Away, you three inch fool!

While perusing some news sites online, I came across this little gem from the Associated Press (available here from the Washington Post). A judge found a convicted sex offender lacked sufficient height at 5'1" to go to jail and sentenced him instead to a period of house arrest with electronic surveillance. If you ask me, this decision is a little short sighted. While I am sure the judge was well intentioned, this ruling has a major shortcoming that simply cannot be overlooked. It sends a dangerous precedent that vertically challenged individuals (I hope I used the right politically correct term...I know some people can be quite short tempered about things like this) can duck under the law. It will encourage the growth of crime from such individuals as they are emboldened by the leniency they face to commit acts that a taller individual would stop short of committing.

Let me remind you that this is no small offence. It's not like the guy is getting this as a tiny slap on the wrist in lieu of a short term jail sentence. This is a convicted sex offender who was apparently involved with small children (although I must confess that I am a little ignorant of the exact circumstances as the article is quite short gives only skimpy details). And while I understand that space to house prisoners is in short supply in our overcrowded penal system, I am simply not convinced that house arrest will keep him on a short enough leash. The severity of his crime could easily dwarf the crimes of many individuals currently serving time in prison. But yet while they are in jail complaining about the meals , he sits comfortably at home watching SportsCenter highlights of Miguel Tejada (SS for the Baltimore Orioles) and dining on filet mignon with a strawberry shortcake dessert.

In short, it is a clear violation of equal protection under the law.

What do I do now? Jack's off until January

The show "24" on Fox just aired it season finale, officially bringing to a close our fifth day shared with Agent Jack Bauer. This was a very good season, although I'm still pissed that Tony died. I am amazed by the fact that for the last 4 months I was suffering through the weekends awaiting anxiously for Monday. And of course in the last 10 minutes a plot turn / cliffhanger took place to draw us into the next exciting season. Unfortunately Jack will be off the air until January when the next season starts, so I will now have to wait until then, fittingly enough when I turn 24, to find out what's going to happen next. It's all well and good to play up hype and keep interest and all, but television producers need to learn that an 8 month long cliffhanger is just not cool. Damn it. Mondays are officially going to suck again as my life will have less meaning for the next 8 months (and for those of you who do not think that 24 is the meaning of life, just anagram it and see what you come up with. I know. Freaky huh).

What makes this whole thing worse is that the season finale of House is tomorrow. With bowling done until September, my Tuesdays are officially shot. Not to mention my Fridays are wrecked until October when Battlestar Galatica starts up again. Jeez. The series finale of Alias was today as well, but that show started sucking when Jennifer Garner got pregnant. When your entire premise is "watch this hot girl kick ass" it sort of loses something when she's in the third trimester.

Why do all the good TV shows have to stop at the same time? Don't the television executives know that they need to have something we can watch to fill the void left by a non-existant social life?

I guess there's always video games.

I have to vend my anger

Why is it that we keep opening ourselves up to be hurt over and over again in the same manner? Everybody does. Some people keep dating the same type of losers. Some bounce from dead end job to dead end job in an endless cycle of depression. In my case, I seem to allow myself to be hurt by over and over again by vending machine products.

I had thought that I had changed. I had moved on from the Welch’s orange juice and its refusal to offer as much of itself as I deserved. It was hard, but I moved on. And in some sense I think I grew.

After taking some time off from the vending machine scene, I finally decided it was time to reenter it. But still wary, I stayed away from the drink machine and went to the snack one instead. I had never had more than an on-again-off-again relationship with any of the snack products. They were never reliable enough. The selection always changes from week to week. Whenever one product, say M&Ms, is depleted it is replaced with something different, such as Reese’s Pieces. There’s no stability there. No prospect for a long term snacking relationship. But I figured that after the Welch’s thing that all I really wanted was a fling. And besides, I was thrilled to see that for the first time in months Skittles, one of my favorite candies, was a selection.

It was good at first, but then I slowly realized that something was wrong. All was not as it appeared to be. Take a look at this picture.

This Skittles package had inside it a limited edition flavor, “strawberry ice cream.” Now I ask you, where in the fruit rainbow does ice cream fit? Really. These are supposed to be fruit flavored candies, not fruit-flavored-dairy-product flavored candies. The Skittles flavors are carefully balanced to blend well together. Each Skittle has its own unique flavor, but when a handful is eaten together they blend to form a savory candy fruit cup. This ice cream debacle is a parasite on the blended fruit flavor. The cream just doesn’t mix. It stands out. It is an anathema.

Some may not think that this is such a big deal. Just pick them out if you don’t like them. Eat them separately, or not at all. Well guess what, there are only a finite number of Skittles in each bag. There are five flavors, so if one assumes an equal distribution then each individual flavor represents 20% of the total candy volume. According to the packaging the entire bag is 61.5g, so we are looking at 12.3g of wasted candy. Percentage wise, this is even a worse atrocity than the Welch’s.

