Chico, Bilbo, Zeppo, and Friendo. 

Friendo Marx. The funniest of all.

(Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure the Marx Matriarch squipped out that many kids. I think Friendo is a Marx Brother in the same sense that the guy from Firefly is a Baldwin Brother. Not a bonafide sibling, per se, but more like a cousin).

Kim Basinger's ex Cousin-in-Law

I'm trying to figure out what it is about these fine young college students' ignorance that upsets and offends me so much. I've toyed with the idea that it has to do with the fact that all knowledge is more accessible than ever via our hand-held Internet portals, and thus we've become lazier and less intelligent as a species, but that doesn't seem quite right. I accept that we don't need to store minutiae in our brains, anymore, because damn near any piece of information can be brought up in a smart-phone search engine race. Thus, valuable brain power is freed up for analysis, creativity, and the bits of info we DO care to store in our heads because we'd prefer be able to spout off (sans search engine) what color Leonardo's headband is (blue) rather than tell you who the 12th President of the US is (no idea). Like the microwave ovens and blenders of the nuclear 50s, accessible Web info is simply another labor saving device, affording us more leisure time for the important stuff. So I can't blame it on the technology.  I think I just have to accept that subsequent generations are getting stupider.

Once upon a time, the roles were reversed: the older generation remained ignorant of the younger generation's zeitgeist. And the younger generation, while intolerant and mocking of the older generation's cultural bullet points, were at least AWARE of said bullet points. As a kid, I was aware of my father's on-screen hero, John Wayne, even though I'd never seen any of his movies. I could tell you who Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson were. Even knew a couple of their songs. But I doubt my father had any idea who the Ninja Turtles were. He didn't register He-Man as anything other than "$5.99." And there is no way he ever spoke, heard, or even thought the words "Battle Beasts."

But now the kids today (am I really old enough to utter that cliche?) get to be the ignorant ones. And I refuse the old fuddy-duddy moniker, because unlike my own ancestry, I actually UNDERSTAND the kids' zeitgeist today. I'm apparently part of the lost middling generation who can be bothered to not only know who these guys are:

Not pictured: Frodo, Bilbo.

but who also understands THIS:

Seriously. A Mana Bar makes this thing scary as hell.

Boss Spider has about eight different levels of comedic and cultural reference brilliance going on. I'm not going to bore you with the details if you don't get it, but suffice to say, most video game playing nerds find this funny. (Even funnier if you're looking at the picture with an arachnophobic co-worker nearby). My brother gets this. The friends I grew up with and went to college with get this. My co-workers get this. AND THEY ALL KNOW WHO THE DAMN MARX BROTHERS ARE!

Somebody suggested that we could find Marxist cultural reference common ground with these college students by invoking The Brothers animated progeny, one Bugs Bunny. Intriguing idea! Surely the carrot-chomping wise-acre antics of everyone's favorite Wascially Wabbit is sure to spark some mote of recognition for Groucho's cigar-gnawing quips! Right? RIGHT?

Or maybe they'll simply respond "Who's Bugs Bunny?" 

And I'll crack open a Metamucil and go join my father in a John Wayne marathon on TNT.

The Stages of Life as Described by One's Perception of Customer Service Surveys

Companies want to know how they're doing. I know this, because they keep sending me stuff in the mail screaming "How are we doing?" The most recent was from a bank, wanting to know how they did with a red flag warning on my account activity. I won't name the bank, as I'm thoroughly entrenched in "Established Adulthood #3" (see below), but I will state that I was less than satisfied. Not with the service or the pleasant customer service rep I spoke with, per se, but with the policy that prevented me from using the Internets' technology from watching a football game. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth that day. But enough of my petty griping. Onto the Stages!

Infancy/Childhood - IGNORANCE: Blissfully unaware. Still working out important details like awareness of sound and light, how to work fingers, toes, etc. Critique of the world around you limited to screaming in agony or giggling with glee.

Adolescence - NON PERSONA GRATA: Nobody listens, anyway, so why bother? Critiquing skills still limited, although beginning to show levels of sophistication. EG: "Taco Bell sucks" or "Taco Bell rules." (No bubble to fill out for Sucks/Rules on Taco Bell's survey, so the paper is subsequently graffitied with pictures of penises and perjoratives questioning the sexual orientation of one's friends). 

