Politics (gulp)

To my friends with political differences from me - you might want to stop reading right here if you're afraid my conservatism could make you think less of me. I still love you.

So I tuned in to the New Hampshire debates tonight, but before discussing in detail, let me first share my thoughts on the Iowa caucus.

The Republican side: normal and predictable.
The Democratic side: somewhat predictable; otherwise incomprehensible.

Republicans in Iowa write down their favorite candidate's name on a piece of paper, drop said piece of paper in a box, and return home.

Democrats in Iowa gather in large rooms, stand in lines, yell at people in other lines, trick people into standing in their lines, threaten people that they might join other lines if they don't first join their lines, and then have to join other lines if their line isn't big enough. The declaring of one line to be not big enough means it's time to start all over again with fewer lines. This is the election that sets in motion the selection of the Democratic candidate.

I hope I'm not the only one that's concerned that such an important process is modeled after recreation time in Italian mental institutions.

On to New Hampshire:
I unfortunately missed most of the Republican debates, but I did catch the Democratic debates. My assessment: I'm going to go ahead and buy a gun while it's still legal, so I'll have something to shoot myself with if one of these guys actually becomes President.

My assessment of the candidates:

Obama - the vote for change. Unfortunately, Obama's idea of change is a vote for someone with no experience. It would be a change to vote for a Turkish prostitute, and at least she (or he) might not promise to raise our taxes. By the way, since when did raising taxes become "change"?
Strengths - very attractive family
Weaknesses - taxes, and the likelihood that we'll all be killed by terrorists if he's elected


Edwards - the vote for lonely women. He's a trial lawyer; he's going to raise our taxes; he's the cause of healthcare being astronomically expensive; he speaks for the middle class, which he's read a lot about, but can't actually give a name of anyone that would be in such of an unfortunate state. He's tragically underqualified, but when he flashes that six thousand dollar smile, he wins the hearts of middle-aged women and gay men all across Iowa. If you want to know his positions on anything, just check out Obama's positions and add nuclear disarmament.
Strengths: love-at-first-sight smile and lots of stories about grandma
Weaknesses: he exudes incompetence, was a trial lawyer, and what is almost an assurance of our deaths in terrorism related accidents.

Richardson - also known as that guy that was sitting between Clinton and Obama. His policy - friendship. Everyone can be friends. Hillary and Obama, Edwards and the moderator, the U.S. and Pakistan. What's his solution for Pakistan's problems? Ask Pakistan if they wouldn't mind resolving them (more specifically, we should send someone to ask Pakistan). His solution for energy independence? Ask Americans to use less energy. While he's at it, can he ask people to stop illegally crossing our border and ask terrorists to knock it off. They seem like they just want to be helpful.
Strengths: seems nice; has experience as governor
Weaknesses: 2% in IA caucus, believes losing is the best way to end war, large likelihood that we would all be killed by terrorists.

Clinton - you know your politically party is impoverished when she's the best you can produce. She is however the best of the Democrats. I'm pretty sure she's the only one that believes that 9/11 actually occurred. She's definitely the only one that has even paused to consider what would happen the day after we pull out of Iraq, and she's the only one that has actually done anything in Washington. Although I think everything she's ever done is bad, at least she can actually do something.
Strengths: has experience, is at least aware that there are terrorists in the world.
Weaknesses: wants to strengthen economy by taking more of our money (I'm puzzled too); insanely denies Petraus's success in Iraq; married to guy that ignored terrorist attacks on US soil in NYC, Africa, and at sea during his presidency. Also, lacks upper-body strength - if her survival ever comes down to a fist fight between her and any western European leaders, my money's not on her. I would however think she could put on a pretty good fight with Ahmadenijad.

On a separeate note, it's the fifth day of January, and I've already blogged 3 times this year. I will be accepting apologies from people that accuse me of not blogging enough. I will not be accepting complaints that blog quality goes down when done in mass amounts.

In the end, I'm still going to feel safer if I know I can shoot myself.

San Francisco tiger murdered after boy tricks her into eating him

A brief rest from the STDave chronicles.

It could only happen in California. A tiger escapes from a cage, kills a boy, injures two others, and zoo-goers rush to defend the tiger.

The facts of the story are simple. On Christmas day at the San Francisco zoo, a tiger escapes from its viewing pit. Tragically it killed a teenager and injured two young. After the rampage, zoo workers killed the animal before it could hurt or kill any other people.

As the zoo is reopening, reports are coming forward about what happened. Clearly, the walls to the pit were not adequately high. The rational solution: make sure zoos have sufficiently high walls. The California solution (also known as the worst imaginable solution): blame the people that the tiger attacked.

How, you may wonder, can one blame the victim for this? A tiger killed a person! What's to debate? Apparently certain zoo-goers who were fortunate enough to survive the Christmas tiger attack claim that the boys who were injured (but not the one who was killed) were taunting the tiger...by roaring.

