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Not bad, I think. :)

My Computer Lies to Me.
You know that clock that’s usually on the bottom right corner of most computers? Well, my ancient piece of machinery seems to like setting itself an hour ahead. Either I put the time zone wrong on this computer and switches back to it’s wrong time every time I turn it back on--or the damn thing has gained sentient life and has decided that instead of conquering the world like most machines to simply fuck with my life.

Greatest. Band Name. EVER.
Through my internet exploring today, I found out that there is actually a band out there called That Fucking Tank. Oh, happy day.

I haven't written any literal blogs lately, mostly because I realized how fucking boring writing about my life can be after a while.

My blogs in essence:

"So, yeah, I got up, went to school, learned shit, got home. The End."

Fuck that. If it's getting boring for me then I'm sure it's getting boring to you.

Tonight, I'm going to talk about something completely different...something I learned today. Okay, so I may not be completely removed from that aspect, but what the hell, it's a lot more interesting then what I've been doing before.

So, today in my Intro to Philosophy class, we discussed something called "The Prisoner's Dilemma," which is a situation that essentially questions our reasons for trust, our morality, and our rationality.

Here's the situation: Imagine you're an anti-government radical. You and your revolutionary buddy are caught in the act and arrested. You're both taken into separate rooms and your interrogators give you both the same offer. You can either rat out your friend or stay silent. Here's how it would work:

If you defect your group and your buddy stays silent, you'd only get one year in prison and your buddy will get four.

If you stay silent and your buddy defects, you'll get four years in prison and he'll only get one.

If both of you defect and tell on the other, you'll both get three years in prison.

If both of you stay silent, you'll both get two years in prison.

If you look at your options in a rational matter (and without any other possible ramifications of either choice, just the choice itself), it would be most beneficial to you to defect and get a lesser sentence. But, if both of you decide to defect, then you'll ultimately get the less beneficial option then if you both stayed quiet (three years rather than two).

What it ultimately comes down to is trust--how do we trust people in these situations? Or any situation for that matter? For it to work in the most optimal way for the both of you (to both stay silent), you would have to trust each other enough to know that they won't rat you out.

So, here's my question to the two or three of you that actually reads my shite:

If you were in the dilemma, what would you do?

For those uninformed, Flash is a form of writting that's around a thousand words or less. If you don't know what Sci-Fi is...it's okay, just crawl back into the hole. Seriously, here it is:

EDIT (Jan 31): Did a second draft of it--took out some glaring errors that, after whipping my back like that albino guy in that crappy book about Leonardo and Jesus, I eliminated with extreme prejudice. Hope it's better now.

*****

Leon felt like his head was going to explode. The circuitry in his eyes was showing static, burning like the fires of Hell, as his stomach cramped. The worst were the headaches. They started as a bit of pressure around his right eyebrow, just below his magnetic insert under his skin. The next day it turned to a hard throbbing all around the back of his head.

The pain was so severe that he downloaded some pain medicine into his veins and opted not to take his Extra Strength Orexspray and went to sleep. It felt like a good idea then. Now, he felt like a damned idiot.

He remembered the last time he decided not to use the spray. It wasn't exactly what he would call withdrawal—addiction is rare when there's a shot for everything—but it was a brain chemical that he was used to, and the lack of it made his headache worse. Not to mention the loosened bowels.

After limping out of the bathroom for the sixth time and seeing something he didn't want to in the toilet on the third day, he called up his doctor. He pressed a few and the hard, bald face of his doctor came on the video screen.

"Speak," the Doctor said.

"Doc, I need some help."

"Of course you do. I'm a Doctor. No one talks to me unless they're sick. Now speak."

"I've been having these headaches, stomach cramps..."

"Sounds like a mild stomach flu. Drink plenty of liquids. Now piss off while I handle a real—"

"Wait, Doc—"

"Shut up, Leon. I have better things to do, like piss in my boss's coffee mug. Now if you'll excuse me, it's almost coffee break and—"

"Wait, please—ugh—isawbloodinmystool."

