Presidential Bling

For some reason people are surprised by the wealth of our new Presidential candidates. Mitt Romney will be, if elected, the second wealthiest President in history.

This is not new. George Washington was worth over 500 million dollars and other presidents, like Frisky Jack himself (I don't know if anyone has ever called JFK "Frisky Jack" before, but...they really should) were worth closer to a billion.

Wealth is a consummate part of our political system. It's simply unavoidable. A poor man could possibly be your High School's Prom King, he knows everyone and therefore personality, looks and who he's dating could influence nearly everyone at the school. At the national level, with over 250 million potential voters needing to be reached and influenced, a poor man would fail, unless of course he was backed by a rich men.

Very rarely do rich men actually use their own money to campaign, but other rich people are simply more likely to invest in someone who has proven they know how to run a business (or marketing campaign) which is really what pre-election hysteria actually comes down to.

There is also the matter of psychology. Americans don't truly want an everyman. Very few of us want the responsibilities of a King, which is what we relate the President to actually being. However this is not the case, and this is where Voter Responsibility comes into question.

We are not electing a ruler. We are electing a leader. This is a man who has a say in National Politics as opposed to the say. He (and one day she) is not better than us, nor were they born with some ingrained ability or right to rule. They are simply people, who being raised with, by or as a part of the Wealthy have this sense of "Right." They believe that we, the People, do not know how to rule ourselves, and so it is their Duty to govern us.

Sadly, this is becoming more and more true. Ask your average college kid about politics. He'll (again, ladies too) tell you he either doesn't care, or he'll get into an ideological debate with you about abortion or the Death Penalty.

Most Americans simply don't have the background knowledge to actually get involved in politics. They don't understand the National (certainly not the Global) Financial Climate. They don't care.

Most Americans don't know what lowering or raising taxes does outside of what it says on their pay-stubs. Most Americans dislike or distrust Police Officers and don't pull over for Ambulances until they're being robbed or have been injured.

A higher standard of living eventually becomes an easier standard of living. And with ease comes laziness, and laziness will eventually lead to ignorance, of the blissful nature.

We are treading a dangerous path and treating it like the sidewalk to school holding our mother's hand.

But cycles happen. Trends rise and fall. Every trough has it's upside, hopefully we're nearing an apex point and we'll all be able to breath easy and love life.

Here's to hoping.

She Has to Buy a Ticket

I'm walking out of the doors at work today next to a small group of guys talking about "the one that got away."

I heard the phrase "Great White Buffalo" being tossed around. Two of the friends were getting on the other one for his inaction in relation to a girl that had recently moved away.

Apparently she had been "the one." This kid had to be around nineteen. If only he knew.

But his response to the jests of his peers?

"Dudes, she can't just magically fly to Daytona."

He's right. Today we use airplanes. Much more comfortable than broomsticks and you get the added inconvenience of airport security.

Suck it, bros. She can't magically get here.

She has to buy a ticket.

For All the Skyrim Ninjas

Steve Jobs Thinking Pose: Outpacing the Mona Lisa in Most Views, One Click at a Time

This is the only picture of Steve Jobs you will ever see again.

And he isn't even holding an iPhone. For shame.

Frosted Flakes -- Supporting Irresponsible Parenting Everywhere

Fuck this guy. Who makes his kid field grounders all morning before eating breakfast? What type of father is Kellogg's supporting here? The Nazi Sports Dads?

There's one with them playing football before breakfast too. Freakin' Frosted Flakes.

A Ho-Hum Routine and the Tire Douche

I set my alarm each night for exactly one hour before I need to be at work the next morning. This leaves me exactly enough time to not get a complete breakfast, miss most of Sports Center, and make it to work with a little less than two minutes to spare.

This system allows me to do things like, but not limited to: complain about being tired or having low energy levels all day;need a lunch because I didn't have a good breakfast; not know anything that's going on in the sporting World until someone brings it up.

