Thank God for Radio

Random thoughts as I turn the radio dial...

On the hip-hop/pop station they're playing the new hotness, Ciara's "Goodies," which is a song where Ciara temptingly teases her goodies to anyone in a five mile radius, only to let saps know that they aren't going to get her goodies. What's really weird is that I assumed she was referring to a much-coveted stash of glazed pastries. Well! It turns out she is actually referring to very specific body parts. (If you said "spleen," take away 5 points from your cool quotient. And your credit rating.) How do I know this? Evidentally, there is an uncensored version of the song entitled "Ovaries." I am outraged, despite the educational potential of such a song. And what's worse is that there is a Kidz Bop version. Just what the children of America need. Another song about ovaries.

I flip the station. Oh it's that song "Yeah!" I haven't heard that one today. More than once. I shouldn't dis it. I mean, c'mon, who ever would have thought that Urkel would be doing so well after that sitcom. Way to go, Urkel!

Commercials.... commercials... Fun fact! Didja know that all this month at the Torch is "Rack-tober"? Complete with frozen t-shirt contests and everything! Shit! And here it is the 22nd! I almost missed it!

Studytime. In Which Dave has a Gollum-like Conversation

So here I am, it's 3:13a.m. and I'm at work, attempting to study. The ghost of Darwin is hanging around, but he's just mouthing all of his words and I can't understand, and it's all a bit creepy. I must concentrate and put all frivilous thoughts behind me (or at least in a box somewhere, where I can pick them up at my convienence.
Characteristics of natural selection... the potential for reproductive rates must outpace food supply... presence of variety in all species...

(Dave. Dave! Hello? Dave. What if you were King of the Vampires?)

Shut up, I'm trying to study! Yes, where was I? There is constant competition among individuals for survival.

(Dave! Think about it, King of the Vampires, dude! You could do all sorts of cool shit!)

Okay, that's enough. The test is Tuesday. That's technically, FUCK, that's tommorrow! Individuals with favorable traits are much more likely to survive.

(Yes, survive, you'd survive, but your enemies wouldn't. If you were King of the Vampires.)

SHUT. UP. This is serious. Favorable traits passed on with greater succes than unfavorable ones.

(You could pass on favorable vampire traits to your victims, dude. Like the ability to turn into mist. And put the whammy on unsuspecting frails.)

I'm NOT LISTENING. I'm studying, hah-ha!! ENVIRONMENT DETERMINES WHICH TRAITS ARE FAVOR--- favorable? Hello? You there? Am I finally alone? I can focus on natural selection now? Is that okay with you? Ahem. Geographical isolation may eventually cause the formation of a new species.

(Sooooo, if you were King of the Vampires, who would you make for your vampiric bride?)

Oh holy shit. I have had it! How the hell am I supposed to-- Wait a minute. It could be anybody?

(That's what I'm saying.)

Oh. Well, hell, I'm thinking Christina Ricci, dude!! HELL YEAH!!!

A Brief History of Evolutionary Thought

I have an Anthropology test on Tuesday. Usually I don't freak out about such things, but it's essay format, which means I can't just guess from the multiple choice like usual. Which means I have to recall... stuff. One of the questions is bound to be on evolutionary concepts, Darwin and pre-Darwin. Or as I like to characterize it, before X-Men and after X-Men. So, as a way of keeping up with my studies AND blogging, I've decided to write an outline essay just so I can form the basic concepts in my head. May God have mercy on us all.

Evolution is a scientific theory. Many people make fun of it, saying, "Hey, ya big dumb theory, when ya gonna get your shit together and become a fact." What the haters don't realize is that evolution is a scientific theory with a wealth of support, and is the unifying theory of the biological sciences. And evolutionary theory has been asked to the prom three times by the most popular boys in class, so if you got a problem, you need to take it elsewhere, Ms. Thing!

Darwin is credited with formulating the theory of natural selection, although Alfred Russel Wallace independently duplicated Darwin's ideas. Darwin also was the first to fight Magneto, dispelling him with a wooden baseball bat. But there were many talented thinkers who provided the groundwork for Darwin's ideas. You could say there was an evolution to evolutionary thought. I wouldn't do that, because that would be a really cheesy thing to say. I have my dignity to think of. (But if I blank out on the test, I might pull that out just to get the word count up. Then all notions of dignity go out the window.)

