On a Local Restaurant

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So I went to CRAFT Beer Market Edmonton for lunch today, and I can say I wasn’t expecting much (Does the food even have to be good, if you have 100 kinds of beer? That was my first thought). I am happy to report that I was not just pleasantly surprised, but fully impressed. I ordered the Big Rock Beer Chicken, and I enjoyed it a great deal, but the chicken was not what truly impressed me (though I… will admit that it was an amazingly delicious chicken)… But the side of garlic mashed potatoes… They were divine.

The angels themselves are forbidden to eat of those potatoes, for they would sacrifice their divinity for just another bite.

I ate them, and the solution to all of the world’s problems, to war, strife, famine, plague, unhappiness, it was as clear to me as the sun on a bright July afternoon — but gone as soon as I swallowed. I took another bite, hoping to grasp it again, and instead I saw how humans could travel to and colonize other planets, and that, too, left when I swallowed. A third bite showed me my own future, a future of happiness, where I was content in all parts of my life, and I saw the path and chain of actions that would help me arrive at this future, but now it, too, is gone. A fourth bite taken, I saw the face of God, and he smiled at me, a glint in his eyes. He knew I had experienced the truest happiness a human can experience on this plane of existence, but I do not recall the feeling now as I write this.

To eat these potatoes was bittersweet torture, for each bite I took I knew another bite would come, but I knew that one bite had gone. When the potatoes themselves were gone, my world became a dimmer, darker place, and now I live only for the day when next I can eat them.

I preach the Gospel of Craft Beer Potatoes, now, and will write it down for future generations. My new role is that of the Prophet of the Potatoes, even though there is no Irish blood in my veins.

What I am really trying to say here is would anyone like to go to Craft sometime for dinner?

A General Introduction

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Hello! I whipped up this blog because I am fairly certain most of my Facebook friends are tired of reading this stuff in their news feed, so I migrated it to a place where it is no longer forced upon anyone.

All of the content prior to this post is stuff I have copied and pasted from my Facebook, and I hope you find some of it interesting. If not, of course, feel free to comment. Or if you do feel that it is interesting, feel free to comment, anyway.

Cheers!

Chad

Toilet Philosophies

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There is an out of order sign on the inside of the bathroom door, to be put outside in the event of a failure… But in my caffeine deprived state, it seemed strangely philosophical. You see that sign as you exit into the real world, as though it is warning you that reality isn’t quite right.
Maybe reality just needs a competent plumber.

Return to Sender (Please?)

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Often times, it is said by young earth creationists that you can tell a watch is made by a designer, it has a clear purpose. It tells time, with mechanisms made for the purpose. They apply this to humans, too. That we are designed, have a purpose, have mechanisms that are designed to keep us alive. Let’s compare a human to a watch, then.

The human appendix does not serve a valuable function (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vermiform_appendix), yet it can explode, burst, or otherwise kill the human it exists in. This would be akin to a hand on the watch that serves no purpose, but occasionally jams the other hands on the watch.
The human eye is backwards in function, and has a blind spot (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_eye). This would be akin to the watch band being put upside down so the face is against your skin. Not only that, but part of the face is opaque, so you can’t see what time it is if the hands are there. You can guess, and be close, just like the blind spot, but you won’t know until the hands aren’t there any more.

Now, you might say, God created us in his image. Let’s ignore the fact that this implies God is flawed, and move on. Why did he give us broken eyes? Installed backwards, upside down, with blind spots? You might think, we have the best eyes there can be… But you’d be wrong, and I can prove that.

The cephalopod eye (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cephalopod_eye) has no blind spot. Why didn’t God give me an eye with no blind spot? That can see under water? In the dark? Why did he give the best eyes to squids?

I could go on for next to infinity, but I’ll stop here. So what would you do if you found a watch with a blind spot, upside down, with a hand that does nothing but get in the way of the other hands? You’d return that watch, because it is awful.

So where do I go to return my broken body? My terribly designed body? Why won’t the watch maker give me a refund, or a working watch? You suck, watch maker. You suck so much.

If there was no watch maker, there is no vendor to return to… And that is why I feel the watch maker is absent my life.

Have a great day, and sorry to have made your day a little worse.

