Goodbye, and Thank You from the Bottom of my Heart

I wrote this on June 29th, the day I got home from visiting my dog in West Virginia.  I couldn't sleep, and needed to get this out...

I lack the words appropriate.  I’ve typed it out over and over, many times, and many ways, and nothing I can come up with does her justice.

She was my dog.  She was my friend.  She is dying.

My friend

I remember when I first met her.  She was a stray, found by a friend.  I went to go meet her, and wasn’t sure I wanted to take her.  She was a medium sized mutt, ugly dog.  I to this day have no idea what the ingredients were that made up her body, but I am 100% sure of the content of her character.

I remember I told my friend that I would have to think about it.  I made it half a block away before I had to pull over.  I could feel my heart hurting, hurting then much like it hurts now.  I was about to lose something, something important.  I knew it even then.

The nameless dog sat next to me as I drove home, unsure how I was going to convince my mother we had a dog now.  It was stupid, and irrational, and totally not what my crumbling family life needed at the time, but this dog, this mess of red hair and drool, sat next to me with her big dumb head out the window without a care in the world.  She’d look at me, her new human, and smile that odd dog smile that bordered ridiculous and adorable.

We were instant friends.

My mother, I remember, wasn’t terribly keen on bringing on the responsibility of dog ownership.  She was fighting her own battle with my father, largely behind the scenes, and to her credit, allowed me to keep the canine.  I think she knew.  I think my mother knew that her family was falling apart, and maybe her teenage son, having trouble figuring out how to be a man, needed someone who loved him unconditionally.  She was right.

I was working on a farm around this time, renovating an old farm house with my friend.  I would bring the dog out to that dusty house, and she would lay in the shade of the porch, waiting for me to get down from the roof.  I didn’t need to chain her up then, she, like me, was all too happy to have someone who cared about her.  The guys and I would take turns calling out names from the roof to see what she would respond to.

That’s how I met Brandy. 

Brandy was with me for some of the worst times of my young life.  The fights, my anger, the rage I carried with me for a long time.  When the world let me down, I knew she never would.  She would always be sleeping at the foot of my bed.  She would always run to me at the sound of my car horn for a drive around the block.  She’d lay down beside me while I watched TV or screwed around on line.  She was my companion for 3 years.  And then I had to go away.

I went to college, and couldn’t take her with me.  At the time, it was no big deal.  My father had recently left my mother, and it left our family fractured.  With just my mother and sister at home together, Brandy quickly became a glue of sorts for them.  Even though she seemed to be a burden at times, I know Brandy helped those two get through it.  She was that kind of dog.

Over the next few years, I moved around a lot, and often my mother would try and get me to take the dog off her hands.   It was a chore I had saddled her with, and while I wanted nothing more than my dog back with me, my life was in a constant state of upheaval.  I was moving every year, never sure where I would end up.  And I’ll be honest, I also didn’t want to have to deal with the dog while I was trying to go out drinking, or running around, or traveling.

This is one of my biggest regrets.

Because now, I will never get to make up that time.  Brandy spent more time with my mother and sister than she did with me, but in my eyes, she will always be my dog.  Just the thought of losing her in years past broke me down, unlike anything ever has in my life.  And now that I am faced with that reality, I am for lack of a better way to put it, full of regret.  And angry.  And sad, and every other emotion one can feel when faced with lose.  Especially a loss I never tried hard enough to avoid.

I wish I could go back, eat more allergy medication, stay in a home for more than a year, something, anything to get more time with her.  I can’t tell her these things, she wouldn’t understand.  Even if she could, would she believe me?

When my mother told me she was sick, and hadn’t eaten in a week, I knew it was the end.  I drove the 4 hours into the middle of the West Virginian heartland to be by her side.  When I got there, I’m not even sure she knew who I was.

My heart is heavy.

She's tired now, and not hungry anymore...

The worst part?  I never got time to grieve with her.  I had to leave too soon, and was surrounded by people whom, if I were to say the things I wanted to say to Brandy, would just assume mock me than understand the emotional baggage this damn dog has helped me carry for 13 years. 

My last words I spoke to her were, “You be a good girl.”  I rubbed her chin, looked into her eyes, and left.  I’ll never see her again.  And that sucks.  It really sucks.

Trying to come to terms with this has been tough.  It’s not like I’ve never lost anyone.  I’ve attended my fair share of funerals, but it’s something about the death of a pet, specifically a dog, that is so undeniably hearth wrenching. 

I think it’s because we don’t know if they understand how much we care for them.  In Brandy’s eyes, was I just a guy she knew for 3 years who then disappeared?  Did I abandon her?  Does she even consider herself my dog?  Or is she my sister’s?  Or, more accurately, my mother’s?  Did she harbor resentment towards me?  Did she even know who I was at the end of all this?  I’m sitting in a room typing my guts out, and to her, I might have just been the hand at the end of a leash taking her for a walk on a muggy West Virginian night. 

Those are the thoughts that keep me up.  That I failed her, someone who I have had nothing but love for since the very first time I saw her.  Who helped me more than any dog would ever know, and I’m still not able to quantify in words.  I look back over the last 13 years, 3 I spent with her, 10 I didn’t, and can only come to the conclusion that I wasn’t good enough for her.  She deserved better of me, but I was too selfish to realize that.

And that isn’t a good feeling.

I have a new dog now, for all intents, my wife’s dog.  And knowing now what I know about letting dogs know how much we need them, I encourage her every chance I get to love that dog, because before we know it, it will be 10 years down the line, and we’ll be having more sleepless nights as we try to convey to that dog how much we loved her. 