The Middle Ages were a dark time, filled with hobbits and elves. Everything was very dirty, due to the fact that our ancestors had no towels. People starved as well, presumably because the phone hadn't been invented yet and you could not call Pizza Hut for delivery. Consequently, many people turned to religion to solve their problems. In Europe, the predominant worldview was one of stasis and the fixity of the species. Nothing could change because God made everything right the first time, why would things change? If things got too bad, the proper way to fix things was to flush out the whole lot with a good old-fashioned biblical flood. Or to be destroyed by Godzilla. (See the lost book of Godzilla.)

Christian teachings that God created all life in this manner were taken quite literally. Sure, we look back now and say, wow, no wonder they were all killed by orcs. But back then, this was a sure thing. They believed in a hierarchy called the Great Chain of Being, an idea that was first purposed by Aristotle in 4 B.C. and confirmed by Marie Osmond in 1982. The basic idea behind it was that there was a chain of life, with everyone getting a particular rank, the lowest forms being at the bottom, and the highest forms, The Osmonds, being at the top. This was all percieved as being part of the Grand Design.

Archbishop James Ussher added the prominent idea that the world had been created in 4004 B.C., which he calculated by reading "The Da Vinci Code," and adding up the ISBN numbers and dividing by the total number of books of the Bible. This belief, that the earth was very young, coupled with the notion of the fixity of species was a significant obstacle to the development of evolutionary thought. That and the Dark Lord Sauron and his all-seeing evil eye.

In the 1500's the scientific revolution started to to develop as fundamental ideas of the earth and the biological world began to change, or if you were being clever, evolve. Get it, they're evolving? And this whole paper is on evolution. That is so FUCKING clever. {pause for maniacal laughter} Man, I'm going to bomb this so bad. Anyways.

The year was 1514. Tom Hanks had just won the Oscar for Philadelphia. And some kooky bastard named Copernicus decided to challange one of Aristotle's ideas to a drinking contest. Copernicus posited that the earth was so not the center of the universe, (as if!) and that the solar system was heliocentric. This freaked Europeans out, but not the Indians who had already figured that one out a long time ago. This would come into play later on in Superman II.

In the 17th century scientists began to develop the laws of physics, motion and gravity so we could safely walk without floating away. We also made great strides in casting off the chains of our oppresive ape masters. Europeans began to investigate nature as if it was mechanistic, and sought to discover its fundamental laws without reference to biblical ideas or songs by Jewel. This pissed off thousands of angry Jewel fans, which in turn, was the impetus for the Russian revolution.

There were many precursors to the theory of evolution, not the least of which was the "Theory of Chicken as a Pizza Topping," which is highly contested to this day, so much so that I am risking my life mentioning it right now. But there were many scientists and thinkers who came up with these great ideas, most of them proven wrong today, and it is a good idea to list them so as to use up all the paper in my essay book as quickly as possible. They were the ones who provided Darwin with a framework of ideas for his theory of evolution. They were smart, controversial, highly attractive, and in the case of Jean-Baptiste Lamarck, refreshingly French.

Showing a devastating lack of creativity, I shall discuss them in chronological order. John Ray (1627-1705), an ordained minister at Cambridge University, was the first to recognize that groups of plants and animals could be distinguished from other groups by their ability to produce offspring. He also masturbated quite frequently, described in stunning detail in his essay "On the Process of Masturbating." He coined the terms genus and species, recognizing that similar species could be grouped together. This was actually a big deal, on par with the invention of the XBox.

Carolus Linnaeus (1707-1778) was the Swedish naturalist with the crazy name! He believed in the fixity of the species, which was stupid. He also believed that squirrels turned out the sun at night. But hey, he did develop the binomial system of classification for plants in his publication, Systema Naturae (1735.) He also added the taxonomic levels class and order, classifying humans as Homo sapiens. This too, pissed off the Jewel fans, resulting in more Russian revolution.

Comte de Buffon (1707-1788) had parents who hated him, resulting in the ridiculous name. He stressed the importance of change in the universe and the dynamics between nature and living forms in Natural History (1749). The fact that it was a coloring book did not diminish its ideas. Linnaeus did not believe that species could give rise to another species, an unfortunate observation that seemed ironic when he turned into a cockroach.

Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802) was Charles Darwin's grandfather. He was a free-thinking physician who got his kicks writing evolutionary ideas composed in verse and chasing scullery maids around really fast, like Benny Hill. He would often throw empty bottles of whiskey at young Charles, shouting "Survive this, boy!" He would later go on to write the Bon Jovi classic "You Give Love a Bad Name."

Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (1744-1829) was French, as you can tell because his name is made up of French words. He was the first to propose an explanation of the evolutionary process. He proposed a theory of the inheritance of acquired characteristics in which an animal's body parts are altered through use or disuse. He masturbated a lot. He thought that these altered characteristics were transmitted to their offspring. Although this is biologically impossible and incredibly silly, he nevertheless is credited with being the first to recognize the importace of the interaction between organisms and their environment in the evolutionary process. He was also the first to recognize the importance of being French.

Georges Cuvier (1769-1832) was also French. He was an opponent to Lamarck's evolutionary ideas, calling them filthy pig farts and tawdry rat nipple poo-poo crap. Cuvier was a vertebrate paleontologist, back when they didn't even know what that was. He introduced the concept of extinction to explain the existence of hitherto unknown fossil forms. This depressed the hell out of many people. He was also a proponent of catastrophism, the idea that the earth's geological features are a result of catastrophic events, the most recent examples being the biblical flood and the break-up of Ben Affleck and J.Lo. He believed that these events destroyed old life forms and the newer forms were the results of creation events. I'm really not sure what the hell he was talking about. Cuvier was a big proponent of the fixity of the species and had plans to open a chain of "Fixity of the Species" buffett restaurants to prove it, before he was killed in a particularly brutal Catherine Wheel accident.

Charles Lyell (1797-1875) was the man who arguably influenced Darwin the most. He also had the least silly name. During the years of 1830-1833 he wrote his classic "Principles of Geology," which would not only ensure him as the father of modern geology, but would overshadow his previous work, "Sheepherding! Not Just for Profit Anymore!"

Lyell demonstrated through puppetry that uniform processes could account for present geological features. This became known as uniformitarianism, despite Lyell's best efforts at promoting the more upbeat "Lyellrocks!ism." His ideas freaked people out because they provided the time depth necessary for biological evolution to have occured.

Thomas Malthus (1766-1834), an English clergyman and economist wrote "An Essay on the Principles of Population (1798). This important contribution was highlighted by the fact that he wrote it over the period of one year in the nude except for the a thin sheen of butter. His ideas highlighting the connection between population sizes and food supply influenced not only Alfred Russel Wallace and Charles Darwin, but also inspired U2 to go techno in the 90's.

Let's take a few sentences to remember Mary Anning (1799-1847). This remarkable, sassy woman contributed signifigantly to the field of paleontology by discovering hundreds of fossils including the first complete fossil of an Ichthyosaurus. She was burned as a witch when her dark magics were discovered.

All of these incredibly boring people formed their own league, a Justice League to save us from Starro, the conqueror from beyond the stars. But what many people don't realize is that they also had a profound effect on Alfred Russel Wallace and Charles Darwin. If they hadn't contributed their thoughts and ideas to the scientific world, not only would we not understand this amazing theory, I might be doing something more interesting, like watching Matlock. So fuck you, pioneers of science, fuck you!

Hey You Might Need a Raincoat

Because part of our soul contract is to take a degree of pain in this lifetime, we typically end up with parents who annoy the hell out of us. This is what the universe calls "character building." For example, my mom sometimes does things that annoy me, like sneezing so loudly and unnaturally as to scare the shit out of me and everything in a one hundred mile radius. Heck, the last time she sneezed, they had Air Force fighter jets scrambling from Mt. Home Air Force Base. (And excuse the digression, but doesn't Mt. Home sound like the setting for a climatic, apocolyptic, Stephen Kingish battle between good and evil?) Anyways. The sneezing I can deal with. What I can't deal with is the steady stream of talk radio she listens to, like that Sean Hannity guy. Now there's a guy that's never had a good day in his life.