Taunting a tiger? Are you serious? Here's the thing about tigers. They always want to eat you. Always. They don't stop to remember the times you were kind to them. They don't have fond memories of you. They don't care whether or not you donate to little tiger charities. They want to eat you. You are literally nothing more than a piece of meat to them.

I can continue to beat this horse.

Tiger = meat-eater.
You = meat.
So by the transitive property, Tiger = you-eater.

Another odd thing about this story: How exactly does one taunt a tiger? The witness says the kids were roaring at the tiger.
1) Tigers roar, but they don't eat each other.
2) Tigers most likely don't understand any human language. Speak English, roar, sing Edith Piaf classics, whatever you want, the tiger will not understand you.
3) I find it much more likely that the tiger was upset, not so much that the human was making roaring sounds, but more that the human was not in her stomach. I feel confident that the most annoying thing a tiger can imagine is a piece of meat that it can't reach.

Beside the facts that tigers are carnivores and refuse to orally reason in any known language, why do we have the idea that tigers like being stared at by people in zoos, but they don't like being yelled at. If we're going to put tigers in animal-prison to be stared at by people from all corners of the earth, why do we then assume that it's uncouth to make animal sounds near these animals?

I do not mean to write a scathing post against tigers. In truth, I prefer a world full of tigers to a world full of polar bears (see previous posts). I will not, however, rush to the defense of tigers when they eat my fellow human beings. In the end, tigers are not nice. We can never really be friends with them. They will eat us.

God help the horrible people that are trying to blame a boy for being killed by a tiger.

On a lighter note, I've found that YouTube may save my life in the event of an animal attack.
For example, I saw a zebra survive a crocodile attack. It turns out that crocodiles do not like being bit in the eye. Although I hope never to have to bite a crocodile in the eye, I will if I have to (and I won't feel bad about it, even if others seem to think I was making crocodile noises). However, unless the crocodile is eating or has already eaten your hands or legs, I would suggest hitting or kicking the crocodile in the eye as a more hygienic (and much less yucky) solution, if at all possible.

In other animal news, African buffalo are freaking incredible. I saw with my own eyes (via YouTube) a herd of buffalo team up against an unholy alliance of lions and crocodiles to save one of their young. Lions and Crocodiles!!!! Working together!!! The Apocalypse is coming people! The African buffalo won't always be around to save us.

Take care of each other friends.

STD Part 3: STDave and the Scent of Friendship

Happy New Year Everyone!

Among the many interesting stories one could tell concerning STDave and his tenure in apartment 1D, most of the more interesting ones involve the adventures and mishaps he encounters with his friends. As mentioned in previous posts, he had many friends at the neighboring university that neither Jim, Dave H., nor I knew. As the three of us are generally friendly people, it did not bother us immensely when his friends came over... at least not at first.

One thing that must be said about STDave, is that he was often late. If he needed to be somewhere at 6:00 pm, that usually meant he would get in the shower at about 6:15, and leave no earlier than 7:00. As I rarely went anywhere with STDave, this did not affect me much, but I imagine that it was a source of great annoyance for his friends. Of course, how can you be a friend of STDave's and not have a few specialnesses yourself?

In the autumn of our year together (literally, not figuratively), when STDave was still sleeping on Jim's futon in the living room and still living grâce à Macaroni and Cheese, we were introduced to many of his friends. One in particular worth noting I will refer to as Chubs (since I never knew his real name anyway. I would call him Friendly in an ironic way, but STDave had another friend that we called Friendly because he actually was friendly). As indicated by his nickname, Chubs was a rather plump man. I realize that I don't have a lot of room to call people plump, but seriously, this guy was round, and I'm not saying that to be mean.

STDave did not drive, and evidently Chubs did. Unfortunately for Chubs, STDave was never on time. This meant that Chubs spent a lot of time in our living room waiting for STDave to shower and whatever else it is that he did. Being friendly people, Jim, Dave H., or I would invite Chubs to have a seat in our living room and watch TV with us. Chubs always declined. It seems that instead of sitting, Chubs preferred standing directly behind people who were sitting down. Just standing...silently...behind us...watching...waiting...for 15 minutes at a time...just standing. I don't know how to type a good onomatopoeia for the sound you make when a chill runs up or down your spine, but that's the sound I make every time I think about Chubs standing behind me...quietly waiting.

One night, I was sitting alone in my living room with my back facing the kitchen (and the front door to the apartment). I heard the front door open and close, and I assumed it was Jim or Dave (not STDave). I became a little concerned that no one greeted me and wondered if perhaps my roommates were just having a bad day. I stood up and began to turn around and, "AAAHHH!" Chubs was just standing behind me, quietly, waiting. Clever guy that I am, I turned my panicky scream "AAAHHH!" into a trembling but believable, "AAAHHH-I didn't know you were there."

Chubs's Response: Silence

My response: Have a seat.

Chubs's Response: Silence.