So why do we do this to ourselves?  Take an animal into our care with the understanding we’re going to outlive and bury them?  More importantly, why do we treat that choice like a chore, when these animals literally give us nothing but love in return for our, often lacking, efforts?

I think it’s because of that love, that unconditional love that dogs especially seem to be able to produce and instill in we poor pathetic humans.  We spend our entire lives thinking and trying to find ways to be loved, that we don’t see the obvious answer is just to give love, no matter what.  Dogs have this figured out, and Brandy was one of the best examples the species could ask for.

I want to be more like dogs.  I want to be more like Brandy.  I want to be better, to try and atone for how long I wasn’t very good.

I’m really going to miss my friend.

Goodbye.  You were a very good girl.

Not Dead Yet

This blog is on my mind every day, but between bad weather, busy work, and other life things, I haven't had the energy to create a new entry in a while.  I have 3 or so almost ready to go, with ideas for a few more, and as soon as I get some time, I'll update.

Until then, here's a fun picture.

 

The Clothes Make The Man

Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

It's a good time to be a comic nerd and a movie buff.  Marvel Studios is pumping out hit after hit based on their Mighty Avengers characters, and the fan reaction couldn't be better.  Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, The Hulk, and the Junkyard Gang all look great on the big screen.  And you know why?  They're wearing what they're supposed to be wearing. 

I wish Sam Jackson wore that in the movies!

They look like superheros!  Larger than life, right out of the pages of the funny books they were conceived in 50 years ago.  This is, for me, the #1 reason Marvel is stomping all other comic movies.  Their characters aren't necessarily more relateable (they are) or have better stories (they do) but they look like what we think super heroes should look like.  Colorful, larger than life, heroic - but moreover, they look pretty much how we expect them to look as part of the public conscience. 

You ruined this facial hair for everyone!

You see, Super Heroes have been around a long time, and not just Super Heroes, but a lot of the same super heroes.  Captain America first appeared in 1941, before America even entered World War 2, punching Hitler square in his Michael Jordan mustache.  He had a primarily blue costume, with red and white stripes on his mid section.  Simple, iconic, and instantly says, "I'm Captain America, and I'm about to free the shit out of you."  That costume, that look, is ingrained in our brains.  Even if you don't read comics, chances are you know who Captain America is, what he looks like, and he plays Frisbee or something with his shield.  So you see a movie poster featuring the 'ol Boy in Blue, and you have these thoughts and feelings, even unknown to you, about Captain America.  And that influences how you perceive the movie.  That's your Captain America, you grew up with this guy, and now he's kicking ass and taking names on the big screen just like you always thought he would.  Even if the script took some liberties with the characters and events, it was okay.  They can modernize the story, sure, but Captain America has a look, and if he doesn't look like Cap, then he isn't Cap.

On the OTHER end of the Marvel Spectrum, we have the X-men and Spider-Man movies, whose rights are owned by Fox and Sony respectively.  Let me get this out of the way real quick.  I am convinced neither Fox nor Sony gives a shit about the characters and only care that these movies make money (which they do.)  But in an effort to appeal to a wider audience, they took the liberty of updating those tired-ass superheroes.  Kids don't want to see brightly colored heroes!  They want the gritty reboot, all black leather and brooding.  This might have just been a hold over from the grunge era of the 1990's, but dammit, it didn't belong in my comic book movies!

Hugh Jackman and the Funky Bunch

The argument is, Audiences weren't ready for grown men parading around in spandex shooting lasers out of their eyes.  I disagree.  The first few Superman movies did great, and that was just a guy parading around in spandex shooting lasers out of his eyes.  Now, I'm not saying that in the year of our lord 2000, I wanted to see bright yellow spandex on screen, probably not, but keep the color theme and general layout of the costumes in tact.  Let us see the heroes and villains we love 50ft tall on the big screen!  That was one of the major reasons Sam Raimi's Spider-Man did great, and the more recent Marc Webb Spider-Man Reboot wasn't as well received.  Remember when that trailer first came out and you said, "What the hell is Spider-Man Wearing? I'm not seeing this!"  Because I do.  And I didn't.  Not for a long time.

This costume looks like Spider-Man had an accident and is going home.

Now that Marvel has had such success with their movies and bright costumes, Marc Webb got his shit together and is giving us a Spider-Man costume that we deserve.  He's still doing whatever he wants with the villains, sigh, but at least our hero will look better this time around.  So, Okay, Sony is stepping up their game.  Surely Fox, after seeing the how well recieved the costumes in X-Men: First Class were, as well as the success and buzz around The Avengers, will finally get our heroes out of S&M leather and into some Blue and Gold for the upcoming, X-Men: Days of Future Past.

Son of a Bitch!

The techno-goth pictured above is an image of Quicksilver, played in Days of Future Past by Evan Peters.  I have no explanation for why he looks like this.  And the rest of the cast doesn't look any better.  Empire recently did covers for most of the characters, and you can check them all out for yourself here.  How?  How could this have happened?  Obviously, I can't judge a film based on how the costumes look in a photoshoot for a magazine, but I mean, damn.  The Porn Parodies have better costumes than the official movies!  Don't believe me?

The Fastest Man Alive... Is a Porn Star...

That's Quicksilver as he appears in Captain America: XXX.  Now, I ask you, out of those two depictions of Quicksilver, which one looks like he belongs in a low budget porn, and which belongs in a multi-million dollar franchise?  I remember too, a while back there was a big fuss about bringing Wonder Woman to the big screen, as he costume, "Wouldn't Translate" well.  Once again, the Porn industry proves that wrong.