I Wrote This While Deleriously Tired…

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So here’s a question I have… Why is it that so many ex-Christians that I know, personally, have such a deep knowledge of the Bible? Why do so many of them have a deeper knowledge of the Bible than so many of my currently Christian friends?
Most Christians I know can pull at the big picture of the Bible, but that isn’t entirely fair, is it? During my religious Searching (I’d say a capital ‘s’ is warranted there), I find so many quotes in major parts of the Bible that should change the big picture, but you would never see them in the “Children’s Bible.” That being said, why does it seem that so many people know only about as much about the Bible that one would find in the “Children’s Bible”?

I am not an Atheist, or a Christian, I am just a seeker. I want to find the Truth. Will I ever find it? No, I don’t believe anyone ever finds the Truth with a capital T. They can find what they believe to be the Truth, sure, I won’t deny that.

But that’s the point. Why do we argue, and fight, and kill, in the name of something that is truly, absolutely, unprovable? Why is it so hard for so many to follow the pillar of their own religion (The Golden Rule, for Christians). When Jesus came upon an adulteress, what was his response? Even if you aren’t Christian, you probably just thought about how he did not cast a stone. He did not condemn her. And yet today, in what is called the Bible Belt, homosexuality is being condemned, and people are being persecuted daily, and often in the name of religion.

Richard Dawkins related, in his book The God Delusion (definitely strongly atheist leaning, but I read from both sides), that the most terrible hate mail he receives is often from people professing to be strong Christians. He receives death threats in the name of God.

Does that sound Biblical? Sure, they may be a small minority, but from whence comes their vitriolic hatred? How do we find the root of this weed, and pluck it out?

People who read and understand the Bible, who stand on the principles of love and justice for all, I love you all. People who pick very short passages, often a single out of context verse, to justify your hatreds, I hate you. I am not going to say I am holier than thou, I am not going to say I follow the Bible to the letter. I am not fettered by the trappings of a single book. I will hate those who cause suffering to others, no matter their creed. Christian, Atheist, Muslim, Agnostic, Buddhist (if you hate people, you are probably doing it wrong), doesn’t matter.

And yet, if you love others, and try to remove suffering from the world instead of bringing it in, whether you are Christian, Muslim, Atheist, Agnostic, Buddhist, then I will return that kindness.

If you are cruel to me, if your hatred tries to touch my own personal soul? I may hate you, but I will respond only with kindness. All humans deserve that.

I think that’s the point I was trying to get across with this whole thing. Be nice to everyone. If you aren’t nice, I will still be nice back to you — but I don’t have to like it.

This was really rambling. I am rereading it and I realize that this post probably makes less sense than a Rube-Goldberg machine made purely of cooked pasta. I am sick, and my brain isn’t working. Don’t care. Gonna post.

Depression

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So it’s been in the news a lot, what with the whole Robin Williams thing causing increased awareness — I may be beating a dead horse here, but I will give you my take, and why it has been so hard for me to confront my issues. If you don’t want to walk a dark stream of consciousness, you should skip this status. This is me making my own therapy, by throwing it out there.

I do not wish to impact you with my problems, but I want to write them down and believe that someone has read them.

Alright, I hope this is enough text that the below story falls behind the “read more” line.

When I am down, you, the hypothetical reader will ask “What has got you down?” This is not a problem, as you are just trying to be friendly, be there to help. Whatever I happen to be thinking of at that moment will inevitably be my answer, and we will (perhaps together) tackle this thing. But then, I am still down, for depression is not so easy to fix as making the one thing at the front of my mind go away.

So the conversation continues along this thread, me telling you about my problems, you trying to fix them. When I am depressed, it is not any one thing that has me down, it is a long chain of interrelated causes and effects, a web of things. In the middle of it all is me, because when I am feeling particularly dark, I am certain I am the root cause of all problems (perhaps not so dramatic, but I am trying to paint a picture here).

So you and I continue this conversation until every thread of the web has been cleaned up, and my life is literally perfect. Except for the root, me, and one dangling thread that will never go away — the fact that I don’t feel like I deserve any of this perfection. Even in this perfect world, when I look forward to a life where I have no problems, I still have problems (forgive me for the contradiction, it is mostly a literary device I am using).

The world is not perfect, though, and even the people I am closest to in my life will eventually hit a barrier — and oddly, the barrier ends up sounding the exact same from each person who hits it.

“I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to help yourself.”