Collegiate/Early Adulthood - APATHY: Unless I get free booze, I ain't fillin out your stupid survey. 

Post Collegiate/Adulthood - INCLUSION: Initial thrill of believing that your opinion is actually taken into consideration. Will take time to give thoughtful responses, weighing each category, and thus contributing to the larger society around you. "I'm a SOMEBODY!"

Established Adulthood #1 - CONFUSION: What the hell is the difference between SATISFIED and VERY SATISFIED? When was the last time you said to yourself "I was VERY SATISFIED" about something? And what if I heard about your product on the radio, but then researched it on the Internets? Do I click RADIO AD or INTERNET? And why can't I click more than one option? How the hell do you expect me to be VERY LIKELY to RECOMMEND THIS PRODUCT TO A FRIEND if I can't even understand your goddam survey???

Established Adulthood #2 - DESPAIR: Everything is flawed anyway. Everybody knows it. Taking the time to fill this thing out isn't going to make anything better. It's all an elaborate ruse to make us think they actually care about us.

Established Adulthood #3 - PARANOIA: If you give these guys a bad review, they'll use it against you. If you mark "VERY DISSATISFIED" on any of the categories, your bank will raise your fees and lose deposits, your cell phone coverage will shrink, and they'll send somebody to "accidentally" repossess your riding lawnmower in the night.  Cover your ass by marking "VERY SATISFIED" for every category. It's the only way to be sure.

Having been through all of these stages of life and reaction to Customer Service Surveys , I eagerly anticipate my future:

Middle Age - MILITANT: Customer service surveys are disposed of in lieu of sending an angry letter to the company, the editor of the local newspaper, the Better Business Bureau, and your friend's kid who works in a vaguely related field. 

Old Age - RETROSPECTIVE EXHAUSTION: Surveys generally cause the bittersweet recollection "I remember it was much better back when…." On rare occasions that you do actually fill them out, the tiring process will merit a well-earned nap.

Elderly Convalescence - IGNORANCE: Back to blissful unawareness. Prime concerns include wondering where you put your teeth and why your pants are wet. When's that cute nurse coming by with the pudding?

In order to better serve the readers, please tell us about your experience reading this article. Were you:

a) Very Satisfied 

b) Somewhat Satisfied

c) Neither Satisfied nor Dissatisfied

d) Somewhat Dissatisfied

e) Very Dissatisfied

f) Disappointed that it ended with such a cheap attempt at a gag

Technology Will Turn us into Zombies

Have a looksee at this:

Grisly, isn't it?

I'd like to be able to assert my manhood and claim this as some sort of injury I sustained while fighting a pack of rabid wolves. Hell, I'd even be cool with some sort of flesh-eating bacteria contracted while retrieving a meteor in the Amazonian jungles. Sadly, no such adventure caused this hole in my face. It's merely the result of TECHNOLOGY.

While playing with my recently-acquired Camera Bag app, I took a picture (that, notably, my camera phone completely horked up the white balance on). I'd originally wanted to try out an in-your-face pic with the fisheye lens filter. 

Pre-fisheye crosseye. Maybe a little extreme on the closeup.
(and pretty damed orange, too)

But while fiddling with the various options, I applied the infrared filter, and the hilight on my nose was inverted into a picture-perfect hole. I'm not sure if this is what the developers of Camera Bag had in mind, but the result is bloody awesome.

In the interest of science, I immediately tried to recreate the effect:

EUREKA! Again, the hilight on the nose decays into an awesome window to my inner skull. And the abrasions on the forehead become a bit more pronounced. I've successfully recreated the hole in my nose.

Finally, using my newfound powers for angry zombie result:

Yes, I did take this picture in the bathroom. And no, I will
not tell you what I was doing in the bathroom at the time.
Even Angry Zombies have limits as to what they'll share.

Chewed up nose: Check. Bruising/abrasions on forehead: Check. Really nifty blood-clot looking thing in the eye: Check.

All those cautionary sci-fi tales were right: technology DOES dehumanize us and turn us into mindless angry zombies. 

 

Your Butt Loves Me.

 Updated!: Instead of Booger-in-your-Nose protocols, maybe I'll respond to my Butt-Dials by doing what THIS chick did.


Your Butt Loves Me.