I uh...  I might have to see this one.  For research.

You could have shown this to me a few days ago and said it was a costume shot from the Upcoming Batman vs. Superman movie, and I would have believed you and gone nuts over how great it looked!  Knowing it's from a porn?  I'm left with way more questions than answers.  Why is it that the Mainstream X-Men movies have costumes closer to a Dominatrix film, than an actual Dominatrix film?  Is it really that difficult to adapt the source material so it still resembles the source material?  It's obviously not, Marvel has been giving us their characters movie after movie who are true to their origins on the page, yet are able to grow in modern cinema.  Fox gave us a Cloud and called it Galactus. 

Or rather, "the Gah Lak Tus."  Man that movie was bad.

So why the major financial return difference between what Fox and Sony are putting out, and what Marvel Studios have been able to bring in?  The stories are all full of similar plot holes, the worlds are all 'Based' in reality with some allowances, the caliber of actors are all pretty similar, so why doesn't Fantastic Four work, but The Guardians of the Galaxy probably will?  The clothes.  We as a collective people recognize our heroes by their uniform, be it policemen, firemen, servicemen, postmen, or X-men.  To change that is to fundamentally change the character.  The superhero genre has proven itself by now to be financially lucrative, the highest grossing films arguably being the truest to the books, so why are studios still being so unwilling to give us what we want?  

I'd watch This!

The answer isn't because the costumes don't translate well to film, or people wouldn't take them seriously, it's that the studios are out of touch to the people they're marketing these films to.  The Hollywood types and coked-out executives making these decisions never spent their Friday nights in their room with a blanket over their head and a flashlight reading the latest issue of Amazing.  They see the dollar signs, and want their piece, and they want it to appeal to as wide of an audience as they can, but in trying to appeal to everyone, they are inadvertently turning off the core audience who, ostensibly, this stuff was made for in the first place.  I personally have zero interest in seeing any of the Super Hero movies coming out that aren't from Marvel Studios.  I feel that way, because after Iron Man showed that remaining true to the source and using color in a Super Hero movie was possible, there was no going back.  Black leather doesn't cut it anymore when there is a Norse God in a big red cape.  Basketball textured costumes don't hold a candle to the lived in WWII duds of Captain America.

It's a shame too, because the X-Men and Spider-Man's rougue gallery are 2 of the most colorful groups of characters in comics.  To see them in the intended glory would be a spectacular treat for not only fans of the books, but for young children just discovering these characters for the first time.  And when that day comes, and I believe it will (probably with the next reboot) we're going to see some of the most fun and crazy comic movies to date.  The studios just need to let go of the notion of 'Gritty' and 'Realistic' and embrace the balls out craziness that is comic book storytelling.  Until then, we're a long ways away from seeing a purple-clad Green Goblin, or Wolverine in his classic Yellow costume.

Right?

Mikey, Snow, and the Wide Awake Hang Over

Drinking.  Drinking never changes.

So the entirety of the United States seems to be getting rocked by this cold weather snap.  The DC beltway shuts down if even snow is hinted at, so you can imagine the panic caused by single digit numbers on the thermometer.  So it was almost fated that my lovely wife and I would find ourselves at home at 1pm on the Tuesday, with the threat of being snowed in for a few days plastered all over our computer and television screens.

Not a totally inaccurate representation of Maryland weather.

The morning had already been kind of rough, so we were looking to unwind a bit.  I stopped by the local liquor store and picked up a 30 pack of my favorite light beverage, with the understanding I would have multiple days off and a weekend coming up.  Surely 30 beers would be enough to satiate my booze lust.

So we settled in, threw on some New Girl, and cracked open a cold one, on a cold one.   And it was good!  It felt nice to relax as the weather outside turned frightful.  But a few beers became a few more, and a few more, and before we knew it, we had drank an entire 30 rack.  I don't know how, neither of us are terriblhy big people, and by all accounts, after 15 beers apiece, we should have been pretty sleepy.  But we weren't sleepy... We were determined.

So we put on our best winter gear, and set forth into the night on foot.  Our destination: a small bar not 2 blocks from our house.  We had another round there with the bartender, before ordering 4 'Road Beers' (which she gave us!) and set out back to the house, drinking and having a good time.

You'd think, wow, 18 beers each, you guys must have been drunk for days! And you're right.  The snow stopped, and the next day, we weren't snowed in.  No, we had to go to work... and be people.

Productive members of society

Now, for all of you out there that don't know, usually when you get drunk, you fall asleep and your body uses that time to process out the toxins.  You wake up, probably a bit dehydrated and hung over, not feeling great, but that feeling goes away in a few hours.  It's a terrible feeling, but one you can deal with for the most part.  But there's a super important part there, the asleep part.

Now, if you consume as much as we did, in as short of a time as we did, and then get very little sleep as we did, you have a chance of waking up feeling great!  And that's because, you're still drunk.  We did, and we were.  Now, your body doesn't care, it has a job to do, and it's going to get rid of this poison you have willingly ingested, and it doesn't care if you're awake for this part or not.

In my adult life, I have experienced this hang over a handful of times, and each time it gets worse.  To be awake, when your body transitions from drunk to sober is one of the more harrowing activities you can do for under $20.  The be cognizant as your body shuts down to repair itself is as horrifying as it is terrifying.  On top of that, I was at work.

It starts slow, and you truly believe you're going to be OK.  But as your chest tightens and breathing begins to be labored, you realize the terrible truth, you're still drunk, and you're wobbling in your chair.  Your mouth, as dry as it is, starts to threaten vomit with bouts of excess saliva, interrupted by dry heaves.  You figure, water will help, or some soda to calm my stomach.  They don't work, your body just taunts you for even trying.