Yesterday began no different than any other day. Wake up at nine for work at ten. Eat a single cookie, hold on longingly to the second one before putting it back, all the while telling myself that this was the place the battle would be won, this cookie would be the first of many victories. (I feel you should know that I am currently eating an ice cream.) Get dressed, take one last wistful look at the clock. Leave.

A ho-hum morning to the tee. I threw myself into my little Oldsmobile with typical abandon, put on my music and morosely pulled out of the parking spot.

The differentiating factor this particular morning was the UPS driver--who I imagine had, much earlier than I, gone through his own ho-hum morning routine and was now in a mental state that fell somewhere between utter anguish and happy pink butterflies. The point of that metaphor? He was taking up both lanes.

Being the astute morning driver we all know me to be, I reacted about ten seconds too late and flung myself up and over a (maybe) six inch curb. Something that should of, at worst, made my car complain the rest of the drive to work. "Dick move, Dave. Dick move." Yeah, it would have been annoying. But I would have understood.

Instead, my tire exploded like an overripe watermelon. It would be safe to say that it handled the situation poorly.

So instead of getting to work two minutes early, I got to work fifteen minutes late. And then, as my shift came to it's seemingly unreachable conclusion, I had to call my roommate to come pick me up, who, like any good mother, was at the door waiting and waving as I left the building.

Florida seemed to know exactly when I'd been forced into an outdoor situation, and immediately reacted with what I'll loosely call a "fierce heat." As I've long associated mind-numbing with cold weather and boring people and hate the word "sweltering."

As with most flat tires, I had to replace this one. In so doing I had to locate a spare, locate the jack, get the car up on said jack, get the wheel off and the spare on, the only difference between this and any normal flat-tire situation? It was like a rookie league pit crew. I had about thirty minutes to get the car into the shop and get it fixed.

This undoubtedly doesn't sound like a problem to most of you, but for me, changing a spare without a book telling me exactly how is a lot like putting LEGO's together without a guide. Sure, it'll look the same, but I always end up with fourteen extra pieces and a building that tilts to the left the ten-percent of the time it isn't tilting to the right.

Inevitably, we (my roommate was there for the whole ordeal, because he cares) beat the clock with two minutes to spare, an appearing theme in my existence, and got to the tire shop exactly twenty minutes after my appointment. But an hour and a half before close.

The guy, who I will jokingly (not really) call the Tire Douche, "spit his game" at me, as it were, for the next ten minutes. Wasting time as, at this point, I would have bought whatever the Hell he told me to. Instead, he pulled a super exaggerated "Captain Morgan" pose. He managed to get his leg all the way up to a counter that was a little higher than my waist. As if he wanted to say. "Look bro, I'm taller than you. Also, my cock is in your face."

Good times.

About an hour later, I made my glorious return to the land where Tire Douche ruled as King and finished paying for my tires, alignment and subsequent soul harvesting. He spent about twenty minutes reassuring me that I had done the right thing in getting tires. He did this despite me, after minute one (more accurately, second ten) telling him, "Yeah, they were not in good shape."

To which Tire Douche responded, "Good shape? Dude, you should play the lottery, I'm freakin' honored to be in front of you right now, man. You should have died!"

Awesome. But, he was right. There were small pieces of asphalt stuck in the glaringly obvious fibers sticking out all over the damn place. In places the tread was so destroyed that you could count the layers the road had chewed through. My tires essentially looked like they had been made of felt rather than rubber. Like someone threw out a couch and I said, "Fuck yes, I want that on my car."

Maybe I just care about the roads comfort more than you.

Internet Dependency

THIS IS A QUICK POST ABOUT INTERNET DEPENDENCY:

I have it.

Everything I've written about, thought about, or talked about in the past week has somehow spiraled it's way back around to the inconceivable, seemingly intractable fact that I do not have internet, yet.

Yet is not in italics because I'm not quite sure if there is hope anymore.

And then I read this and realized how true it was. Damn it PvPonline and always being one step ahead.