There is nothing that sends me to a deeper, darker place than that simple sentence. From inside of me, it doesn’t seem that I am not willing to help myself — I simply do not know how. You give me all of these perfectly logical things I can try, but you are saying them from the point of view of someone who is accustomed to having a “bad day”. While I am doing much better than I used to, and generally only have a few “bad days” in a row, I can say I have had “bad weeks”, “bad months,” and, for a long period, at least one “bad year”, where every day I woke up and could not see why I should have to put up with a world that does not want me, with kindness I do not deserve, with problems I could not solve, with worries I could not leave behind me, with the overwhelming pressure of my own expectations of myself…

I want to work with you, but once you say that sentence, it is very hard for me to ever open up to you again. After that, I will wear my happy mask around you, and you can feel accomplished. You won’t have to worry about my depression any more, and I do not have to worry that I am a burden on you — just to everyone else. So perhaps you have helped, by taking one thread away, a thread that I have attached to all of my closest friends, that makes me feel that I am leaning on you too much, that I have asked too much from you, if I have asked anything at all.. But then, I think as a follow up thought, “Well, one thread is gone. Imagine all the weight I could lift from my shoulders if I was alone?”

The thought above is a difficult one for me to logically approach. I know that being alone will crush me in time, but being around people is crushing me now — and many close to me know the limits of my willpower. Exchanging a problem I have today for a problem I might have tomorrow seems like a dream deal, one that can offer nothing but positive dividends (in my depressed mind’s eye; logically I know it to be awful — the only reason I have not walked that path).

I could keep going, but I feel like if the picture gets any darker, I could just pour black ink on canvas and call it a day. I am sure you get the point.

This has largely been a stream of consciousness, just the thoughts I have when I am having a down day. Every time I have a down day.

So what is the point of this illustration? What do I want out of all of this?

I don’t know. Understanding, I guess.

Forethought is something that, surprisingly, I am incredibly bad at.

I just needed to get this off of my chest.

As Cats are Wont to do

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So last night, one of my cats did as cats do, and entered her litterbox. This is, obviously, not abnormal, so when I went to the basement to play some Dota, my body was not prepared.
Even knowing, nothing could have prepared me.

In all honesty, what I thought had happened was that the larger of my two dogs had to have pooped in a vent, and the air flow somehow directed this cloud of pure death directly into my nostrils. Even this theory paled in comparison to my initial instinct, believing that a herd of no less than 30 cattle had somehow come into my basement, pooped there, and then magically disappeared. The smell was so dense, entering the basement felt like passing through a physical barrier.

I am certain that my overall lifespan was shortened by the event.

I am certain my cat’s lifespan was shortened by the event.

I believe that the lifespan of my house, or rather, the integrity of its load bearing pillars, has been reduced.

I believe that, had my house collapsed, the resulting crater would have been declared uninhabitable by the CDC.

Yesterday morning, had you asked me if a smell could be fatal, I would have said no. Yesterday night, there was a dead spider by my cat’s box, and I know what killed it.

The fires of hell are fueled by that smell. The burning is only secondary torture, and the fires burn only because Satan himself could no longer survive that smell.

When I smelled it, I had a memory flashback to a previous life, and I peed on a rag and put it up to my nose — it had no effect.

Every skunk within 10km of my house decided to never spray again, for they could only be ashamed of themselves.

Cruel people have said that the tears of the dying are delicious, but my tears were saturated with that smell. Had anyone tasted them, they would join me in living death.

Laundry was in the washing machine, still wet. It burst into flames, spontaneously. I was not angry, for those clothes could never be worn again anyway.

It is said that we currently have a wasp problem in the Edmonton area. That would explain the tiny screams I heard, coming from the damned. I no longer fear the wasps, for the speedy have have fled, the slow dying off.

I am glad raspberry season has passed, for bees can no longer pollinate any plant life in my yard.

Nothing will ever grow again, but it is for the best. I did not think plants could become demons, but a new fear has been awakened in me.

It didn’t smell nice is what I am trying to say here.

Everyone Knows What You Did Last Night

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http://www.breitbart.com/Breitbart-London/2014/09/17/Exposed-the-secret-mailing-list-of-the-gaming-journalism-elite

Well now this is just getting silly. The email in question basically says “She is a person who has a right to privacy,” and the writer for Breibart basically claims that this is PROOF OF A MASSIVE CONSPIRACY TO COVER UP RELEVANT NEWS!

Well, there you have it, Zoe Quinn doesn’t deserve privacy because WE LIKE TO READ ALL THE LURID DETAILS OF HER SEX LIFE! (Capitals are mostly for emphasis on conspiracy). This whole thing reads like a tabloid paper. You know what? With evidence, there may be something worthwhile to read — but right now, it has mostly devolved into shit flinging. Sometimes, as below, it is professional shit flinging (or at least, professionally presented shit flinging, which is the equivalent of putting suits on the monkeys).

