Moose Factory

Let's all just take a moment to guess where this title could possibly lead. Go on, use your imagination.
. . .

Ok, here's the deal. I was doing some hockey research--in my attempt to re-familiarize myself with the newly (at least relatively) renovated NHL in all of it's infamy. For the record, I'm currently studying triumphant nOObs Sidney Crosby and Alex Ovechkin.

Somehow, I stumbled upon the San Jose web site, checked out some of the players I was less familiar with, and found...in the middle of the page...the lovely little establishment of Moose Factory, Ontario. All immediate jokes aside, I have to admit I was curious. So I did what any lazy knowledge-seeker does nowadays, and I spun straight for Wikipedia. Here's what I found:

-Moose Factory is a community on Moose Factory Island, which is near the mouth of the Moose River...across the river from the Moosenee community. (No, I'm not making this up).

-On epodunk.com, I managed to find ONE hotel within 150 miles of Moose Factory. Only 3 within 175 miles...and one of them was named "Thriftlodge."

-Today, the temperature in Moose Factory, Ontario is -37 degrees F.

-Believe it or not, Moose Factory was established as a fur-trading post in the 1670s. It remained so until captured by the French in 1686, at which point it was renamed Fort St. Louis. I've not yet decided which name receives fewer creativity points.

-As of 1999, the population was 2458.

-Of the 805 total people over the age of 15, only 70 have completed highschool, and only 15 have college degrees.

-Among the major employers (only a few slots after the Weeneebayko hospital and Bob's Gun Shop) are Jimmy's Pizza and Bob's Burgers. I wonder if it's the same Bob... Gee, Bob...what IS in those burgers...

-The Moose Factory Island Fire Department consists of a Fire Chief and 2 full-time fire fighters. From the Moose Factory Profile.pdf: "In the event of a fire emergency anywhere on the island, there is a full emergency response, which includes the fire department, the police service (total of 5 officers), and the ambulence service, all of which depart from the back of Bob's Guns and Burgers." OK, so I added that last phrase...

And for the finale: Apparently, according to related articles, Jonathan Cheechoo (currently of the San Jose Sharks) has "put Moose Factory on the map."

I retain my doubts.

I'll be sure to update with any breaking stories out of Moose Factory...

Crocs of Shit

First of all, it is absolutely imperative that you read this...in its entirety...slowly and carefully...savoring each and every word. EACH ONE. (Click on the following link!)

Kids' Feet Mangled by Escalator--Parents Sue CROCS!!!

I, for one, have always loathed Crocs. They are not functional shoes. You get rocks in them, the rocks irritate your feet, then they escape stealthily (or worse, get wedged in one of those perfectly rock-shaped holes and render your 'shoes' [even more] useless.)
What about flip-flops? They provide no protection. Sure, but they're more comfortable, portable, practical, lighter, cheaper, agile, and they also prevent foot odor and moisture. And maybe most importantly, they don't tempt you with the prospect of protection. If you stub your toe, it's your own god-damned fault. And if you lose one, you can get another pair for $2 at Wal-Mart, Target, etc.
Crocs? A new pair will cost you roughly $30 bucks...and your dignity.
Unless you're Dutch. Then they are a welcomed alternative to those heavy wooden clonkers--note the resemblance: Clogs Crocs
Also, note the smug aire of asinine arrogance--quixotic, no?

I have a theory as to how Crocs are made. See, at one point, they were actually shoe-like. Straight off the production line, they would cover your feet--that's right, no holes. The next step, however, is quite appalling. The 'makers' soak the shoes in animal parts--blood, intestines, meat, and fat; then they drop them into a pit with an assortment of rabid, blood-thirsty animals.
Picture the scene from Jurassic Park when the innocent (whole) cow gets lowered slowly by crane into the Raptor pit. Remember how it looks when it comes out?
That is what Crocs look like.

Crocs are the mangled carcasses of what was once potentially decent footwear.

But these moronic parents want to sue Crocs for insufficient foot protection because their retard kid can't get on and off an escalator. All the kid has to do is pick up his feet. And really...he only has to pick up his feet twice: to get on and off. How is it Crocs' fault if some kid's mom did cocaine while pregnant? If you can't remember to pick up your feet once every 10 seconds or so, maybe you should be kept away from public places like the mall anyway. But I digress.

The escalator is not the culprit, however. It is just the means to an end--the end of an idiocracy of shoemakers, parents, and kids alike.