"…What? Say it slower." Leon groans, looks down, and groans again. "You have me interested for two seconds, don't waste them."

"I. Saw. Blood. In. My. Mother. Fucking. Shit."

"Oh. Well. Shit. That's serious."

"Gee, you think?"

"Get to my office, like, right now."

Leon did. He sped all the way through the congested traffic, yelling at all the fucking rich people with their hover cars. He was told by the receptionist that since he didn't have an appointment he had to wait. An hour and a half (and six bathroom trips) later, the Doctor came out and saw him. He turns to the receptionist.

"You evil woman, this man's about to shit himself to death." He put on his rubber gloves and grabbed Leon by the shoulder, pushing him into one of the rooms. "Any vital organs come out yet?"

"What?" Leon's eyes widened. "Is that possible?"

"Not likely, but I like to check for every possible detail." He looked at Leon and walks out for a minute, coming back with a water bottle. "Drink this, or die of dehydration." Leon snagged it and started chugging.

"So, anything new in your diet?"

"Nothing I can think of."

"Any new drugs?"

"No."

"Come on, man, this doesn't just happen out of the blue."

"Uh…"

"Hurry up! Your life, your HMO, and your wardrobe is at stake!"

"Oh! I started taking some new Orexspray." The Doctor looked at him with a weird glint in his eye.

"It wouldn't happen to be that Extra Strength formula is it?"

"Uh…yeah." The Doctor grabbed Leon by the shoulders.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" The Doctor yelled, spittle landing in Leon's face. "Don't you even watch the feeds? That has enough dangerous Martian chemicals to make an ordinary square's head explode!" The Doctor pushed him away and started muttering to himself. He took out a communicator from one of his many pockets and pressed down on the button. "Trix," he said to his receptionist, "get quarantine here, please."

"What?" The Doctor gritted his teeth and then looked at Leon like he was a small child.

"They found out that the bottling planet on Mars that shipped them to Terra had a bad Martian flu going. Apparently some asswipe there thought it would be funny to sneeze or whatever the hell the Martians do onto the actual ingredients. You've been injecting yourself with Martian gunk for two days now, and it's contagious—very contagious."

"So…what's going to happen now?"

"I don't know. Earth Security is handling it—they haven't said, so I assume it's not good." As he spoke, the door opened and two huge cyborg figures stood in front of the door, blocking the rest of the hall from view.

"We're here for the infected," one of them scratches out. The Doctor points to Leon and Leon walks towards them as if he had a choice.

The door closed behind them, leaving the Doctor in his room. He walked out when he knew they were out and stepped into his office. He sat down and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Leon."

His media center beeps, a new caller. He let it beep three or four more times and then pressed the button to answer.

"Speak."

So, in case you didn't notice from the crappy shows that was on last night and the obnoxious fireworks and gunfire in the air that happened at the stroke of midnight, it is not a New Year--2008, in case you're extremely uninformed.

My New Year's was sort-of odd. In years past, the strike of midnight tackled me like a professional lineback. This year, however, it got up behind me and slit my throat like a silent, sneaky ninja.

It originally was just going to be sitting at home doing something or other, but then our next-door neighbors invited us to dinner so we went there. I decided to break out some Mike's Hard Lemonade I got a while back. It's essentially wine cooler with a manlier bottle but it tasted good. After eating, reading to their littlest child for about an hour straight and playing fooseball, I felt kinda sick to my stomach so I left for home. They came home a few hours later and I noticed that it was midnight just as I was going out to the garage for chore-stuff that I don't quite remember.

New Year's Day I woke up at noon, and most of the day was spent in Home Depot after Mom dragged me there to pick up some supplies for massively fixing the yard before the City of Avondale fines us. They get all pissy about our yard and yet the roads are shit and they never clean up the weeds around THEIR side of the property, so, yeah, assholes.