I try to block it out, but one day I happened to be passing through the room thinking to myself: "la la la la, can't hear you, you ass-monkey" and a very familiar tune crept through, accessing my brain waves. It was the first few bars of one of my favorite Talking Heads songs, "Life During Wartime." WTF? This guy was using it as some seque-intro thingy. I didn't know whether to be flattered that someone else was a fan of the song or to just throw up all over the stereo. I had to wonder if he was using it because it sounded cool or if he was somehow trying to co-opt the vaguely paranoid lyrics for his own nefarious purposes. Either way, it got me thinking about a band I love dearly, the Talking Heads. (Yes, this is an essay about the Talking Heads. It's okay, ya'll can leave if you wanna.)

Today, most people are aware of about 2-3 Talking Heads songs that still get some airplay. The biggest one being "Burning Down the House," followed up by "Once in a Lifetime," that not only still gets radio play, it often makes its way into movies and trailers. Every now and then I'll hear "And She Was," but one of the more famous Heads songs, "Psycho Killer," doesn't get much airplay anymore, which I think is due to the fact that it's too weird even to fall into "retro" playlists.

Over the years, I've sold off discs when strapped for cash, always silently letting Dave, Chris, Tina, and Jerry know that I'd be back for them someday. (Hey, you think that's weird, at least I didn't bid my adieus out loud in the music store... More than once, anyways.)

The other day I went into Best Buy (thanks again for the gift card, Tina & Shan!) with the express intent of reacquainting myself with the Heads after the terrifiying Sean Hannity experience. (Digression: Is it just me or is naming your store "Best Buy" the height of manipulation? It's like renaming myself "Davidisgreat.") There were only two Talking Heads cds in stock, "Stop Making Sense" and the new best of collection. I took one look at the tracks on the Best Of and snatched it up.

I do realize that writing about how much I love music is a pretty useless endeavor. It's like dancing about archeticture, as Angelina Jolie said in Playing by Heart. It's like trying to describe the transcendent. And to me, the music of the Talking Heads is pure transcendence, a high-speed wireless connection to spirit and joy. But you can't tell somebody... they either feel it or they don't. And gabbing on about it isn't going to help. So really, this is just a love letter to the group that means so much to me. They'll never see it, but I've got to write it for my own benefit.

I had my mind blown out in 1986, I believe, when True Stories was released. I remember listening to Wild, Wild Life and thinking, hmm, that's catchy, but not really feelin' it. Then the second single started getting some airplay, the sly, peppy, "Love for Sale." That was like a bitch-slap to the face. NOTHING else like this was getting played on the radio. It was 80's music, but it took it about 3-4 notches further than other songs were willing to go. I fell in love then and was especially enthralled by David Byrne with his screechy, yelpy, totally committed vocals. And how could you resist a stage prescence that made you sweat just looking at him jumping around as if he was possessed by the gods of pop and funk? AND he had something to say, pointing an unwavering finger towards commercialism and the way the things we buy get packaged as love. I got the message all right and it awakened a sense of critical thinking in me that still serves me well to this day.

What was really cool, what I totally couldn't have forseen, was that "Love for Sale" wasn't even the best the Heads had to offer. Both of the mid-80's Talking Heads' albums "Little Creatures" and "True Stories" were fun, like pop rocks in your mouth. But they were experiments; David Byrne's conscious attempt at fashioning deliberate pop songs. He proved he could craft just as well as any in that format, but for me it was just a gateway drug to the other, harder, more creative Heads albums.

I started at the beginning with their groundbreaking '77 album. I can only imagine what it would have been like to have heard "Psycho Killer," a relentless slab of nerd punk, stalking the airwaves and discos, for the first time in the late 70's. It had to have freaked people out, it must have felt like they were on the edge of something new and exciting, so avant guarde, so New York. It was the beginning of an extraordinary musical journey where David Byrne would totally inhabit these characters, some joyous, some terrifying, all human. When he sings "Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire," you don't know whether to be sympathetic or afraid.

And that was, in my eyes, the key to David Byrne's charisma as a lead singer. He could embody anything that you were feeling at any given time: sorrow, love, euphoria, fear. He was an unlikely vessel to appeal to so many because he did look like an art nerd digging through the trash of middle America, looking for Found Art. But while he celebrated the mundane, he did it a completely believable way, without condescencion. He made you feel good for being yourself, no matter who that might have been, because he saw the beauty in all of us, the rich tapestry of light and dark. And he was the type of guy who could write a song about playing with a baby (Stay Up Late) one album and a dark, freaky, bad drug trip on another (Memories Can't Wait.) And even when the words themselves were often ambigious, like in "Once in a Lifetime," --(Water dissolving...and water removing There is water at the bottom of the ocean Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!)-- He sang them with such intensity, you felt like they not only had secret meaning, but that you were on the edge of unlocking the most profound of mantras.