If the shoe is the poor, mangled cow from Jurassic park, then the escalator is the vulture. It is the scavenger that rids the world of the weak, the tired, the invalid--those unworthy of existence.
The escalator devours the mangled carcasses of the animals too inane to survive.

Consider it natural selection.

The Special Olympics of Comedy

I saw a movie the other day that left me nauseous. No, it wasn't Saw XVI--as gut-wrenchingly graphic as I'm sure it will be. It wasn't Jackass--but that would have been a more appropriate title.
It was Pineapple Express.
Put THIS in your pipe and smoke it:

I must begin by saying I had low expectations from the beginning, so the fact that it failed to meet them is not so much tragic as it is anesthetic. And for those of you who liked it, we'll say that 4-syllable word means mind-numbing in this context.
Hmmm...a couple worthless stoners get catapulted into a whirlwind of misadventures involving evasion of a violent and equally inutile opposition. Dude, Where's My Plot? Never heard that one before. Fast Times ad Ridgemont High, Dazed and Confused, Slackers, Idle Hands, Half Baked, How HighHaroldandKumarHaroldandKumaragain(really?!)Grandma'sBoy ...if you missed the typographical imagery...THEY'RE ALL RUNNING TOGETHER.

Granted, I could include Fast Times, Dazed and Confused, Slackers, and maybe Idle Hands in the Classic-Stoner category--I at least came out of the movie with the same number of brain cells I had when I went in. These lean more toward the Ferris Bueller's Day Off direction: Good 'ole ' '80s '90s-style mischief . . . with a little bud added.

But this new brand of mind-numbing 'comedy' is too much...er...not enough. Fanatics claim, "Oh, well, you have to smoke weed to understand." I'll plead the 5th on that one, but I can tell you it doesn't matter if you smoke or not: Stupid is STUPID.

As the movie was ending, I did see a glimmer of hope. If the main characters (I won't say protagonists, because honestly, I hoped they'd both die horrible deaths) had suddenly awakened in their livingroom--perhaps blitzed into a chaotic stoner-dream sleep--and the whole movie had taken place in their weed-induced imagination after a particularly intense hit (maybe even by the 3-way blunt), at least I could have said I was tricked...and the absolutely preposterous plot would have been excused.
Alas, there was no light at the end of this tunnel.

Now, I won't say I didn't giggle. There were a few silly moments in Pineapple Express when my desire to flee momentarily waned, and I may have cracked a smile, but I have to admit, the best part was when my friend drunkenly kicked over the 5th of Evan Williams he had snuck in, and a clearly-audible glass-crash commotion echoed throughout the theater. If only we had been asked to leave...

Se Habla?

This one has been a LONG time coming. This will serve only as the initial introduction...more is to come.

I consider myself open-minded and tolerant. I've never before had any racist tendencies (despite attending a Texas school with a 30% Hispanic population). But why...WHY...don't Hispanics learn English? You would think that, living in this country for more than a week, one would pick up on the essential phrases: please, thank you, no (which, mind you, is the same goddamn word in both languages), yes, help, etc. But no. Day after ever-loving day I face scores of Hispanics in the store who do not know a word of English. And what's worse? They try to argue with me over prices. In Spanish.
Contrary to popular arguments, it has nothing to do with social status, income, or culture. It has simply to do with ignorance. Anyone walking down the street can run into someone who speaks English...and can learn a word or two from him. For the love of God, these people's kindergarten children speak English...they could learn from them. How, you might ask, do I know this? Because these stubborn people send their 5-year-old children to me to ask questions, make purchases, and argue prices. That is sad.
And the worst part? I probably know more Spanish than many of these Hispanics will ever know of English. I've had 7 years of Spanish. AND I DON"T EVEN LIVE THERE!
I'm hoping to travel to Europe next summer--you know, travel the countryside. And what am I doing now? Learning German, Italian, and French for starters. I'm not even planning to live there, but I don't want to be regarded as a stubborn, ignorant moron. And I respect the fact that I am traveling to a foreign country and that its people should not be required to assimilate around ME in order to get through everyday activities.

P.S. It's amazing how few of these non-English-speaking Hispanics CAN NOT EVEN READ THE NUMBERS ON THE SIGNS! Explain that one to me...

LG Shine, actually quite dull.

I was watching TV the other night, and I stumbled across a commercial for the new LG Shine--camera, phone, and emergency mirror in one. The unveiling here.

The commercial features a ditzy blond girl putting on lipstick with it, and a dumb-jock checking out the women who walk by with his. Of course, it all comes crashing down (thank god) when the girl catches the guy checking out other girls, and she pithily (psh) texts him "OMG UR a PIG" as he's spyin on ass.

