Friday, December 10, 2004

freaking lasers.

I read this story this morning.

The memo, sent by the FBI and the Homeland Security Department, says there is evidence that terrorists have explored using lasers as weapons.

There is no specific intelligence indicating al Qaeda or other groups might use lasers in the United States, they added.

"Although lasers are not proven methods of attack like improvised explosive devices and hijackings, terrorist groups overseas have expressed interest in using these devices against human sight," the memo said.

"In certain circumstances, if laser weapons adversely affect the eyesight of both pilot and co-pilot during a non-instrument approach, there is a risk of airliner crash," the agencies said.

I'm surprised that the story didn't mention how the lasers were attached to evil sharks. Stay afraid though, stay very afraid because if we stop being scared then the Bush administration would have to explain its real motives behind most of its moves including a war that I hear is going just great.

Great big fucking lasers.

Thursday, December 09, 2004


I gave my wife a pretty hard time today about the fact that she paid for the Starbucks brand Ice Cream. It's so expensive I said. I don't think I've ever paid this much fro Ice Cream. Plus, Its Starbucks. I don't like Starbucks. I'm not going to list all of the reasons here but know that they are many. I don't like buying Starbucks brand anything. They don't deserve my money but...

This ice cream is fucking good.

A Crying shame...

R.I.P. -- "Diamond" Darrell.

This whole story is a crying shame. A twenty five year old walks onto the stage at a rock show and four people end up dead. A tremendous talent shot five times in the head and the only lead the police have to go on about motive is that the shooter who was shot and killed by police did this because Pantera broke up. All on the 24th anniversary of the John Lennon assassination. Wrong on so many levels.

The summer before my sophomore year of high school my electric guitar given to me by my uncle shit the bed. Bad connections, weak neck, bridge cracked, basically a very old and very used guitar. A friend of a friend had bought a brand new one and while he wasn't at all interested in getting rid of it he was willing to let me borrow it a while. Not having the money yet I was happy to have anything to use because I was meeting a friend to play a few songs at a party. I'm gonna just cut to the chase here -- the guitar was hot pink and said Pantera across the body. Hot.Pink. I wasn't a big Pantera fan (never really got into stuff that hard.) I had no problem with them but the guitar was hot pink. I was in the tenth grade and the pinkness was embarrassing in its pinkitude. The guitar worked fine and even called attention to me playing which in the Kurt Colbain and Eddy Vedder model of angst and resentment I didn't want to be noticed. Ahh youth.

That's it. That is my little story that is my connection to the band Pantera and "Diamond". I knew who he was because he wrote a column in one of the Guitar magazines I was a big fan of. I wish I had more but that is my lame connection to an absolute tragedy that happened last night in Ohio.

Update: It has been brought to my attention that I got "Diamebag"'s nickname wrong in the post. I have no excuse and it is very embarrassing but it is surely not due to ignorance. I think it was a subconcious homage to the great "Diamond" Dave. I am sorry for the mistake. My poor attention to detail strikes again.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004


I had to buy someone at work a gift tonight for a secret Santa type event later in the week. While buying my big smelly jar candle at the famous big smelly jar candle store I was asked for my phone number when I was trying to pay cash. I have had this happen before at other stores and have been told that they have to get a number to get into the register and process. This time I didn't even ask and just gave a fake. I always end up giving the fake but for some reason I feel compelled to keep it close. I take my phone number and add one and I don't know why I do that. I know why I give a fake number (who the hell wants a call regarding big smelly jar candles?) What I don't know is why I feel compelled to only adjust my real number by one number. I could easily make something up with the same amount of digits but I want this lie to be as close to accurate as possible. I don't know why this is.

In a related bit of paranoia, I was buying something at a large department store and was asked my zip code. Now this is a demographic survey that I don't mind. At least I never have before but that night I decided that I was just too damn private to let this store try and record what area of the state this untraceable cash transaction came from. So I gave them my parents' zip.

Why do I do that?