Your body sounds exactly like this

I remember thinking I was pulling it off reasonably well.  My office mate, she has no idea that I'm in constant flux between passing out and such violent sickness my entire insides would become my outsides, turning me inside-out like some sort of physician's waiting room toy.  I would have gotten more work done had my computer screen bothered to stop shifting sizes, and the room would just stay at a 90 degree angle.  The temperature was a comfortable 900 degrees around my ears, and a balmy negative 1000 around my toes, with my underpants a tropical rainforest or bog.

You read it, you can't unread it

And this entire day, all I could think was, "You fucked up, and you deserve this."

And this lasted for the entire 15+ hours of conscious life I had that day.  I woke up this morning, 2 days after drinking, still feeling like I was on the wrong end of a bus accident.  I have drank probably a metric ton of water between then and now, trying to force this evil out of me and replenish it with Gaia's love, but to little or no avail.  I'm being punished.  My shower last night?  I took it entirely sitting down.  I'm almost 30, and sat in a pool of my own self loathing with a stick of Irish Spring for comfort.  I had defeated myself, and I knew the end was neigh.  I went to bed immediately after my shower, and stared at the ceiling, trying to bargain with my ceiling fan to just fall and end my suffering.  But my ceiling fan is a selfish bastard, so I remain.

The only soap fit for a drunk

And here I sit today, still traumatized from my experience.  My wife, you may be wondering, has weathered this storm much better than I.  Her body is still able to process that I suppose, where mine has finally given up, and has decided it's easier to break down than to persevere.  So this post, I'm sure you've noticed, isn't packed with quote as many jokes and links as usual.  And that's because writing it has taken every ounce of my, and let's be honest, already questionable talent to slam out on this keyboard.

I want it to serve as a warning to myself and others - if you drink 18 beers on a Tuesday afternoon, Thursday is still going to be terrible.

Thoughts on B&E

There's an old saying, "Nice guys finish last." And you know what?  It's true.

Being an optimist now-a-days is hard.  I want to believe in the inherent goodness of people, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.  That we'd all help each-other when in need, when in reality, our only need is to help ourselves.  It's an incredibly selfish worldview, and one I'm learning more and more is truer than ever.

Pictured: Murder

I recently moved to Baltimore, Maryland, or as the locals lovingly refer to it, Bodymore, Murderland.  We bought a nice little house at the end of a dead end street, surrounded by old folks.  Being a 27 year old surround by elderly, I felt right at home.  I truly did, I really enjoyed the sense of community I felt from the area.  We painted the walls, bought new furniture, and overall made ourselves at home.  We also didn't think anything of leaving our car, in our own driveway, with the GPS unit out for God and everybody to see.

Pictured: An invitation to rob your vehicle.

So it was on a cold Tuesday morning that I walked outside to start my car, try and warm it up for the drive to work, when I opened the door and found my front seat covered in the paperwork that used to be stored in my glove compartment.  I looked around, and noticed that no windows were broken, no sign of forced entry, and nothing in the backseat was touched.  But I did notice a few things were missing.

1. My GPS Unit
2. A bluetooth speaker
3. My iPod Touch (filled with classic rock and Show tunes)
4. An Altoids canister filled with Change
5. $37 in cash (for unexpected tolls)
6. Various chords and cables

The interesting thing?  All of my paperwork was left, registration and all of that.  They even left my Dashcam, for some reason.  Only a few "Easy sell" items were stolen, no damage to the car, no attempt to steal it.  It was like a gentleman burglar didn't want to inconvenience me too much whist selling my possessions for crack.  I didn't get the "Oh my God, I've been robbed, I feel so violated!" feeling you're supposed to get.  I just felt sad, that after all the breaks I've cut humanity, humanity can't find it in itself to just be cool.

Fuck you in particular!

I give to charity, every chance I get.  I donate to worthy causes, I've even funded some of my friends when they campaign for money.  I buy stuff for others, I give my time to those who ask of it, and in general volunteer anything I have whenever I can.  Yet, it seems, when it's time to reward those who do, it's those who do for themselves that get theirs.  And it makes sense!  It really does, I'm not complaining about people working hard and getting what they worked for.  I'm complaining about people like me.

I know what sort of person robbed me.  It was a young male, probably white (considering my area) who probably works at a minimum wage job a few days a week, but wants to be more.  The problem is, we've devalued hard work in favor of 'Hustling.'  

Mostly other people's things

We as a society have placed value on doing whatever we need to do to make money, especially young inner-city youths.  People, not much younger than me, not much poorer than I was at that age, are resorting to crime and violence to pay for the lifestyle glorified by their icons in the media.  They're lead to believe that if they keep 'hustin,' they too will be living the good life.  It's the sort of mentality that seems to be keeping the prison industry sitting pretty.  And it's weird to me that nobody seems to be paying attention.  Or if they are, they know exactly what their doing.

By promoting music, television, and movies that promote street crime as romantic, they are instilling that sense that this is the best option for the downtrodden.  Rarely is working hard and doing what's right championed as a way to get ahead.  Even in big business, everyday we see companies getting away with more and more outrageous errs in judgement (Freedom Industries, this drink's for you) and getting away with barely more than a slap on the wrist.  How are you supposed to win the game by playing by the rules?