Shine, I dub the VANITYPHONE.

Who needs a mirror that bad? And to those who do: do you realize how small and versatile an ACTUAL mirror really is? Why must it be attached to your phone?

When did phones become a status symbol? Why does Paris Hilton need a pink jewel-studded phone/beacon? How did phones evolve from innovative (now necessary) communication tools to lavish accessories--filed next to ugly, naked dogs and $5,000 shoes? Well, I'm not sure...but they do all have a couple things in common:
They are useless.
And I want to crush them.

Not the phone, exactly, but the CAMERAphones, INTERNETphones, PCphones. Sure, you can take shitty pictures, but the phone gets horrible reception and costs more than any number of better cameras. Maybe it gets internet, but the screen is too small to use it.

My favorite example: the iPhone.
I've read multiple reviews of the beast, and most were quite positive: the internet is manageable, the photos are decent, it downloads, transfers, or plays music, you can IM, text, send photos, work on Excel or Word, and watch Youtube.
Bandwagon and Tool give it 2 thumbs up.
But what most people seem to have overlooked is that it isn't a good phone! Reviews reveal that reception is mediocre, sound quality...mediocre. What is the point of paying $300 or $400 for a phone...that isn't a phone? And not only that, but you have to keep making monthly payments. Want a camera? Buy a compact for $150, take much better pictures, never make another payment! Want a computer? Buy a desktop for $800 and have much more memory, faster processing, and a screen that doesn't require a magnifying glass or tiny fingers for touchscreen action. I don't know...maybe I just have different communicative needs...

Sure, some day soon, all these things and more will be available in one, glorious, working device, but the mindless swarming around the Shine, iPhone, Blackberry, the Razor back in the day...and others reveals a new lust for status involves more hype than use.

Introduction and Rant #1

Hello. My name is Devan, and I am angry. Why, you may ask, am I so angry? Well, you see, as a child I was very naive. Over the last few years, I have become inured by constant exposure to ignorant, careless people. However, even now, I am bewildered by the perpetual idiocy of individuals. This state of consternation has left me, as I said angry. And I have to hope that others are as perplexed as I am. So, here is where I will Rant and Rave about the daily goings-on of those who enrage me. Please, enjoy and share.

Chapter 1:
A few months ago, I got a new car. Now, I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a pleasant childhood. My family has provided me a comfortable, but not superfluous, lifestyle; however, I have driven a 1996 Toyota Rav 4 since I was 16. I hate to complain about getting a car, when I realize there are many people who have less and deserve more, but the truth is, I wanted something fast...ish. My younger brother got a brand new Impreza WRX when he turned 16. Me? I've had the Rav for 5 years. It now has 170,000 miles, the exhaust was recently broken in numerous places, growling and dragging the ground like only Hispanic-owned Civics and T100s can. The interior has been taken care of, but is nonetheless imperfect after 12 years of wear by teenage drivers. The paint on the roof is worn; the scratches, small dents, and chips are becoming hard to keep track of. And, lets just say, I've been craving something...different...faster...nicer.
And, for graduation, I got it: a 2008 Mazdaspeed3. Single-digit miles. A 263-horsepower, 280-lb-ft of torque, turbocharged 6-speed. I have to admit, I have always hated the morons who park their purple-and-flame painted V6 Rustangs so that they take up 4 Wal-Mart parking spots...when they hardly deserve 1, but now I understand pride in one's car. So, I park my new car waaaay out in BFE (though never in more than 1 spot) in every parking lot I park in, including the one at the mall...where I work...every day. And STILL, SOMEHOW, some jackasses still manage to dent and scratch my door with theirs. There is no explanation except that they sought me out, drove 75 spots out of their way, pulled in, backed out, pulled in, backed out, and pulled in again to minimize the space between my car and theirs and then kicked their door open like it was some sorority girl's Pomeranian named "Princess." And then subsequently drove off.
why? WHY? W-thefuck-H-thefuck-Y-thefuck?

Well, even though the dent/scratch is clearly visible upon approach, I have tried to let it go. Things happen, it will buff out (mostly), and I was sure to get imperfections eventually. After all, it could have been a single mom whose kid opened the door a bit too quickly. Or maybe it was a crosseyed Spec-Ed kid. (More likely the undiagnosed alternative: the common fucking moron.)

But today, I'm pissed. As I'm walking to my car after an 8-hour workday, someone has gingerly placed their mostly-empty beer bottle on my car's roof. And it's a domestic.