There is certainly something to be said for open collusion, but their evidence of a massive mailing list that controls all of gaming media consists of someone in an industry emailing someone else in the industry saying that “Hey, maybe we shouldn’t ruin this woman’s life.” And of course, as per this article (and the comments), THAT IS STEPPING OVER THE LINE! This should be illegal! HOW COULD HE SAY HE DOESN’T WANT TO RUIN HER LIFE? I WANT HER LIFE RUINED FOR MY AMUSEMENT!

Look, gaming journalism is incestuous; the only people who advertise with gaming journalists are the people who the journalists are writing about. That is a problem, and it came flying wildly to light during the Gamespot/Gerstman scandal years ago (but we got Giant Bomb out of that, so I’d say we won that round).

In any case, I do not think they are innocent… But all of the evidence I have seen of this massive conspiracy is Kyle Orland and Ben Kuchera saying, effectively, “Stop being such raging, AIDS infected cock-holes.”

If saying “Don’t ruin her life,” is completely out of bounds, why don’t want just skip the middle man and say people in the same industry aren’t allowed to talk to each other.

This isn’t me being some kind of SJW, I just think this whole thing is silly, and requires people to step back and look at it with a level head. The linked article (and there are many like it) are effectively turning gaming journalism into TMZ. Admittedly, people like tabloids, so this is making tons of people tons of money — but I do not want my gaming journalism to be a tabloid.

Do you think I am exaggerating? Taking this to an absurd length? If so, let me know if any of these statements trip your TMZ detector:

LOOK WHO ZOE QUINN IS SLEEPING WITH THIS WEEK!

Have you seen this email from Kyle Orland? IT WILL SHOCK YOU!

BEHIND THE SCENES AT KOTAKU! Do you know how your money is being spent?!

You know what? I don’t give a flying shit about who one indie developer is sleeping with. Shit, I don’t even care if there is some group of editors colluding about how to speak about a topic, if their “massive conspiracy” is “stop being cock-holes.”

Gaming journalism isn’t all that interesting as it is; it is trailers and release dates, reviews on the side. It barely qualifies as journalism, honestly. When they have something interesting to say, then I will care about corruption.

Such Persuasive. So Convince. Wow.

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Good morning, friends! I have come to share with you the Good News of Harry Potter and the Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles (https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10644439/1/)

I know my word is probably not worth investigating this masterpiece, so please allow me to share with you some choice excerpts!

-It’s a good thing Hagrid had saved this child’s soul when he did. With two guardians who were no Christian raising him… If Hagrid had come five years later, Harry would have been a fornicating, drug-addled evolutionist!

-“Hello, little one. I am the Reverend Albus Dumbledore, and this is my wife, Minerva!”

-Truly, Minerva is a Proverbs 31 wife!

-“Huffepuffs believe in certain parts of the Bible, but not the parts against fornication, drinking, and socialism. We seem nice and tolerant as long as you agree with us!”

-“Luna thinks she can have a career even though she’s a woman, and women are stupid,” said Draco Malfoy.
“Women shouldn’t not have careers because they are stupid! Women should not have careers because their gifts serve them best in the home!” Harry shouted indignantly.

-Ravenclaws believe that women are inferior to men. Draco Malfoy is a Ravenclaw, and all Ravenclaws should become good, Bible reading Gryffindors!

-(Ed. Note: In this fic, Hermione is Dumbledore’s daughter) “My father says that dark times are coming,” Hermione spoke worriedly. “There is a man named Voldemort who wants to destroy everything we stand for! He is pushing an agenda in Congress which will stop us from practicing our faith freely!”
“It will be alright,” Harry reassured her manfully (Ed. note: Yes. Manfully.). “We will just need to pray really, really hard!”

-“You should become a Ravenclaw! We are the best!” said Malfoy.
“No, Ravenclaws are the most HATEFUL!” Harry said cleverly (Ed. note: SO CLEVER RIGHT NOW!)
WELL?! Is your soul not saved yet?!

I heard an Audible “Woosh”

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Pastafarians And Their “Crazy Nonsense”

I think there are several levels of sarcasm that are missed in this. It is a fundamentalist Christian dogmatist (and one of the most public Young Earth Creationists this side of Ken Ham) registering an opinion that effectively states “I think Pastafarians are crazy,” in a way that smells strongly of lack of self-awareness.

It is a very, very short read… But it made me chuckle.