There's one song in particular that truly gets my soul vibrating on a higher level and that's "This Must be the Place (Naive Melody.) It was used to great effect in the film "Wall Street," when Charlie Sheen moves into his fancy apartment. Since then, I've always tried to make sure it's the first song I play when I move into a new place. It's a good way to start. The song is very tender, very sweet and has one of David Byrne's most sympathetic, loving vocals. Again, this is one of those things where you would have to hear it to get it, but the best way I can describe it is by saying that this is a song about coming home, not just physically, but spiritually and emotionally as well. Kind of being defeated by love, giving yourself to love. Even now, all I have to hear is the first few bars and it de-stresses me. It's every good memory, every promise and hint of good to come, and every wonderful thing that's in your life right now that you may or may not be aware of.

Before I finish this blog entry, let me say that I haven't given proper love to the rest of the band, which is a bit unfair. Although I initially always thought that David Byrne was the sun the other Heads revolved around, I've since appreciated the special, unique sound that they brought to the band. You can hear the difference between David Byrne's solo works and his stuff with the heads, and while it's still excellent, it's not the same vibe. And if you listen to the Heads' solo stuff, you can't help but hear the familiar, friendly, experimentation that elevated the Heads to the next level. So Jerry, Tina, and Chris, I raise my cup to ye.

In the end, I can't help but feeling intensely grateful to the Talking Heads for so many things, not the least of which was to expand my world. Listening to cassette tapes, growing up in the fading rusted-sunset of Emmett, a town complete with a closed mill and closed minds, the Heads introduced me to a limitless world of thoughts and ideas. They introduced me to myself.

Dharmic Vertigo

Today I changed my blog header from the free-wheelin' "Nakedmanatee's Page O'Fun" to the infinitely more pretentious "Dharmic Vertigo." Why? You mean besides the obvious response of "The power! My God, the power!"? Well, while the first title does seem to accurately capture my brand of simple, good for you humor, I wanted to show the other side of Dave. The thoughtful, photo matte-finish side of Dave. And hey, Dharmic Vertigo just sounded plain cool. And what's cooler than being cool? (Ice Cold.)

What is Dharmic Vertigo? Dharmic Vertigo is the cosmic 18-wheeler truck you thought you escaped from only to look in your rear-view mirror to watch it make that impossible u-turn and come barrelling after you. Dharmic Vertigo is the the Bond villain that makes 007 realize that all he really wanted to do was to garden and read Ludlum and play Pictionary and listen to Jimmy Buffett records. Dharmic Vertigo is that person in your life who has died and is haunting you, hiding out in the crawl space just outside of your peripheral vision, asking, begging you to reconsider poetry.

Dharma is your life's purpose. I bet you didn't even know you had one. Or maybe you do but disbelief clogs your soul like a trip to McDonald's clogs your arteries. You do have one. If I'm wrong and there is no such thing and it's all a fairy tale and you just live at best, a life of around 85 years and then you keel over with the last thought escaping from your head shouting, "Damn, and here I thought it was all about my love of balloon animals,' then I will owe you a big ol' apology, my friend. And a bag of Jolly Ranchers. I'll owe you a bag of Jolly Ranchers.

I was looking at a blog MUCH better than this one and on it was a quote from Lauryn Hill. I don't know the exact wording she used, but the basic idea behind it was that Lauryn was saying that our passion for life was our way of saying thank you to God for living. Now even if you don't believe in any type of organized (or disorganized) Higher Up entity chick or dude, it's a great sentiment for living. I firmly believe in passion. I don't care what it is. It could be stamp collecting. Or Voltaire. Or Voltron. Or Twister. Yeah... naked Twister. It doesn't matter. What matters is the caring. Care about something. Because if you do, if you find that passion, it will inject itself and activate every lazy-ass cell in your body that's just sitting there waiting for you to die so it can go and find something more interesting to do... like form with some other bored cells and become bark or something. Becuase your poor little cells want to do something. It's in your purpose. It's there. Find it.

