The End is Nigh.

Well, friends, as you may very well know, the end is near.
That's right, soon all that is will be no more. Soon, the world as we know it will come to an end and everything comfortable, everything familiar will be but a distant memory. The great gaping void is coming into all our lives, and that void, that bottomless monster has a name. It is called "Summer."

I for one say, BRING IT ON .

I've heard an interesting tale about past survivors of the so-called "Summer Months." Novelists of yore wrote of camps in the woods. Ancient texts tell tales of running through sprinklers. There even survive a few primitive cave drawings of prehistoric humans spitting watermelon seeds off the back porch.

And yet, they all survived.

I used to wonder at this marvel. How is it that our ancestors could possibly have handled something so difficult for modern man to deal with, something so trying and convoluted as three months of unrestrained fucking off.

The answer, I think, is in the way they approached it.

Think for a moment about summer. Close your eyes and remember childhood days spent lying in the grass, blowing on those little white dandelion things. Remember the smell of a baseball mitt. Delve deep into memories of intense childhood friendships, early loves come and gone. Close your eyes and remember.

Maybe that stuff, for our ancestors, wasn't bad. Maybe they took joy in those small moments, the sun on their faces and grass tickling the backs of their necks. Maybe, for them, that was all good.

Maybe it should be good for us too.

I invite you, this summer, to quit your job at least twice. Take at least two consecutive weekends to do absolutely nothing with as many people as you can find. Play tag. Drink sun tea. Lay in the grass on a bright day and dream.

And never forget the small moments.

THIEVES!!!

Well, not really.

Check it out.

http://drmcninja.com/page.php?pageNum=20&issue=3

I'm just glad that someone out there can draw properly.

What the hell does 'rant' mean?

Prepare for blog-type blogging. The BS content of this post is as high as in the recent past, but it's a different kind. If at any point you get bored (like right now) stop reading and go drink a beer.

Today I've decided to actually talk about something serious, though I'm sure that to all of you it's going to sound like pure pulp. Well...meh.

I call myself a "libertarian," but I suspect that some of you--like my dog-- may have noticed that I don't really fit the general definition of that category. This doesn't really bother me. In my own mind my self-classification as "libertarian" makes perfect sense and I don't really feel any need to justify it by detailing my personal political views. That's not what I'm doing here. Actually, I'm probably never going to do that. I really just don't feel the need to justify anything I do to anyone. At least, that's my aim.

What I want to bring up is the notion that I (or anyone) am supposed to use the words you all know in the ways that you know them. I'm going to generalize quite a bit here to bring the discussion down from politics, a world in which things like "Social Democrat" means a million different things depending on the period, nation, person, and time of day you're talking about.

I think, for the sake of this argument, I will focus on the word "cat."

So, for this semiological discourse, I need to begin with a general definition of "cat." I could do this in two ways. One would be for me to find a definition that I feel fully embodies what I feel "cat-ness" is and use that as my definition. The other option is to forgo my personal opinions on the matter and define "cat" as what the greatest majority of people believe "cat-ness" to be. In most cases two native speakers can actually forgo having to make this decision as the general definition is the same as the personal definition.

For the sake of making an argument we will have to agree that this latter possibility is not an option. I will explain why.

Let's say that the social definition of "cat" is "a small, furry, domesticated animal well known for its contradictory sense of independence and belonging in a human social group." They generally have four legs and a tail. Most cats also have heads. They are mammals and have babies, which are obscenely cute and blind until they learn to open their eyes when they immediately become obscenely cute and destructive.

And, for the sake of this argument (though I'm not denying that this is how I actually feel about the situation), let's say that my personal definition of "cat" is best described as "a large, falling boulder."

Now, I imagine that many of you are concerned about this latter, my definition. Sucks for you.

Okay, so now that we've established definitions, let's examine a possible situation where this could be construed as a problem.

Uh...okay. Me and another guy are hiking. We're in the Ruby Mountains heading for Dollar Lake and I turn around, point, and scream "Cat!"

My companion turns, expecting, perhaps, a small tabby with a mouse in its jaws, but is promptly flattened to death by the giant rock he didn't see coming.

Some of you are, perhaps, thinking that this is a "failure to communicate." This is a common mistake to make, seeing as such "failures" positively infest modern life. But I will argue that this isn't one such case.

To understand my view you must understand two important things. The first is that I, with my "different" definition of the word "cat," have already been told a fucking ridiculous number of times that my definition of "cat" is, in fact, capital "w" Wrong. So, I get the idea. I know that, however much the definition in my head works with the concept in the real world, this is a poor method of communication. As such, when I screamed the word "cat," I knew I was going to be misinterpreted.

To understand why I would want to cause this confusion, the other thing you have to realize is that, if a boulder big enough to turn you into jelly is falling at you, there really ain't shit you can do about it. You can be aware that your doom is nigh, or you can be ignorant of it. At that point I could have screamed "boulder!", but what good would it have done? My hiking companion would have a second to consider the greater existential crisis of life and death, coming to no real conclusion and dying at the hands of a big fucking rock. Or he can turn away from death to look at an adorable affirmation of life, and then die at the hands of a big fucking rock.

So, in conclusion, I call myself a Libertarian because there's a big fucking cat about to turn you into jelly.

I'm glad to have been able to clear that up.