Now, for it to be made to public record and so people will know and help me keep motivated, here are my resolutions for '08:

1. WRITE MORE. I'm terrible with procrastination and it's just sickening. I'm going to try and start with 100 words a day and I want to get to 1000 by the end of the year.
2. WORK OUT. To add: And keep doing it. This might be a bit easier this year, since I'll probably have enough credits this semester to get the cheap ticket and work out at the fitness center at the college. 20 bucks for usage of a whole gym at any time? That's a kickass deal, my friends.
3. START DIETING. Lessen the amount of crap I put in my stomach, like soda and sweets. Eat more leaner foods. Maybe even lessen the amount of red meat.
4. Finish NaNoWriMo. Hopefully by then I'll have that 1000 word count by then and be able to step up on it. At the very least, I want to try and get to the half-way point, rather than the pathetic 4% I had this year. Hopefully my working on the resolution and actually knowing about it before a few days before it starts will help accomplish this goal.

That's about all I can think of at this point. There's probably more that's not coming to mind, but those are the big ones. Wish me luck.

Normally I would have a catchier title, but none worked. Blah.

Anyway, I shall go back to what is now officially two days ago. I woke up at around 9 AM on Christmas Eve and we were busy as hell. I had to take a shower and make myself all nice and pretty for going to someone's house. My dad left early for last-minute Christmas shopping (he's like that), and we both had to wait for Mom to finish up.

We got there, and I didn't do much. Mom was out for most of the visit doing God knows what, Dad left for the guys hanging around the beer cooler, and I just hanged out on the recliner, listening to my iPod and reading. I didn't really know any of these people, and I tried to be nice, polite, and sociable, but most of them didn't pay that much attention to me.

We got home. Dad went immediately to sleep. Mom revealed that she lost my cell phone at home and found out she forgot her purse at that house. I albeit forced the big red box full of wrapping paper in her lap so I could have my presents under the tree. I sneaked in stuff to put in Mom and Dad's stockings and went to sleep.

Christmas Day, woke at 9 again. Dad was on the computer and Mom was in the bathroom. I went into the living room and practically floated, eager to rip that damn paper off me gifts. Everything leading up to it is a pain in the ass and makes me cynical to the point of insanity, but something about morning on Christmas Day turns me to a damn kid again.

I got Mom a strange device that seems to make stickers out of things (she's a craft nut and I knew she would have some usage in it). Dad got her a new telephone, since the one in their room is somewhat on the fritz.

Dad got from me and Mom The Simpsons Movie on DVD and I got him a trade paperback Hellboy comic (it's his favorite).

I got a PSP along with The Simpsons Game. I acted surprised, even though I knew what would be inside--hell, I helped Dad pick it up. He thought it made things simpler and my Mom accepted it, but I promised her a look of surprise for her to remember.

We all watched The Simpsons Movie and enjoyed it as much as we did when we saw it in the theater. Mom hasn't done any stuff with hers yet. I set my PSP up and then realized that in order to save anything I need a memory stick. Until I get one, I'm going to be basically playing Homer trudging through the Land of Chocolate for a while.

We had a good Christmas dinner--a rump roast with mashed potatoes and corn. It tasted awesome. And I spent the rest of the day watching the special features for The Simpsons Movie, playing the game, and reading around the Internet.

So that was my Christmas. Not as epic as some I had before, but hey, it certainly didn't suck.

Will say what happens in the next two days when they happen. You have been warned.

It hurts to laugh, it really does.

He stands on the podium, opening up his binder and staring at the page below him. Later on, he would say that he doesn't look inside the binder until he does one of these lectures and I can understand why.

            He is First Lt. Eddie Zuleger. Former member of the United States Army of the Alpha and Delta Company, as well as the Forth Battalion, the 31^st Infantry, and the 196^th Light Infantry Brigade, sent to Vietnam.

            He starts by telling of his life before the Army. He talks about growing up in Rhode Island, graduating from high school and not really doing so well in college. After he drops out, he is drafted and signs to do the Lt.'s exam, because he figured "it would be better to go into Vietnam as a Lt. rather than a Private."

            He talks about his older brother also being there, and the wrap around the Military made him go through until he finally went to where he brother was posted and after hanging out with him for a few days, got his brother sent to the Philippines.