But then is that why we have rules?  To keep those who are dumb enough to obey them out of the way, and make room for those who are not burdened by such things?  If we can't force the biggest companies and congressmen to follow the rules, how can we expect a kid on the street to know right from wrong?  Maybe it's not entirely the fault of media icons, as their "brands" are in essence also a company, and playing by that set of rules.  Are there sets of rules for each socio-economic class?  Are schmucks like me destined to fail because we lack the ability to break the rules when they benefit ourselves?

This tirade is getting dangerously close to a political rant, something I'm going to try to avoid in this blog for at least a little while longer.  This started off as a way for me to vent my frustration at being robbed, and ended up with trying to wrap my tiny brain around how the world works.  And the world works in a way that doesn't make sense to me.  I mean, I get it, those who do, do (ha).  Be that on the street making moves, or in a boardroom... also making moves, the world seems to be run by those who don't really care how their decisions affect someone else.  And why would they?  No one ever got ahead by putting others first. 

Are they bad guys?  Maybe.  Maybe they just understand the world better than I do.  I still believe people are good, maybe not those with power, but people, as a whole, are good.  Does that make me a Good Guy?  Or a Dumb Guy?

I prefer a Hopeful guy.

Far-Out Friday: Spaceship Moon!

It's Friday!  My name is Kiiiiiiii..........

Wait, no.  What?

I'm going to try something fun, and write about some 'far-out' fun theory on Fridays.  Why?  Because Friday is almost the weekend, and on the weekend, things get weird. 

This week?  The Moon is a hollow spaceship theory!  Oh, you haven't heard of this, imaginary reader?  Probably because you're part of the class of people that doesn't put much stock into Aliens traveling to our little corner of the Universe with the express purpose to flux with us.  That's fine though, because today you will...  so long as you keep reading.

Return to the Night!  You've no business here!

Pictured: Cheese

The Moon, our moon, is a lunar body some 238,900 miles from the Earth, our Earth.  It is the 5th largest moon in the solar system, and the only one orbiting our third rock from the sun.  Coincidentally, it is also the only moon we know of that creates a perfect solar eclipse.  And that is pretty special, considering we know about at least 166 in our solar system.  If you include moons that orbit dwarf planets, Trans-Neptunian Objects, Trojan moons, and asteroids the number would jump to 336 classified moons. In addition to those, there have been another 150 very small objects observed within the rings of Saturn. At least one moon of Saturn(Rhea) is thought to have a moon of its own!

And out of all those moons in our local area, none of them have a perfectly circular orbit around it's planet, and is sized and spaced perfectly enough to blot out the sun.  But how did it come to be?  How did it get there, placed ever so perfectly?

“What in blazes is our Moon doing way out there? It’s too far out to be a true satellite of Earth, it is too big to have been captured by the Earth. The chances of such a capture having been effected and the Moon then having taken up a nearly circular orbit about the Earth are too small to make such an eventuality credible. . . . But, then, if the Moon is neither a true satellite of the Earth nor a captured one, what is it?”

– Isaac Asimov

Father of Science Fiction pondering Science Fact

There are a few theories on how the moon formed, none of which as as cool as it being a space ship.  "Science" thinks it may have happened by a process called, "capture."  The capture theory proposes that the Moon was captured by the gravitational pull of the Earth, like the moon was just cruising along on it's way to Venus, and Earth was like, "Slow down baby!  Why don't you ditch the zero and get with a hero?" And the moon was all, "Oh you Brute!  *swoon*"  But that's not how the Earth rolls.  If something gets close to us, it's all or nothing.  Either it slams into us (sorry Dinosaurs) or it get shot in a different direction (sorry Planet 0584965 in about 4.2 light years)

Another awesome theory is the "Giant Impact" theory, which is exactly what it sounds like.  Some big ass something (which scientists have named 'Theia' and would have been about the size of Mars) hit another big ass something (which scientists have named 'Earth' and would have been roughly the size of Earth) and the resulting impact basically created the massive chunk that became our Moon.  This has been the most widely accepted theory until about 2011, when the most precise measurement yet of the isotopic signatures of lunar rocks was published and discovered that the Apollo lunar samples carried an isotopic signature identical to Earth rocks, but different from other Solar system bodies.  Meaning that Theia couldn't have been the Moon baby daddy.

Off screen is Theia jumping around like a jackass.

So science is no closer to figuring out where the Moon came from.  But you know what's really surprising?  The Earth is around 4.5 billion years old, which most of us can agree is probably true, because science, but the theory suggests that the moon is WAY older than that.  Maybe even older than our Sun.  We're talking 5.3 billion years old, based on some Moon rocks, and the dust upon which they were resting is maybe even at least another billion years older.  That's impossible, right?  Our solar system wasn't even around then, much less our planet!  That's where the space ship theory really starts to get interesting.

Take a look at the surface of our moon.  What do you see?

Besides the obvious need for Clearasil

It is absolutely covered in impact markings.  This Moon has been pounded more than your mom, and has a face so messed up it looks like your mom.  Your mom is so fat, she's the moon.  What was I saying?  Oh yeah, the moon has been rocked by impact, WAY more than it's dancing partner the Earth.  And yes, most of the things that would hit the Earth burn up in our atmosphere, that's true, but those marks indicate some pretty big shots it's taken, never mind the quantity.  And look a little closer, something is off about those craters...

The crater bottoms are convex instead of concave.  As if there is something under the surface, something hard. The picture below has been enhanced to give you a better idea of what that shape looks like.