Thus ended the most meaningful conversation I ever had with Chubs.

As my other roommates began to learn that Chubs was entering our apartment without knocking, we started to lock the door at all hours of the day, even when we were home. The unintentional but humorous side effect of this remedy is that from time to time we would hear our screen door open, then a large mass slam into our front door. After a few moments of what must have been muffled cursing, a feeble knock could be heard throughout the apartment.

Whatever Chubs may have lacked in social skills or human warmth, he made up for in the fact that almost every weekend he swept STDave away to his apartment downtown. This meant we could use toilet paper in safety, reclaim pots and pans, and sit on the futon in the living room during the day. Weekends were generally STDave free for me, Jim, and Dave H. Although we knew Sunday night we would lose the futon again, at least we had the weekends.

One Sunday night, I came into the apartment at about 11, and as soon as I walked through the door I froze in disgust at an unspeakable stench. It was as though someone were smoking old Camembert cheese in a sewer.

"What is that?" questioned my roommates and I as we raced through the apartment trying to find some air freshener. Coughing and gagging the rest of the evening, we tried to discuss possible causes of this new odor, and just as we were concluding that this smell is other-worldly, and just as we thought we were getting used to the ungodly aroma, STDave walked the short distance from his room to his bathroom. Never in my life had I so fervently wished for the sweet release of death, so strong was the stench surrounding him.

The following weeks were torturous and confused. The stench seemed to dissipate throughout the week, so that on Friday's, the odor was hardly noticeable. On Sunday nights however, STDave would return from Chubs's place along with his new olfactory accompaniments. Our efforts to mask or diminish the stench were endless. We burned candles in all common rooms of the house. We opened windows on days it was way too cold to open windows. At one point, it was impossible to find any free electric receptacles in our living room, because of Glade Plug-ins. We shut and locked our bedroom doors (I found that any time I left my door open during the day, the smell would invade. I always pictured the odor asbeing a large, semi-solid, toxic cloud that was too big to get through the cracks in my bedroom door. I also feared that it could stick out its semi-solid hand and open my door if I didn't lock it. It sounds insane, but it helped me sleep at night.) All of our efforts were fruitless.

We knew an inevitable conversation was coming. Only two questions remained: How do you tactfully approach the subject of this horrible smell, and who would be the first person desperate enough to bring it up? Both questions would be answered one very Christmassy night.

On a Sunday evening in November, Dave H. and I were putting up our Christmas tree in the living room. We heard the front door open, and we didn't even need to look to see who it was. We could smell him. In an instant all the warm Christmas cheer in the air had been murdered and replaced by the smell of smoked sewer cheese. This was the worst night of it, and this was the final straw for me. Pacing around the living room with an insane look in my eyes, I practiced how the conversation was going to go. Here's the ideal script as it played out in my mind.

Andy: (Knocks on STDave's door.)
STDave: (Opens door) Hi, Andy how are you?
Andy: I'm great Dave. You?
STDave: Fantastic, Andy! Thanks for asking. You're such a great roommate. What can I help you with tonight?
Andy: Well Dave, Dave H. and I were just wondering if you smelled something kind of funny tonight
STDave: No, no I haven't.
Andy:Oh, well, Dave and I picked up a whiff of something, and we picked it up last week right after you got back from your friends' in Dayton.
STDave: Oh no, Andy. I'm so sorry to make you feel uncomfortable. I will seek out the source of this odor, and all of our lives will be better.
Andy: Thanks Dave, and Merry Christmas.
STDave: No, Andy, thank you. And as my Christmas gift to you, I'm going to buy my own bed, clean my own dishes, not invite my friends to just walk into our apartment, not steal your toilet paper, not keep my friends waiting, and generally contribute to the quality of our apartment.
Andy: God Bless Us, Every One.

Unfortunately, the conversation did not go like that.

Andy:(Knocks on door)
STDave:(Opens door; says nothing)
Andy: Hey Dave, I was wondering if you smelled something kind of funny?
STDave: Yeah! Where do you think that's coming from?
Andy: (Thinks, "No, that's not how the conversation's supposed to go. You're not supposed to be able to smell it. No, no, no. Where's it coming from? You! You! YOU!!! Andy pauses briefly while all these thoughts pass through his mind and then says) Well, it's coming from you.
STDave: Oh Snap!
Andy: Well, we really notice it right when you get back from your friends' in Dayton, but...it's bad...and we smell it...a lot.
STDave: Oh Snap!
Andy: Yeah.
STDave: I think my friends have mold.
Andy: (Thinks "Lovely" but says) Yeah?
STDave: I'll try to work on that.
Andy: Yeah, we'd all really appreciate that.
STDave: Okay, see ya' later (shuts door).

Walking back into the living room, I saw a look in Dave H.'s eyes that I had never seen before and will probably never see again: admiration.

Fortunately, as the holidays rolled around, STDave got his odor under control, and we were able to move on to bigger and better points of contention.