You know what makes this even worse? The more perceptive of you may have even caught on from my previous paragraph. All of my math was based on a five flavor Skittle regime. “But wait a minute, there are normally five flavors and you said there was a new one. Shouldn’t you have then divided by 6 instead of five?” One would hope, but sadly no. Behold:

They didn’t just add the gay ass ice cream flavor, they replaced the normal Strawberry one! WTF?!?!? The red Skittles were arguably the finest of all Skittles. And they’re gone. So you see, I can’t just pick out the parasites and suffer a merely reduced volume. I am still deprived of all the highest quality Skittles.

I just don’t get this one. At least with Welch’s I could understand their motives. They were greedy money-grubbing bastards. But why the Skittles? They did not save any money by doing this. They still had to produce the same number, just of a spectacularly craptastic flavor instead of the normal good one. There was no tangible benefit to them for doing this. There is nothing but the sadistic pleasure in reveling in their customers’ misery.

Just when my faith in vending machines was finally healing.

I sing of curling, and the man...

...who, forced by fate, and the haughty hatred of losing, left the curling ice victorious. Today was a monumental day. In eight years, when I am standing on that podium at the 2014 Winter Games in (location to be determined by the IOC in 426 days) and listening to the national anthem with a single tear glistening on my cheek, I will think back on this day where I first savored victory and be amazed that there was ever a time in which I wasn’t on a Wheaties box. Today, for the first time in the course of all human events, I was on a victories curling team.

It appeared that the fates would be with us from the very beginning when we won the initial coin toss and claimed the hammer for the first end. But this day was to be one for the history books, and it would be very much less epic if we just came out and decimated the other team from the beginning. So much like the Red Sox in the 2004 ALCS, we came out of the gates sucking so hard that it looked like all hope was lost. Despite our having the hammer (last rock thrown) in the first end, the other team scored a point. Less than ideal. Since we didn’t score we retained the hammer, but then neither team scored in the second end. The suspense was rising. Hammer in hand for the next end, tragedy struck. Somehow we managed to let the other team score 3 points. We were now down by 4. It was time to get serious.

The next end we fought back hard knowing that if we were to have any chance of winning we could not fall farther back in the hole. But alas, when the last stone came to rest on the ice, we found that they had us edged out by maybe a ¼ of an inch. To come so close to turning things around, within millimeters, only to fall short. Truly decimating.

Lesser men probably would have given up, and no one would have blamed them. The outlook was grim. After 4 ends, in all of which we had the advantage of the hammer, we were down by 5. But then again, we were not lesser men. And we had a cause for which we were struggling. You see, after last weeks loss our famous talk show host skip promised us free t-shirts from his station for our first victory. The t-shirts seemed beyond reach though, but we refused to despair. We would not go gentle into that good night. We raged, raged to get our free t-shirts.

With only 3 ends left, we wished we weren’t in this situation. But then we realized, so do all who curl to see such matches, but it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the ends that are given to us. And so we surged. I, throwing in the third position for my team, cleared the house of the opponents’ rocks while leaving both of mine. My skip also left both of his for a 4 point end. We were back.

Now down only by one with 2 ends to go, we had new life. But we no longer had the hammer. While we were back in the game, we would still need flawless curling to prevail. Everyone on my team started making great shots, leaving two in the scoring area for the opposing team’s skip to deal with for her last stone. She had been flawless all day, and it was with great apprehension that we watched her stone coming down the ice. She knocked one, trying to leave her own closer to the center that our other one. But it rolled too far. We scored the point.

The score is now tied going into the final and deciding end. The advantage was still on the side of the other team for having the all important hammer. But we had the momentum. We got some rocks in the house early and went about putting some guards up. When it came down to the final rocks, we had one rock near the center, and one lying on the very edge. We had the center one well guarded until the other teams skip took out the guard with her first stone. We tried to put it back with our final stone, but it curled a little out of the way. Our center rock was vulnerable.

Again, our hearts were in our throats when the other team’s skip was lining up for her final shot. If she hit our exposed rock it was over. Our other rock was on the very fringe and she would have no trouble leaving her own rock inside of it after taking out the center one. Her rock away, I felt a sense of dread wash over me as it appeared to be on course. But shoving me fear aside, I readied myself to leap to action to sweep if it came to it (Being the third, I am the acting skip when the actual skips are throwing their rocks and can sweep away an opponent’s stone after it crosses halfway through the house). The rock continued on its collision course and our doom seemed inevitable. Until the rock started to curl.