Seriously, it does. Why else would it call me? All the time. All hours of the day.

When bestowing the name Paddy on their son, my parents surely had some idea of the challenges it would provide throughout my life. And while I like to think I've lived up to those challenges, there are times that I raise my mental eyebrow, doubting that they foresaw all that I'd face:

Grade school: A Boy Named Sue…er, Paddy. Yeah, I got into a few scrapes in my youth. Whether this was due to the perceived feminine qualities of the name, or due to the heritage the name implies (see below), I'll never know. Notably, most fights were with friends, or those who would become my friends. I'm sure that once, way back in history, fighting with friends (or friends-to-be) had something to do with proving your manliness in order to be accepted into a clique. By the time I was growing up, though, I suspect the thought process was more along the lines of "who cares if he's tough? Does he play Nintendo? Cool. We can hang out with him."

Junior High: Missed Opportunities. My first day at a new school, the administration got confused by my name and placed me on the girls' gym roster. While social death at the time and no small source of embarrassment, if I'd had half my wits about me, I would have embraced the opportunity for school-sanctioned co-ed showering. Inevitably, when in philosophical discussions about what I'd go back in time and change if I could, this  is near the top of the list. When authority puts you in the company of a gaggle of girls, you'd best carpe that diem for all it's worth.

College and Beyond: Living up to Stereotypes. With a name that represents one of the two most common Irish slurs, you'd best be able to back it up. I believe it comes as a disappointment to all who know me that I don't drink or fight or drink and fight more often. All apologies. (Although for what it's worth, the preferred drink IS whisky.)

Now that you've been subjected to a bit of my nominal history, let's talk about what your Butt has to do with it.

Look at your phone. Now back to me. Back to your phone. And back to me. Sadly, I'm not your phone. But that #7 on your phone represents me. In that mystical language of alpha-numeric phone speak, I am #7. And when your phone gets jostled into address book mode, if you sit down and your Butt hits that cornerstone number, the letter P is the first number that comes up. And the odds are high that if you have me in your address book, I'm the first name that comes up. I show up before the Pauls. Before the Paiges. Even before the Pats. And your Butt frequently calls me. 

(If you have friends in your phone named Pablo or Paco, then relax. I'm not talking to you. But THEY may want to have a word with your Butt.

Not that I don't like your Butt. But I might not know your Butt. Of all the friends I have, I only know a few of their Butts. And even then, it's likely only a casual acquaintance. Maybe I met them at a party, when you were flirting with that cute person on the patio. Maybe you dove into the pool, and your Butt poked it's face out to say "hi!" Maybe you dropped your keys. Or maybe a bunch of our Butts met when we were mooning that jerk who lived next to the Little League field and wouldn't let us go onto his property to retrieve foul balls and would pull out a shotgun if we tried to sneak over the fence to get them. Classy move, there, pal: pulling a shotgun on Little League kids. But hey, at least it gave our Butts an opportunity to meet one another.

Look, I know that everyone has been victim to the Butt-Dial. Heck, MY Butt has even made a call now and then without my knowledge. But I can't help but think that I'm a bit more of a Butt-Dial recipient than most. And in the interest of trying to be a better person, I'm gonna start calling y'all on it. It's the modern-communication version of having food stuck in your teeth. Or having a booger hanging out of your nose. Sure, it sucks. But it sucks so much worse when people see it and DON'T SAY ANYTHING. If Ihave a big piece of broccoli stuck in my teeth and you don't tell me, then you've just enabled the rest of the world to mock my oral hygiene. That's just damned rude of you. Better that you tell me, and we have a brief awkward moment, but the problem gets rectified. And then I don't look like a total boob when I flirt with the girl at the auto service center to try and get a free car wash with my oil change. That's a courtesy I demand of you. And you should demand the same courtesy of me. 

So next time your Butt calls me in the middle of the night when you drunkenly stagger into a cab, next time I get a three minute voicemail from the inside of your pants, I'll let you know. You'll get a text. Maybe a phone call at 7 in the morning. Maybe I'll steal your phone and change the address card to my last name, so that I won't be the victim when your posterior punches up the number 7. Either way, you'll be made aware of the situation, and you'll be able to take appropriate action with your Butt to prevent it from using up your minutes. 

And I'll be able to cease wondering why the hell you keep calling me.