The moon when viewed on LSD

This picture seems to clearly show a smooth, round object under the dust and debris on the Moon, right?  As if space rocks and space junk would hit the moon, and then bounce off, leaving a trace of guts on the windshield.  Well, the theory suggests that the amount of impacts is due to the movement of the Moon, and not the orbit it's been enjoying on Earth's dime.  But movement from somewhere else to get to here.  That round, smooth object?  The hull of a space shitp.

"Wait a second," I hear you imaginarily interject into my fool proof theory, "The moon is made of rock, we've been there, we brought rocks back. You're as stupid as you are handsome."  And that's

Like, woah man.

true, I am stupidly handsome, but let's talk about the rocks a bit more.  The picture to the right is the Earth when viewed on LSD.  Notice how 'rocky' it looks, for lack of a better word.  You can tell this place was made by millions of years of violent volcanic activity.  Compare that to the above Moon picture, and think how such a perfectly smooth object could erupt from the fiery mass of death that was the Earth.  Doesn't seem quite as logical now, huh?  But a round spaceship, created to travel the galaxy and repel oncoming space trash no matter what direction it was flying?  Now who's a crazy person?

But perhaps the most interesting "Moon is a Space Ship" evidence that has been presented is the fact the moon "rings like a bell."  A lot of these points can be shrugged off and poo-pooed, but even NASA can't deny that the Moon can carry a tune.  These 'Moonquakes' are of unknown origin, and can last for several hours, but it's been confirmed that we can make them happen.  When the Apollo 12 crew jettisoned the lunar module ascent stage on November 20, 1969, it crashed onto the Moon and reverberated, "like a gong."  The resulting reverberation lasted more than an hour.  But what does that mean? 

“If the astronomical data are reduced, it is found that the data require that the interior of the Moon is more like a hollow than a homogeneous sphere.”

 -Dr. Gordon MacDonald, NASA Scientist

Nobel chemist Dr. Harold Urey suggested the Moon’s reduced density is because of large areas inside the Moon where there is “simply a cavity.”  Empty.  Hollow.

 “A natural satellite cannot be a hollow object.”

 - Carl Sagan, "Intelligent Life in the Universe"

So is the Moon not a natural satellite at all?  Did it really come from somewhere else?  If so, when?

Greek authors Aristotle and Plitarch, as well as a few Roman authors like Rhodius and Ovid, wrote of a group of people called the Proselenes.  These Proselenes lived in the mountains of Greece called, Arcadia (you've probably heard that name, I know you've been lost since 'Aristotle.'  It's okay, me too.)  The Proselenes peoples claimed that their ancestors lay claim to that land from "before there was a moon in the heavens."  But that doesn't make any sense, the Moon's been there WAY before humanity... right?

The ruins of Tiahuanaco claim that Luna (that's our moon, I know I'm late actually naming it) wasn't always our moon.  In fact, there was another, smaller moon that circled our planet at a much faster rate, actually rising in the west and setting in the east, much like Mars' moon, Phobos.  And sometime around 12,000 years ago, that moon wandered off, and our current moon showed up....

Hollow moon, crazy orbit, smooth surface, old, appearing randomly...  All the makings of a good Far-Out Friday post!  But, as another far-out person I once knew would say, "What about this?"  Is the moon just that, a rocky natural satellite orbiting our insignificant world?  Probably.  But what if, what if, it wasn't?  What if it was the last of a dying race, a race of supermen?  Is that why we're so much more advanced than the rest of the creatures on this world?  What if it was an ark, carrying the last of it's peoples?  Or an expidition to make contact, and something went wrong?  Maybe it's doing exactly as it was designed to do, watching...

Alderaan was just a warning.

Why has man always dreamed of going to the moon... perhaps, returning?  Why did we stop going?

When will we go back?

Fangirls, you got some splainin' to do

Sherlock series 3 has come and gone, as has the 11th Doctor's hour.

Sam and Dean just kick and scream, and frankly that's lost it's power.

You did this to TV

So I must make a confession.  I'm a fangirlboy.  I latch onto a show, book, or game I like, and I can do nothing but talk obsessively about it to anyone who will listen, doesn't matter if they know what I'm talking about or not.  I've always been like this, fascinated by imaginary worlds created to loose yourself in, deep and rich with lore and intrigue - but more often than not, the better the imaginary world created by the creators, the higher chance it has to be ruined by the fans.

Fandom, the worst thing to happen to successful storytelling.  Chances are, imaginary reader, that if you're imaginarily reading this, I imagine you understood some of my references and grievances in the above "limerick."  (limerick, in quotation marks of course, because it wasn't dirty enough.)  But in case you didn't, this entry will allow me to address some of my problems with some of my favorite things, as they pertain to their respective fandoms, and how those fandoms are actively ruining those forementioned favorite things.

My sentence structure is awesome.

If you haven't watched the BBC drama Sherlock, then you are missing out on some of the best television to come out of our former caretakers and co-stars in the Revolutionary War since Monty Python ceased to be.  The show, written by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss (remember that name Moffat, I have a whole paragraph or twelve about him coming up) and staring Bendersnatch Cumberbubble and Martin Freeman, as the Deerstalker Detective and Bilbo Baggins respectively.

The show has thus far released 3 seasons, each consisting of 3 episodes, roughly 90 minutes each.  The stories are based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but set in the modern day, with modern twists on the set-ups and pay-offs.  And it works brilliantly.  (oops, my British is showing.)  Series 1 and 2 were tightly paced, reference packed, exciting rides with Sherlock and Watson, culminating in one of the best cliffhangers (or jumpers?  Fallers?) in recent years with the finale The Reichenbach Falls, and then... Nothing.  The show went on Hiatus for two years while the actors treked Into Darkeness and stumbled through The World's End.  The writers went on to seriously flux with a time traveler, but I'll get to that.  The point is, everyone was busy while the fans were left to do their waiting... and theorize.   