The sweepers were sweeping madly trying to keep the rocks course straight. It passed by our poorly placed guard without a problem, and the world held its breath as it approached the all important center rock (if you found yourself unable to breath for a few seconds this evening that’s why). But the stone kept curling and passed within a hair’s width of the stone. You could not fit a sheet of paper between the two stones. But her rock passed by, leaving ours untouched. We had won.

In such moments of triumph, there is a second in which you feel a sense of detachment, like you are merely an observer looking in from the outside. Time stands still. But then the moment comes crashing down on you and you are hit with the full magnitude of your victory. We had earned our t-shirts.

It is unfortunate that I will be unable to reap my reward until two weeks time when we get to curl again. Apparently some people felt that their mothers were somehow more important that their curling. But if we must endure a lull in curling, it is so much better to be facing it with the taste of victory fresh on our pallets.

Feliz Cinco De Mayo

While there are many cultures in which I have no affiliation, I will gladly embrace their heritage on any holiday that is an excuse to drink. So much like my affinity for the Irish on St. Patty's Day, it is with a warm heart (and a slightly dulled mind) that I shout "Viva Mexico!" on this 5th of May, the 144th anniversary of the Mexican victory over the French at the Battle of Puebla in 1862. And while it may seem odd that anyone could be so proud of defeating the French in a military conflict (see this), such doubts are quickly swept aside after a few Coronas, Dos Equis, Margaritas, Tequila shots, or whatever your favorite means of inebriation south of the border happens to be (I do have to apologize for the "Light" part of my Corona. Who would have thought that the grocery store would run out of Corona Extra this time of year?).

And if kicking some French ass isn't enough for you, well there happens to be another reason to celebrate this year. A big announcement was made yesterday by the man who brought you Howard the Duck. The original Star Wars movies will be released on DVD (see this article) . Yes, I mean the original original Star Wars movies, sans all the gay special addition crap. You will be able to purchase them starting in September, but in an attempt to retain at least some of his gayness Lucas will pull them after only 3 months. But all those loyal fans who had the original trilogy on VHS, purchased the special addition when they came out, and upgraded technologies to the DVD version of the special addition, will now have the opportunity to buy the same movies a 4th time. Maybe even a fifth if you were really hardcore and had them on LaserDisc.

Many Great Eggs

Seeing as how the White House Correspondents' Dinner was televised on C-SPAN, it is very likely that many of you did not know that it took place this past weekend. Those who did know may have also known that Stephen Colbert, former Daily Show correspondent and host of the hit Comedy Central show The Colbert Report, was the entertainer at the event. On Colbert's show, he occasionally gives out the Big Brass Balls award to those members of society who have "muchos huevos grandes." Well Mr. Colbert demonstrated that he is entitled to decide who is worthy of such an honor because he clearly has the grande-ist huevos of them all.

If you did not see his performance, go see it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcIRXur61II. He is as funny as ever, but the overriding emotion you feel while watching is "Good lord! Does he know that the president is sitting right over there?" Colbert utterly lambasts not only the president, but many others in attendance and the media itself. It takes huevos of steel, let alone brass, to say some of the stuff he did right to their face. Satire is often used deftly like a paring knife, but Mr. Colbert chose to wield it more like a disembowling lance. You could really feel for the correspondents figiting in their seats who were obviously keenly aware of the President's close proximity. But Stephen just kept unloading: "I believe that the government that governs best is a government that governs least, and by these standards we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq.”

But putting such hostile situations aside, let us turn to more relaxing things. Like baseball. Today the Red Sox return from an unsuccessful road trip to the soothing confines of Fenway Park. And what better way to relieve some tension than to reunite with an old friend, namely former centerfielder Johnny Damon as he comes to Boston for the first time as a member of the New York Yankees? It was rather strange though, since all the fans started vehemently yelling something with a long "ooooooooo" sound. Apparently they were confusing poor Johnny with Kevin Youkilis who often gets cheers of "Youuuuuuks." It's strange that they would be so confused though since they now wear different uniforms. But they eventually figured out which one was Johnny when he took his spot in center field. The fans, clearly empathizing with Johnny's pain for being disrespected by the Red Sox organizaiton when they only offered $40 million instead of the Yankee's $52 million, tried to make ammends with him by throwing some cash out of their very own pockets down to him. The Red Sox bullpen told one of the ESPN reporters that they made $10 by the 4th inning from all the change that didnt quite make it onto the field.

The better homecoming was that of Doug Mirabelli, who was just reacquired from the Padres. All I can say is THANK YOU. Trading him was the worst idea ever. I said so at the time, and Josh Bard's MLB leading 10 passed balls only served to prove me right (pretty impressive to lead the majors as a backup catcher). But Doug's back now. They acquired him this afternoon, flew him in a private jet to Boston, drove him with a police escort to the park in 12 minutes (putting on the uniform along the way), and he went out to start today's game. What a trooper.