            He talks about going to the Nuichan Mountains, just a few miles away from the Ho Chi Minh Trail. As he walked to his post, he saw a group of body bags which included his predecessor. The predecessor, apparently, disobeyed the order to stay away from combat and took out several VC bunkers before dying himself. The man in the body bag would receive the Metal of Honor for his services. His primary duty there was to identify bodies before having them shipped back home, among the other duties that a soldier has, until August of 1969 when he went home.

            He closes the binder and looks at us, tells us about the binder. "It gets easier," he said, on talking to people about Vietnam, "but it never puts the pain of war away. There's a lot I don't want to remember."

            According to him, we didn't lose the war in Vietnam; rather, the government was beaten by the Anti-War Movement. The problem about Vietnam was that, "the bad guy could be right behind you and you wouldn't know it until they start shooting."

            "Charlie ruled the night," he would say about the people there. He could not blame the Vietnamese people for helping the Vietcong. "They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. They had to eat." Their allegiance would depend on who would walk into the village that day.

            When asked if he earned any metals, he rolls off his tongue a list of metals, including one for simply serving and the Bronze Star. However, to him, "I did nothing I consider remarkable."

Friday, I woke up, did my usual stuff to wake up and get ready. Chemistry yielded no surprises or homework assignments.

First-Year Composition was a shocker. A shocker that annoys the piss out of me. Friday I turned in my outline for the upcoming and final paper. With the last two, we did that on a Friday, then Monday we turn in an introduction and works cited, and then have a full week to turn in the rough draft. This time, we have until Monday. Two days to write the paper. Normally I wouldn't be too annoyed--I usually start getting into a paper around that time anyway--but what's annoying about it is that unlike the other papers, we have to do our citations in APA instead of the traditional MLA. So, we have to write a fairly correct paper in two days in a new citation format. Joy.

US Expierence in Vietnam was interesting. We continued with a guest speaker, another teacher at Estrella that actually served in Vietnam. I actually did an "interview" of him from his previous appearence, and I'll have it up as soon as I finish this, if not just because I want to have more then just this shit on this blogging thing.

I found out that M.E.Ch.A. was meeting at 2 instead of 1, so I had to politely excuse myself at 1:40 to walk to my Writing Club...only to find it was cancelled. Note to self: look on Blackboard next time. Waited around for a while, got my ride from Mom, and took a brief stop at Savers. There, I got a new book--Lewis Black's Nothing's Sacred, a trade paperback book in good condition for 3 bucks. Sweet. Afterwards I caught up with Ali and Liz and talked to them for a bit.

The rest of the day was fairly boring and I don't remember most of it, so I will move on to Saturday...

To say I was rudely interrupted would be putting it lightly. I was practically shakened into a siezure-like state by my mom, telling me to open up the garage and start lifting shit onto the driveway--we be having another yard sale.

The good news is, we sold more than before and got a fairly good bank from it. The bad news is that after lifting that shit so suddenly and in a zombie-like condition, I now have a crink in my lower right back. It only hurts when I move and not move.

The highlight of the day, besides finishing Nothing's Sacred (great book, by the way), if you can call it that, is meeting with what I like to call the Sharp Dressed Evangelicals.

It's scientific fact--anyone out at 9 AM in suits and dresses are out to sell you religious material. Still, I held out hope that they were just yard-sellers without a car. I thought in my head, "pleasegodnowatchtowerspleasegodnowatchtowerspleasegodnowatchtowers," and I got my hope. No Watchtowers--just a magazine called "Awake" telling me that the Bible is coming true and I should repent. Normally I would have just bluntly told them I'm not interested and slam the door in their face. I didn't for two reasons.

1. I assumed that if I took their damn magazine, the least they could have done is fork over five bucks for one of the nice wicker baskets.
2. I didn't have a door to slam into their faces.

They also had a little kid in a suit that smiled at me creepily. Needless to say, I was freaked out after that.

That was really the highlight of the day. So...yeah.