And that, imaginary reader, is the problem.  There was this amazing show, filled with amazing characters and situations that paid homage, yet deviated just enough, from their source material that it became unlike anything else at the time, and the people wanted more.  Not only did they want more, but they wanted to know the hows and whys of events that transpired, and if the next season had come when it was supposed to, maybe we could have gotten more of those tight stories, rich dialogue, and myertious cases only Sherlock Holmes could possibly solve.  Instead, 2 years passed, the fans went nuts, and we got Series 3.

The theories for (Spoilers!) how Sherlock survived the ending of the Series 2 finale went overboard, so much so, that the writers (Moffat and Gatiss) rewrote one of their characters, Anderson, to have his own crazy theories about what went down, almost as a poke at the fans.  Which is all fine and good, if the entire first episode wasn't devoted to Sherlock coming back.  Yes, it's important to know these things, but at the expense of actual plot, I cannot abore.  It took over and hour with only vague, "There's a terrorist somewhere in London!" lines thrown in to get to the actual 'mystery' of the episode.  That mystery?  Someone was going to blow up Parliament.  On the 5th of November.  Turns out, it was the only member of Parliament who didn't go, who done it. 

Truly a Mystery worthy of Sherlock.

Okay, fine, we need to catch up with our characters, see how they react to Sherlock coming back, but something else happened as well...  You see, in between the end of Series 2 and the begining of Series 3, something happened...  Blundermuch Cibbleslap became a sort of, sexual icon in the Sherlock Fandom.  Fangirls were SherLocked.  And this was a problem.  Sherlock isn't a nice guy, he's a grade-A asshole sociopath.  And we loved him for it.  So when he came back, one of the first things the writers had him do, was crash sexily through a window, and very sexily plant a wet one on a character he previously didn't give two Sherlocks about.  This, of course, gave way to thousands of, "Wish this was me!" type posts on message boards I don't go to everyday.  Yes, it was a 'dream' sequence, but it only existed to please the fans.  And that is a mistake.  It completely rewrote the Sherlock character, possibly even moreso than Anderson, in that now he was a charming, likeable guy with buddies, who solved mysteries when he didn't have a choice.  Before, our Sherlock was addicted, needed the thrill, but this new Sherlock appeared to just charmingly fluff about the world, just doing whatever until the next sexy thing happened to him.

We sacrificed what might have been a pretty good mystery/adventure in discovering a terrorist plot to play V for Vendetta in favor of 3 explanations for 'How he did it' and several scenes of Martin Freeman wishing he could play John Watson again, interspersed with Benadryl Christmasbench putting on coats, messing with his hair, and hamming it up for any ladies who may be watching at home.  This wasn't 'Character Development' as I've seen lots of people try to assure me, but rather I argue, 'Character Disintegration.'  The entire episode was like a showcase of, "Look how charming Sherlock is, and so witty in the things he says!"  They intentionally wanted to write him sexier, softer, and more appealing to women.  And it turned out... not so good I think.

Like in the next episode of Series 3, The Sign of Three, in which he's the best man at John's wedding (oh yeah, we have a major character get married with little to no build up as well, but again, Martin Freeman I'm sure wishes he was still playing John Watson, and not just Short Guy to make Sherlock look sexier.)  At the wedding, Sherlock meets and flirts with a particularly open bridesmaid, who makes a ridiculous 'Handcuffs' joke to Sherlock, which I'm sure caused the females fans to take their hair dryers to their pants (too much?)  The entire episode is 100% out of character for Sherlock, from perfecting his dancing, to telling "fun" stories about he and John, to getting drunk, the whole thing is Fan Service to showcase how cool of a guy he is.  So much so that the mystery, Someone is going to die at John's Wedding, takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out (by Sherlock standards) that even the audience is miles ahead of him by the end.  But it was worth it, because the fangirls wanted it this way.

I think I've dedicated a bit to Sherlock here, and need to move on to further my point.  Sherlock is just fresh in my memory, and inspired me to take a look at what happened.  The fans, given the time to stew, formed their opinions of what Sherlock is, even though he and the aptly named show weren't, and the writers, to appease these fans, changed both to no longer be the former.  And the show suffered for it.  Series 4 and 5 have been confirmed.  Hopefully we don't have to wait another few years, and our boys can get back to normal.   

Let's just settle this right now.  The 10th Doctor is my Doctor.  That being said, I am a pretty big fan of Doctor Who in general, pretty much enjoying everything I've seen.  That is, until Steven Moffat and Matt Smith took over from Russell T. Davies.  Now, speaking about Sherlock, I mentioned how the fans influenced Moffat to change Sherlock's character, and I'm nexted to convinced that this is some sort of tick he has, because it happened with Matt Smith's 11th Doctor as well.  Ears played the 9th Doctor for one season, and played the character with more depth than Smith has managed to achieve in 4.

The worst part?  It isn't Matt Smith's fault.  When Doctor Who came back a few years ago, fans didn't know what this show was about.  It was completely 'new' but old at the same time.  Ears did his best to bring it into modern times, but it didn't really take off until David Tennant got hold of it.  And the Fans started to pour into the show, but The Doctor was already a character.  He had a 'love interest' who was gone, so the rest of his companions were friends.  There wasn't a 'will they, won't they' vibe to it, and as we all know, Fangirls only think about one thing.  So of course, that had to change!