As any five year old will tell you, the quickest way to an andrenal high is to consume 5 packs of Smarties, then spin around in your front yard until you come crashing down face-first into the grass, giggling uncontrollably with dirt now up your nose. That, is Dharmic Vertigo. It's the rushing, blood to your head, happy euphoric feeling that gets your endorphins swimming through your body like toddlers rushing down a water slide. And it feels good. It makes you stupid-happy because you're doing what you're supposed to be doing. Your life's purpose. That's Dharmic Vertigo. And THAT's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Rebirth of the Droogs

I work at a hotel. Two hotels actually. Not simultaneously or anything. Don't be getting any wild ideas about my ability to be in two places at once. Because I can be you know. Be in two places at once. Unfortunately it's limited to a Starbucks in Newark and a rodeo in Nampa, Idaho. Which doesn't really benefit anyone, I'm afraid.

But I work two nights at the Holiday Inn Express (no, I can't explain the express, it's just a normal hotel, dude) and two nights at the Comfort Suites right next to it. In an extraordinary coincendence they're owned by the same man, an Indian named Kanti Patel. He is an actual Indian from India, not a Native American. He is a small man who is worth millions and never smiles. I'm not sure if it is a cultural thing or if he just doesn't like me. It could be a bit of both.

My job title is Night Auditor, which, in concept, would make an awesome Jerry Bruckheimer TV show. I would prefer Sean Penn play me, but more than likely it'd be Donal Logue. And I suppose that'd be okay too. Basically, my job consists of putting paper in the printer and then watch it print out huge stacks of unnecessary reports that nobody looks at. I also make coffee. I resent having to make coffee. It interferes with my "me" time. If I wanted to work, I would have gotten a job during the day. Hell-o!

Thankfully, most of the customers, aside from the weird-os, drunks, and the ghostly twin little girls that manifest themselves in the middle of an empty hallway, are asleep. This leaves me plenty of time to "keep it real" playing on the internet, watching Adult Swim, and occasionally, studying for one of my classes.

Tonight, it's been a little crazy, because there are scores of pre-teens running around like drunken sea otters. From what I can piece together, there's some sort of school organization staying here on their way to play some sort of organized sport. Consequently, there are few adults to rein in their pre-teen antics. There were about 8 pre-teen girls, running through the halls like the Droogs in "A Clockwork Orange," giggling and screaming and taking pictures. It would have reversed the opinion of any Pro-Lifer, let me tell you. I finally told them to shut up in a really nice way and they asked me if it was too late to use the pool. (Yes, yes it was.)

Finally, it's 4:45 in the morning and things have settled down. They're probably asleep. Time for unscheduled, unrequested wake-up calls!

In the beginning...

God created caffe frappes. And, by and large, it was good. The foam and the little shaved cinnamon sprinkles came later, but really, it was good.

This is my first attempt at a blog. It's a weird concept. I'm not sure who is supposed to read it. The government? I'm hip to them already. Hmmm. I suppose I'm writing this for the nameless "They" that haunt the shadows of my life. I know they're there because I can hear them snickering. But in addition to the members of "They," (who incidentally are composed of Hal, Gina, Mahesh, and a talking cocker spaniel named Duke), I imagine I'm mainly writing for myself. Anyone else is free to read this.

In fact, with this blog, I hope to not only indulge my narcissitic tendencies by reflecting on every meaningless nuance of my life in a manner that would have Alanis Morrisette beside herself with envy, I humbly hope to be of service to the world at large. Yes, this is a humanitarian effort, calling all the lost lonely souls of Planet Earth. If you've ever had an imaginary conversation with a character in a book... If you've ever listened to the same David Byrne track five times in a row... If you've ever wondered why the universe was plotting against you, specifically... Well, I probably can't help you, but I can tell you how I cope with the problems of good, evil, love, death, God, Goddess, Walt Disney, The Food Network, and other countless uncertain realities.

And in the end, that's what it's all about, isn't it? The UNCERTAIN reality, explained by God only by the various post-it notes left in his absence which only specify where He was going. (To the store.) When He'll be back. (563 billion years from now) And what we're supposed to do in the meantime. (Try not to kill each other.)

So... friends... enemies... the totally apathetic and bored... Welcome to the Fun Spot. Population: You. (And me. And well, THEY, too.)