When Davies retired, Moffat came in ready to Flux his Capacitor, and immediately created a love story so uncomfortable, Fangirls ate it up.  The Doctor meets a little girl, Amelia Pond, or as I like to call her, Mary Sue.  You see, the fans dreamed of going on these adventures with the Doctor, to be special to him, to live in this fairytale, and that is precisely what Moffat gave them.  A little girl, who met the Doctor, grew up into a beautiful woman, and was whisked away with him across the Universe.  The story didn't matter so much anymore, just that the Doctor was cool and quirky, and the companions were young and beautiful.  And the sexual tension!  The Doctor was all of a sudden a sexual character, getting busy with aliens all across the Universe (implied, I don't believe we ever saw the doctor get down.)

Even in Matt Smith's last episode, they made penis jokes and the Doctor was naked for most of it.  I mean, seriously?  A Time Lord, especially one so versed in Earth History, isn't aware of Nudity?  It's character deviations like this that convince me Moffat may have some pretty cool ideas, but doesn't understand how people function on a basic level.  But I think there's even something deeper here to Who than with Sherlock and Moffat's Fan Masturbating, and that is this:  Moffat is himself a fan.

Steven Moffat is the Joss Whedon across the pond, a geek who done good.  He's obviously a huge fan of the franchises he gets to work on, and is able to tell stories that appeal to him and millions of others like him.  The key difference between the two, is one of them isn't afraid to upset his fandom.  The way Moffat writes, there isn't ever any real danger for the character, deaths are only minor inconveniences that will be rectified before the episode's end to maintain the status quo and keep the droves happy for another week.  And that's weak.  Weak storytelling.  Clever wordplay Mikey.

But we did this.  The fans.  We insisted that the characters we loved were something they weren't, and the writers gave that to us, fundamentally changing the things we liked into something different, and not very good.  I'm not the only person who feels this way, take a look around the Internet, and it's everwhere.  But in the realm on TV shows that have gone off the Deep End when it comes to pleasing fans, one stands a few feet taller than the rest...

Wayward Son, you're done.  No need to Carry On, you had peace at the end of Season 5.  That was 4 seasons ago.  I mean, for God's sake, your storyline was The Apocalypse.  The literal Apocalypse.  But no, the fans were screaming and the money was coming in, why wrap up a good (I'd even say great) story because it was over?  Welcome, to the never ending hell that is Supernatural on the CW.

 The first 5 seasons of Supernatural built upon themselves, established monster were real, and demons existed.  But Heaven and Hell?  Nah, fairly tails.  But then Angels suddenly were thrown in, and the lore expanded to explain that everything that had been happened throughout the show was leading up to one thing, Armageddon.  And it was awesome.  Throw away story-lines from before all of a sudden made sense, rules existed for a reason, and the big bad was Lucifer himself.

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed this show building up to this.  The stakes were high, the lore was tight, and the Characters progressed like they should given what we knew about them and the situation they were in.  After a showdown in Kansas, and a trip to the pit, that was that.  The brother who ran away from his purpose his whole life, gave it to save us all, and the brother who sacrificed his life to save us, was given a chance to live.  It was perfect...  Except...

The fans wanted more, but not more of that story stuff, gross.  No, they wanted more hot guys maybe being gay with eachother, not that there's anything wrong with that.  The problem, for me at least imaginary reader, is that the characters are just repeating beats from earlier stories, not growing or changing at all.  The only 'change' are meta references to the fan-base and a few expendable characters here and there.  The problem is, the new characters often just slot into the place of old characters, filling pretty much the same roles, thus allowing repeats of the same stories and beats.

And the fangirls eat it up!  My wife, for example, reminds me every week when Supernatural comes on.  We used to watch it together all the time, often binge-watching the DVD box sets into the wee hours of the morning.  But the show grew away from me, from the show I enjoyed, and became this 'fan-pleasing' monster with story-lines that didn't really matter or make sense, but were excuses to have the beefy 6-foot-plus male models parade around saving the damsel and sexual-innuending all up over my TV screen.  She can still enjoy it, and does with millions of others like her, because it is now made squarely for them.

And as I type that, it sounds a bit sexist, and perhaps it is, but there are fangirlsboys out there like me who enjoyed these shows for what they were, before the fanbase took control of them on a creative level, pushing out original storylines and intrigue that made the shows great in favor of meeting the status-quo and giving the fans exactly what they want, but not nessisarily what they need, which is what they fell in love with in the first place.

Inevitably, the fans turn against these shows.  It's happening to Supernatural now, and was beginning to happen with Doctor Who as well.  Ironically, the fans end up steering their shows so off course that eventually they realize the show they're watching isn't the show they fell in love with, and watching becomes a chore, week after week, tuning in because they have to understand all the latest Tumblr posts and Twitter tweets, until that one day that they watch the show, finally throw their hands up, and declare the show lost it's way after Season X and then write a blog post way too long and incoherent for it's own good.

TV shows, especially good ones, can too easy fall into the trap of the fanbase.  LOST is a cautionary tale of not trying to outsmart and compromise your own story just to give your fans what they want.  Shows and their creators need to grow naturally, at their own pace, and not trying to keep up with whatever is popular that season.  Stick to your guns show, tell your story, and you will be praised.

Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, The Wire - these shows had a story to tell, told it, and got out.  They are remembered among the best.  But too often things start out great, and have an end game in sight, maybe even that end game is the name of the show, and the show works towards that end game, taunting and teasing, until it becomes old, boring.  Watching the same characters in the same situations, with the same jokes, week and week after week.  I mean, for God's sake, just meet the damn mother already!

Now we wait for Sherlock Series 4...